Queer as (Black) Folk Is the gay community mostly a "white thing"? James Earl Hardy’s come to show there’s a whole other world out there by Mekado Murphy Photo by SylvesterQ.com

"Tune in Tuesday nights at 9 p.m. for a new series that explores the lives of African American men in same-sex relationships."

Now there’s a TV ad not likely to be seen any time soon. While this kind of programming does not exist (yet) on screens big or small, these portrayals can be found on the written page at many local bookstores, thanks to the fresh (in more ways than one) work of author James Earl Hardy.

Not content to sit idly by while the stories that mirrored his life were invisible in the arts, Hardy put his money where his mouth was and began the B-Boy Blues series. Now four books strong, B-Boy Blues tells the story of liberal black journalist Mitchell and his homeboy fashion model/lover, Raheim. Breaking taboos and providing a great new escape for an ignored group of readers, Hardy creates an environment that’s a little more true to the diverse world in which we live. Yet he is reluctant to call himself a revolutionary of the genre.

"I’m pretty sure that I’m not the first person to come up with the idea for a story like B-Boy Blues," Hardy says. "And it’s possible that there are some manuscripts out there that are very similar in tone and ‘fla-va’ to the series, but have never seen the light of day."

Hardy cites James Baldwin, the ultimate taboo breaker, as the inspiration for his work. But Hardy sought out a different angle with the stories he wanted to present.

"Up until the time when B-Boy Blues was published, most of the novels about, by and supposedly for black gay and bisexual men placed these men in white gay worlds," he says. "And the majority of black same-gender-loving men I know do not exist in those worlds. So I’m sure that other writers probably approached the same editors and agents as I did with ‘B-Boy’ types of stories, and they all balked because they had never seen anything like it before. They probably thought that such a world was purely fantasy far beyond the realm of fiction and that nobody would want to read a love story like that."

Armed with a powerful manuscript and plenty of ambition, Hardy sought out one publisher who would be open to hearing his story.

"Alyson [Publications] already had a track record publishing the works of African American gay and bisexual writers," Hardy says. "So they knew that just because a story like it hadn’t been seen before, did not mean that it wouldn’t sell."

Hardy sent his first book out the door "with a nonexistent budget for marketing and promotion" and sat back while positive buzz generated around his groundbreaking work. The success of the novel was proof that readers were hungry for stories that were providing an accurate depiction of their lives when no other fiction was.

The latest in the series, The Day Eazy-E Died, takes place over the course of three weeks in 1995 when NWA rap star Eazy-E announced he had AIDS. Hardy uses this part of the story to comment on the current rising number of AIDS cases among gay and bisexual minorities, and fears that people are not taking AIDS as seriously as they should.

"I know that there have been those critics and writers who, during the past few years, have declared that AIDS is over," he says. "But clearly it’s not. Many people are reluctant to acknowledge that AIDS is more than an epidemic. It’s a plague still affecting a disproportionate number of men of color. Yet I’m not really hearing or seeing the alarm we should have for this fact, and I think that has everything to do with whom it’s affecting. The story of this novel is one I’ve been carrying around with me for several years. But the silence surrounding AIDS in African America, and the contempt for same-gender-loving people who are still tagged as ‘the problem,’ sadly hasn’t changed in those intervening years."

Hardy’s novel is told in first person from the perspective of Raheim, the successful and aggressive B-Boy with good intentions. Freely peppering his speech with terms like "a’ight" and "jood," Hardy takes readers into Raheim’s hip-hop world and all of the complexities that come with it. However, despite his loving relationship with a man, Raheim would be averse to ever calling himself "gay." Hardy explains that many black men who find themselves in same-sex relationships refuse to be categorized by specific sexual identities and certainly wouldn’t be public about their attachments.

"Brothers like Raheim don’t see themselves as being part of any so-called ‘black gay community,’" he argues. "In fact, they probably don’t even see themselves as being bisexual. Whom they sleep with and whom they have intimate emotional relationships with is not viewed as an identity. And given the contempt that too many black heterosexuals have for same-gender-loving people, it becomes more difficult for people to share that part of their life."

Hardy believes that, based on the images we see in the media of openly gay men, the coming out experience is more of a "white thing."

"I think that folks need to have the room to be themselves and that those who are not same-gender-loving have to cultivate an environment in which people are comfortable ‘coming out,’ whatever one might decide that’s supposed to mean," he says. "Being out does not mean you should have to wave a rainbow flag or live in Chelsea. And it certainly doesn’t mean you have to have a white man on your arm, which is what we find when we look at the images that are presented to us. I know few people of color who identify with a ‘Will & Grace’ or a ‘Queer as (White) Folk.’ So if those are the images we are constantly presented with as to what being out represents, it’s no wonder people stay in the closet."

The closest thing to a community that Hardy portrays is a group called "The Camp." This tightly knit collective of African-American celebrities (hip-hop artists, sports figures, actors) shares common same-sex proclivities and oftentimes get together to explore them. He discusses the prevalence of these groups within the industry.

"There are many camps," Hardy says. "And they serve many different functions. It depends on what type of celebrity you are, where you live, what your particular tastes are. It’s really no different than what hetero men in the entertainment and sports world experience in terms of the go-go-lap-dance—kind of culture. There are plenty of male lap dancers and ‘homeys for hire.’ It’s a way in which brothers can have an outlet to be with other men just like them and have some fun."

These groups are all on the "down low" (read: private), and plenty of the men in them have wives and children back home.

Challenged with his own set of parental duties, Raheim helps to raise his son from a previous relationship. Hardy gives the black fatherhood issue a purposefully positive spin and makes Raheim an active, caring dad.

"There is an incredible lack of images that portray African American men as responsible fathers, but I’ve had those models all my life," he says. "Most people have been surprised by that positive depiction because they’re not used to seeing it, which is really tragic. We don’t question when we see black men portrayed as deadbeat dads. But present someone with an individual like Raheim, a very feeling man whose son is his heart, and it’s a different story. Although he is a very flawed man, he does everything he can possibly do to ensure his son is not only well taken care of, but will have a better life than his."

An interesting perspective on spirituality also permeates the novel. But it isn’t a ramshackle simplistic view of the subject. Hardy’s characters are spiritual explorers who think long and hard about their place and purpose in the world.

"To a certain extent, the ideas my characters express come from my perspective," he comments. "I do believe that there is a higher power and a higher place. But I also believe that one should not spend every waking moment of his life waiting to go there. I think that too often people place all their stock in religion. And a document is not going to give you a stronger connection to God or a god. I think it’s healthy to critique and explore those ideas and principles placed in front of us that make our relationship with a higher power better. And I think that the characters in the series do that given their particular stations in life and what they experience."

These varied themes give Hardy’s novels a more expansive reach and have generated a diverse collection of fans. Hardy is pleased to see the popularity of the series reaching his target audience and beyond.

"I have been encouraged by the response of some black heterosexuals and Caucasian queers who have stepped out to experience another world," he says. "Though the experiences are different, ultimately the series shows how similar we all are as people."

Mekado Murphy is a writer living in Dallas. James Earl Hardy was photographed by SylvesterQ.com, based in New York City. This article first appeared in SF Frontiers Vol. 20, Issue 20, Jan. 24, 2002.