How queerness saved me - A Pride Month reflection by OTN trustee Augustine Tanner-Ihm

Augustine Tanner-Ihm is an African-American activist, writer, speaker who recently trained for Anglican ministry at Cranmer Hall, St. John’s College, Durham, and is now a Doctoral Student in Leadership, Culture, and Practical Theology at Bakke Graduate University. He was also the winner of the 2020 Church Times Theology Slam competition.

WATCH Augustine’s video intro to the Open Table Network [2 mins]

IN THE FIRST of a series of reflections for Pride Month, our trustee Augustine Tanner-Ihm shares how his queerness has transformed his experience and his ability to help others.

Growing up in an African-American family within a lower socio-economic community meant that as the wider (majority White) society began to tolerate and then (for the most part) accept queer identities, our culture, faith, and community continued to reject the notion the queerness was ‘acceptable black behaviour’.

In my earliest memories, I felt like an outsider. I never felt like I fitted into the model in which my family or society wanted me to fit in. My Jehovah's Witness family also had an expectation of how a black boy would act.

We lived in Chicago, first on the West, and then the South side. I was never crazy about rap or hip-hop music. And even though the Chicago Bulls were amazing at the time, I could not care less about basketball. You see, sports were boring to me, but at the same time, the creative arts were as well.

But deep questions about life and identity were something that gave me passion and had me processing big questions at a young age. I remember watching MTV's Real World and Road Rules secretly in my room with the volume turned down low at the age of 13. I was fascinated by the lives of people and the conflict that they got into.

I remember clearly watching Real World New Orleans, and seeing a person named Danny Roberts. Danny was gay man who had a boyfriend in the military. They were not like the gay people I was told about. These guys were men who did not seem like child abusers. (At that time in my community, homosexuality always equalled child-molesters). They looked like just normal 20-something guys who went to the university next to my homeless shelter in town. They did not seem evil, attempting to take over the world by aborting babies, destroying family structures, and trying to have world domination with their gay agenda. They were merely ‘normal’. Besides, his boyfriend’s face being blurred out because he was in the US military (at the time it was illegal to be openly queer in the US Armed Forces). This was a transformative experience.

Within my context, being a young American black man born into poverty meant there were not many options for the future. My biological mother could not read and write, and my siblings were all teenage parents. My peers were what we called ‘street pharmacies’. Most people that looked like me were in a gang, dropped out of school, had kids or were in jail, although they were not my choices to choose from due to my queerness. I buckled down and signed up for many clubs and sports and focused on my academic work. I pushed myself in all that I did while living in poverty, not because I believed if I worked really hard, I would achieve the American Dream (which I was taught in school) but rather I worked hard because it was a coping mechanism for my queerness. Every day for 23 years, my life felt like human crucifixion of self by others. Then I found salvation in sleep, and it would repeat again eight hours later. This same self-doubt and wondering about my broken humanity led to my victory in life.

Being queer has been something that has filled my mind with wonder and hate at the same time. Culture and faith have taught me to hate my queerness and use sports and hunting as a form of therapy to rid myself of this disgusting disorder. But even through lots of prayers, losing many basketball games and trying to date girls, the queerness stayed. But something else remained as well: a sense of desiring to help people. This attention to people’s emotions. Also, this desire to see no one eating alone at the lunch table. This compassion and empathy hark back to the queerness that is a part of me. I know how it feels to be ‘othered’ - rejected, ostracized, and forgotten about. I know how it feels to be worried that if someone knew about who you really were, they might physically hurt you. I know how it feels to be worried to travel to another country because their laws might restrict you or even put you to death. These thoughts and experiences helped form me into the person I am today.

Being queer has made me a better student. Because I was queer, I did not participate in teenage sexual activity with the opposite sex that led to unwanted pregnancies for so many people around me. I never focused my adolescence on romantic relationships, but rather on the well-being of others. Campaigns like Invisible Children, or the END IT movement against human trafficking. I was never interested in drugs or drinking, because I saw that they would get in the way of my dreams and ambitions.

Believe if not, queerness has made me a better Christian. It has led me to want the world to be transformed by the queerest man who ever lived. I not speaking about sexual orientation or gender identity, but in the sense of transgressive action and erasing boundaries. Being a Christian is being united to the one who has redeemed our lives. And Jesus, being queer, directs us into this cosmic queer relationship that no-one can break. God is not passively seeing human suffering, but has embodied the human suffering and rejection that queer people experience. This gospel was and is good news to me. It is news of hope, of liberation, and of determination for my siblings feeling rejected because they know if they show their true self, they would be rejected by their friends, or spend a lifestyle of loneliness, or be killed by their government. This gospel brings mutual-determination and an end to violent behaviour. This gospel is queer. The good news is that WE are created in God’s image - we have not created God in our image.

Being queer has made me a better human. During high school, one of main themes that my teachers made us students think about was, ‘What does it mean to be human?’. This was taught in a secular way which helped me discover what the world taught. These cultural values helped develop me into the person I am today. Being human is about compassion, love and helping to transform the world, not just for the betterment of yourself, but for the redemption of the other. I am a better human for being queer. Queerness brings you home. Not a sterile Airbnb house that could look like anyone lives there, but rather truly resting in the embrace of love.

I am not saying being queer automatically make you a nice, sensitive, and loving person. There are many queer drama ‘queens’, ‘kings’, and pseudo-royalty. I just know for myself, as I mature, I can see how something that I was taught was wicked and horrible has become a blessing for myself. It has helped me find God and my vocation. It has helped me relate to diverse people. It has helped me earn four undergraduate degrees and three postgraduate degrees. And has led me to doing a doctorate.

Queerness saved me. I hope queerness continues to save you.