Obscura - On Pose, Colorism and Black Trans Reality
"Community" is loosely defined as a group of people with common interests, occupying the same space. That space accommodates the social, intellectual and physical needs of many. Queerness has existed in direct opposition to fixed foundations. It makes apparent the relationship between geography and the human body has distorted our sense of what is and what is not real. But queer community has always existed and is necessary for both survival and liberty to thrive and pursue happiness.
Transness is a disruption and a remaking, a hammer brought down on the nation-state of cisgenderdom. To live as one truly feels themselves to be is welcoming an inner peace, especially in the face of violence from the state.
Violence emboldens those already with greater power (cisgender, and often, men) to segregate and vilify those already dispossessed by the state. This shape-shifting violence exists prominently as the ongoing murders of black trans women.
transmisogynoir, or the particular and systemic hatred and violence against Black trans women, a niche experience unable to be diluted to adhere to "LGBTQIA++" quota.
Black trans women’s locale is unique and surpasses the narrow, and colonial boundaries of any spell checking engines. As I type this, a red underline will appear under the word "transmisogynoir".
Violence in all forms is constantly imposed on black trans women; individual physically attacks, violence from the state, such as deadnaming and misgendering, as well as hypervisibility, or being seen can have its own dire consequences. That double-consciousness of wanting to be seen yet hidden, or passing, has and is a life-or-death circumstance.
As wisely deduced by Fred Moten, “Making ain’t reducible to its conditions but it ain’t detached from ‘em, either", and in the words of Laura Jane Grace : "What god doesn't give to you, you've got to go and get for yourself." The (re)making of trans reality is something, no matter how glitzy and dramatized Pose pushes the envelope, cannot help but be grounded in trauma, discarding an assumed (assigned) role and the varying degrees of pain that follow. To be trans is to remake, refashion, redefine, rebirth oneself, from the ashes of an encasement, an assigned facade that never could fully speak the truth.
The timing of Candy Ferocity’s death (played beautifully by Angelica Ross) was not wholly unprecedented. While comparisons can be made between her and Venus Xtravaganza— who was murdered in medias res of Jennie Livingston’s Paris Is Burning— The differences between Candy and Venus eclipses their similarities. Candy was a defiant voice from within a marginalized community. Venus's proclaimed her aspirations in life were to be "a rich white girl". The reactions over Candy's death were also different, especially for black women viewers. Vocalized upset with one of the few dark-skinned main characters being brutally murdered is part of a collective consciousness about colorism in the black community at large that many of us hoped we would not show up on our screens.
Candy was not without her struggles. The open ridicule she suffers from Pray Tell for defying the strict 'Bodacious Body' category standards leads her to do nothing but snap back in retaliation to his snide remarks on her padding, set her apart as a black sheep, a bitter black woman, left to fend for herself.
Candy fights for her place, against the warnings heeded by "authority" figures (Mama Elektra).
Candy' relentlessness is read wrong as trashy and sub-par, her sharp and reactionary wit as bitter, (re-watch the hammer-wielding scene where sis is ready to crack a judge's skull for throwing some arguably harsh shade).
Candy's anger is justified: there is no right way to be hurt, being denied your full potential. There is no other hurt like being humiliated by your own brothers and sisters. But what Candy was subject to was more common and less publicly discussed: colorism from within black and queer communities.
The character development veers into the deep and troubled waters of 'light-skinned vs. dark-skinned'. But isn't that how it goes out here anyway?
Candy's death was also an "incomplete"; Ross's transition to AHS and now becoming the first trans person of color to star in the series, as "history in the making" or a fair compromise... but compromise for what? This soft tone-policing of dark-skinned viewers' disappointment puts Pose in the chair and leads me to ask: who gets to be visible and successful in the trans community? What is liberation beyond visual representation? Is addressing colorism within trans life really that difficult to explore for the only show on television? Would viewers not be able to handle it and check out?
Like Venus, Candy's death was a wake-up call, leaving us shook, and depending on who, for different reasons.
What is a problem inherent in the show’s writing is the larger pool of lighter-skinned characters— trans and cis— who are receiving the exposure. Angel’s (Indya Moore) modeling come-up and her budding romance with Papi (Angel Bismark Curiel), Damon’s (Ryan Jamaal Smith) success at dance school, and Blanca’s (MJ Rodriguez) rise to house mother status. If you haven't already, please take a moment to Google search each actor and hopefully what I am talking about will begin to sink in). Her growing rivalry with Elektra is on a steady decline, losing her lover and her children -- on top of spinning blistering reads-- who is to blame for that?
Transness is a disruption and a remaking, a hammer brought down on the nation-state of cisgenderdom. To live as one truly feels themselves to be is welcoming an inner peace, especially in the face of violence from the state.
Violence emboldens those already with greater power (cisgender, and often, men) to segregate and vilify those already dispossessed by the state. This shape-shifting violence exists prominently as the ongoing murders of black trans women.
transmisogynoir, or the particular and systemic hatred and violence against Black trans women, a niche experience unable to be diluted to adhere to "LGBTQIA++" quota.
