Race in the LGBT community: As we fight the world’s prejudices, do we still need to face our own?

“People who are marginalized tend to think they don’t marginalize other people,” said Leslie Herod, a Denver community activist and black lesbian. “It’s a hard subject, and people who aren’t open to their privilege just aren’t going to be open to it, period. I think 90 percent of the racism and sexism that happens within our community is subconscious, so you have to make a conscious effort to overcome it.”

But unconscious or not, the impact is real.

“By and large the racism is no different than in the larger community,” Herod said. “As a person of color it can be hard to find your space, and when you find prejudice coming from both sides – homophobia from the African-American community and racism from the LGBT community – it’s magnified.”

“Sometimes if you’re dealing with a white straight person, it’s hard to figure out if they’re being hateful to you because you’re gay or because you’re black,” Herod said. And then within the LGBT community, LGBT people of color “just don’t have anywhere to go. The space is hard to find, and you just feel like you’re pressed in so many ways, you just don’t want to deal with racist gay people too. It can feel racist when people of color aren’t portrayed,” Herod said, “or when they want to be part of the conversation and they’re shut down.”

Teddy Campos, 22, who identifies as Chicano and queer, offered examples of the challenges on both personal institutional levels.

“Racism is something I deal with everywhere,” Campos said, “because my color is the first thing people see about me. Certain organizations don’t want to talk about it at an institutional level, and I see that as an example of a kind of racism in itself.”

“To be honest, at least here in Denver, I’ve struggled to fit in,” Campos continued. “The gay scene is predominantly white and doesn’t allow much space for people of color. We have ‘Latin Nights’ at certain bars and clubs – it’s like they realize that most of the time they’re only catering to white folks. It’s cool because it allows a space for us, but I’d like to see more Latin or black owned gay bars.”

When it comes to the most intimate interactions – dating or sex – race can make things more complicated in more than one way.

“Exotification is a very big thing in the community – choosing someone just because of their skin color,” Campos said. “When you’re trying to hook up with someone and you’re focusing on skin color, that’s an act of racism. You’re not doing it with my skin. You’re doing it with me as a person.”

And just as the digital age enabled broader conversations about race that were once voiced in a private setting, technology has exposed a more callous and explicit racism through the safe anonymity of web profiles.

“No blacks or Asians” – a familiar phrase in one variation or another – appears regularly on profiles on gay men’s networking or hookup sites or mobile apps like Grindr.

There’s widespread debate about racial sexual “preferences” – whether the one expressing them bears some responsibility over semi-conscious, seemingly uncontrollable attractions – but they are a bit too common, too convergent in favoring white men or lighter skin or other historically-privileged groups, and often voiced a bit too dismissively, to avoid suspicion that broader issues play a role.