While much of heterosexual Black America has spent the spring debating the impact of Will Smith’s slap, a quieter event has taken precedence in the minds of many Black gay men: The April 1 release of “Jerrod Carmichael: Rothaniel,” comedian Jerrod Carmichael’s latest HBO special and, unexpectedly, his coming out story.

Shot in an at times dramatic, film noir style, the 55-minute special features Carmichael interweaving his signature relatable comedy with more intimate moments of introspection—about race, sexuality, and how being closeted has played out in the 35-year-old’s life.

The special has earned broad critical acclaim as a “stunning act of faith” in a world where, despite many years of social gains, coming out as a celebrity can remain daunting.

Yet in many black LGBTQ+ circles, the special has had a special resonance, sparking deeper conversations around religion, interracial dating, and the at-times thorny realities of Black gay male representation.

The Reckoning recently sat down with a panel of four Atlanta LGBTQ+ figures to discuss the good and bad of "Rothaniel," as well as its impact overall. The result was a rich exploration of the realities of being a Black gay man in 2022 America, and an exposition of the ways many issues remain unresolved both inside and outside of the community. In the end, all agreed Rothaniel broke ground in bringing the lives of gay Black men out of the shadows.

“The special is a love letter to Black people, Black families,” said Anthony Antoine, an Atlanta activist and chairman of the Michael-Anthony Foundation. “I call it comedic activism and it just should be required viewing.”

Antoine sat on the hour-long Zoom panel with:

• Michael Ward, an actor/host/model/writer in Atlanta;

• Rev. Mashaun D. Simon, an Atlanta marketing professional, and advocate for equity and inclusion;

• and Darian Aaron, Communications Director of The Counter Narrative Project and Editor-at-Large of The Reckoning

Top of mind for the men was the role “Rothaniel” played in laying bare the culture of silence surrounding Black gay identities. It opens with a silhouetted Carmichael weaving his way through a smokey club as a voiceover intones, “My whole life was shrouded in secrets and I figured the only route I have to try was the truth.”  

Only once Carmichael takes his place on the stage does a spotlight finally reveal his identity—a presage for the expositions to come and of how Black LGBTQ+ people are emerging from the shadows, according to panelists. 

“That resonated with me so much because of course it related to my sexuality, but think about all of the things that are hiding in plain sight in Black families,” Antoine said. “We can walk around with a whole elephant in the room and we won’t deal with it.”

Panelists pointed to the tendency to tolerate presumed LGBTQ+ people in the Black community, as long as they never give their sexuality a name. Part holdover from a time when “respectability” was key to white acceptance, part residue of religious homophobia, the secretive behavior leaves the community forfeiting everything LGBTQ+ people can offer, panelists said.

“You’re losing out on authenticity. You’re only getting a version of me that you deem acceptable,” Darian Aaron said. “In essence, you’re teaching me how to lie, and you’re condoning that lie.”

For Michael Ward, that culture of secrecy extended to the very nature of family itself.

“I mean, I didn’t find out that I had an older brother until I was maybe six or seven,” said Ward, who would go on to hide his own identity until his early teens.

He said he related strongly to parts of the show where Carmichael described the stress of trying to live a lie. At one point the comedian quipped, “There are only so many times you can FaceTime a woman to see if your outfit looks ok.”

“I ended up being pulled out around 12 or 13,” Ward said. “Hiding myself from my parents, I definitely understood where he felt like a fraud.”

Panelists described some of the most intense pressure to remain closeted, having roots in the powerful Black church. Black houses of worship have a historic place of reverence in the community, once acting as hubs for emotional support and civic activity in a segregated America.

But with that has often come intense anti-gay rhetoric that’s created a history of staunch homophobia among Black faithful. In Carmichael’s case, tension with his highly religious mother played a role in keeping him from fully revealing his identity.

‘There’s other stuff underneath that’

At a particularly emotional moment of the special, Carmichael looks away from the camera and announces, “The secret is, I’m gay,” before looking back toward the spotlight and the applauding audience. 

“There’s this concern around their child’s soul salvation,” said panelist Mashaun Simon. “That is what keeps them from being able to support their child.”

Simon, who has worked as a pastor, said religious homophobia is what pushed him to choose a white seminary school over the predominantly Black Interdenominational Theological Center, in Atlanta.

“Going to an ITC, I was going to have to deal with that from Black folk,” he said. “Not one time had a white person ever treated me in some kind of way because of my sexuality, but the Blacks had.”

Yet specials like “Rothaniel” and other signs of an increasingly progressive society are forcing the Black community to start rethinking its beliefs, he said.

“A lot of times Black folks, Southern Black folks who are extremely religious, sort of land in these spaces because of what’s been forced on them,” Simon said. “They’ve never really been given permission to think critically about what is and is not faith.”

"Rothaniel" was not without its criticisms. Panelists were particularly bothered by Carmichael’s flip take on race, including jokes that he prefers “white kings” and thinks Black men should be responsible for building Black families—but only if they’re straight.

“I almost vomited at that point,” Anthony Antoine said, to agreement from other panelists. “That literally speaks to how naïve he may be in understanding what it means for a Black man to love another Black man, and what those families look like.”

Antoine took further issue with Carmichael seemingly falling into the age-old trope of the successful Black man who chooses a white mate. He pointed to Don Lemon, who’s been criticized in the past for suggesting only a white male partner could match his income and status.

“There are many of us that are out and living our lives authentically. You weren’t checking for us,” Antoine said. “That ain’t why you are only dating white men. There’s other stuff underneath that.”

But that “stuff” could be legitimate trauma, Simon argued. He recalled the reasons a friend told him he chose to date outside his race.

“He dates nothing but white men, and the reason why is because growing up, all the Black men in his life were trash to him,” Simon said, further pointing to the examples of Black men—including an adulterous father—that may have shaped Carmichael’s preference.

“I wonder in what capacity, in what way does all of that baggage play into the choices that he’s made around who he will date?”

Since the special’s debut, panelists noted, Carmichael seems to have continued coming out of the shadows. He’s been heavy on the interview circuit, making the rounds on shows with audiences both predominantly Black and mostly White. Even his clothing, observed by Simon and Aaron, appears to have shifted—away from a hyper-masculine aesthetic to a more casual chic that seemingly mirrors his newfound openness.

The panelists agreed that while they celebrate the special, they’re most hopeful that in his newfound freedom, Carmichael is making sure to celebrate himself.

“I just sense a lot of hurt that he was trying to cover up with humor,” Ward said. “I just hope for him that he’s going to be OK.”