Black trans women’s locale is unique and surpasses the narrow, and colonial boundaries of any spell checking engines. As I type this, a red underline will appear under the word "transmisogynoir".
Violence in all forms is constantly imposed on black trans women; individual physically attacks, violence from the state, such as deadnaming and misgendering, as well as hypervisibility, or being seen can have its own dire consequences. That double-consciousness of wanting to be seen yet hidden, or passing, has and is a life-or-death circumstance.
As wisely deduced by Fred Moten, “Making ain’t reducible to its conditions but it ain’t detached from ‘em, either", and in the words of Laura Jane Grace : "What god doesn't give to you, you've got to go and get for yourself." The (re)making of trans reality is something, no matter how glitzy and dramatized Pose pushes the envelope, cannot help but be grounded in trauma, discarding an assumed (assigned) role and the varying degrees of pain that follow. To be trans is to remake, refashion, redefine, rebirth oneself, from the ashes of an encasement, an assigned facade that never could fully speak the truth.
The timing of Candy Ferocity’s death (played beautifully by Angelica Ross) was not wholly unprecedented. While comparisons can be made between her and Venus Xtravaganza— who was murdered in medias res of Jennie Livingston’s Paris Is Burning— The differences between Candy and Venus eclipses their similarities. Candy was a defiant voice from within a marginalized community. Venus's proclaimed her aspirations in life were to be "a rich white girl". The reactions over Candy's death were also different, especially for black women viewers. Vocalized upset with one of the few dark-skinned main characters being brutally murdered is part of a collective consciousness about colorism in the black community at large that many of us hoped we would not show up on our screens.
Candy was not without her struggles. The open ridicule she suffers from Pray Tell for defying the strict 'Bodacious Body' category standards leads her to do nothing but snap back in retaliation to his snide remarks on her padding, set her apart as a black sheep, a bitter black woman, left to fend for herself.
Candy fights for her place, against the warnings heeded by "authority" figures (Mama Elektra).
Candy' relentlessness is read wrong as trashy and sub-par, her sharp and reactionary wit as bitter, (re-watch the hammer-wielding scene where sis is ready to crack a judge's skull for throwing some arguably harsh shade).
Candy's anger is justified: there is no right way to be hurt, being denied your full potential. There is no other hurt like being humiliated by your own brothers and sisters. But what Candy was subject to was more common and less publicly discussed: colorism from within black and queer communities.
The character development veers into the deep and troubled waters of 'light-skinned vs. dark-skinned'. But isn't that how it goes out here anyway?
Candy's death was also an "incomplete"; Ross's transition to AHS and now becoming the first trans person of color to star in the series, as "history in the making" or a fair compromise... but compromise for what? This soft tone-policing of dark-skinned viewers' disappointment puts Pose in the chair and leads me to ask: who gets to be visible and successful in the trans community? What is liberation beyond visual representation? Is addressing colorism within trans life really that difficult to explore for the only show on television? Would viewers not be able to handle it and check out?
Like Venus, Candy's death was a wake-up call, leaving us shook, and depending on who, for different reasons.
What is a problem inherent in the show’s writing is the larger pool of lighter-skinned characters— trans and cis— who are receiving the exposure. Angel’s (Indya Moore) modeling come-up and her budding romance with Papi (Angel Bismark Curiel), Damon’s (Ryan Jamaal Smith) success at dance school, and Blanca’s (MJ Rodriguez) rise to house mother status. If you haven't already, please take a moment to Google search each actor and hopefully what I am talking about will begin to sink in). Her growing rivalry with Elektra is on a steady decline, losing her lover and her children -- on top of spinning blistering reads-- who is to blame for that?
It is clear that colorism is an obstacle to Candy. The palpable (and valid) anger which Candy and Elektra express are powerful but right. Behind the burning reads and sharpness reveals uncertainty, a sense of alertness of the precariousness of things. Following the end of her affair with Mr. Dick Ford (Christopher Meloni) after deciding to undergo her confirmation surgery, Elektra loses her main bridge to security and her whole house after a brutal outburst. Yes, she is unkind, But Elektra is a survivor. Unlike Elektra though, Candy has Lulu, a sister, a co-mother. But Candy endures her own battles to gain her place as a real woman. (Cut to her fainting on the floor immediately after winning her first category following sketchy silicone butt injections to meet the standard.
Pose did not create colorism. Whether consciously or not, it has sparked a dialogue on the issue--however wishful thinking this is-- to revert our gaze, and acknowledge the conflicting reactions and handling of colorism; it is subliminal and conspicuous, and we, meaning black folks, are both dubious and convicted about dealing with it. Whether there will be a collective recognizance of this in the drawing rooms and on-set can only be known by those at the table and if so, we should keep our eyes and ears open, as Candy's passing serves as a reminder that no one is immune to how distorted reality is. What we must do, and continue to do, is give our undivided attention to the dark-skinned black trans women who we see every day, who are vocal or reserved about the very discrimination that they face.
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