At the start of 2024, like every year, resolutions and bold proclamations are being sprinkled throughout daily conversations. From desires to maintain physical fitness to claims dedicated to creating and implementing boundaries, the start of a new year often allows time for reflection, resolution, and growth.

It was with these words that poet Audre Lorde began her groundbreaking 1982 work “Zami: A New Spelling of My Name”, in the process launching earning a reputation as a master poet and black lesbian literary icon that has endured years after her death.

Last January, I attended Sundance, an acclaimed film festival known to spotlight noteworthy and potentially Oscar-award-winning films. While I was blown away by nearly every movie, one documentary certainly stole the show- Kokomo City.

On this special live episode of Revolutionary Heath, #CNPTribe members Dr. Deion Hawkins, Sr. Editor of The Reckoning and Lamont White, The Gay Dating Coach, will unpack the recent crackdown on public intimacy in Atlanta and its impact on Black queer men.

Like most commencement weekends, the mood was festive and upbeat one weekend last month on the stately campus of Carleton College, a small liberal arts school just south of Minneapolis. The graduates, wearing everything from bright dresses and heels to shorts and sneakers beneath their gowns, filed into seats arranged in a broad, grassy field incongruously called The Bald Spot.

The urgency for unity within the Black community is palpable, but the question of how to unify Black men is elusive.

In the 1984 essay "Brother to Brother: Words from the Heart," Joseph Beam wrote, "Black men loving Black men is an autonomous agenda for the eighties, which is not rooted in any particular sexual, political, or class affiliation, but in our mutual survival."

How do we come together to heal and press forward with love and intentionality?

When Ariel Fristoe and her family moved into the Historic King District in downtown Atlanta, she had no idea how segregated her world was.

The Agnostic child of theater parents, she grew up around and regularly interacted with people from different backgrounds. However, her engagement in investigating and identifying systemic racism and inequality was few and far between. She never had to think much about what was happening with her neighbors.

"My home base has been Charis my entire life."

That is not hyperbole. Since he was 15, ER Anderson has taken up space at the beloved bookstore.

His mother introduced him to Charis. A licensed therapist, she was acutely aware that her child was struggling. He had not yet identified as transgender, but his mother discerned her child needed an outlet.

Growing up in Rome, Georgia, and raised by a United Methodist Church minister, Lama Rod Owens always understood the importance of service and community.

Josh Penny has always been more motivated when seeing how something impacts another person versus how it affects him.

"It's something my therapist has been trying to get me to work on," he said.

In his role as director of social impact for Hinge, he is responsible for figuring out how to help users connect with others. His role is to help users form healthy relationships by providing them with the habits and skills needed to do so.

The more Sophia Hussen, MD, MPH learned about HIV, the more she felt compelled to provide care, support, and understanding about those living with the disease.

An associate professor in the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory University, she doesn't just spin her wheels in the academy's ivory tower. She mixes advocacy with activism, pairing her commitment to research with her practice as a physician in the HIV Clinic at Grady Memorial Hospital.

DeMicha Luster's community organizing work began unexpectedly.

"I was doing some work for a local non-profit when someone asked me why they hadn't seen me at any of the NPU [Neighborhood Planning Unit] or civic association meetings," she said. "I took the hint and started attending."

Eventually, people noticed she was the only person under 30 attending the meetings. That made her the ideal candidate to organize a potential field trip.

"Someone donated passes to Six Flags, and so, it was suggested that I take 35 kids from the community," she added.

All she had to do was figure out how to get the kids there. And, of course, get their parents' permission.

Anyone raised in Atlanta understands, to some extent, the magnitude of such a task. First, she had to find the kids willing to go. That's not too hard. For many kids, taking a trip to Six Flags is a treat. But funding and transportation for kids of a certain age and socio-economic background can be challenging. Then there is another issue altogether – trust. Many of the kids didn't know her or their parents. Even though it's been years since the Atlanta Childhood Murders, the scars are still visible for some. She was a stranger and had some convincing to do.

Since 2019, Larry Aldrige, a senior at Morehouse College, along with his best friend, have used the family-oriented nature of Thanksgiving to create something to quell the loneliness of the holiday for their fellow college students at Clark Atlanta University, Spelman College, and Morehouse College, three schools under the Atlanta University Center (AUC) umbrella.

Aldrige wasn't planning to attend Morehouse. His first choice was Clark Atlanta University. It was at the urging of someone he'd grown up with that suggested he attend Morehouse. He applied and got in but was still determining if he wanted to leap. A product of the Black Pentecostal church, Aldridge did what he learned to do when faced with a major life choice, he prayed.

"I said [to God], send me where you want me. Tell me what you need me to do," he says. "My apostle was preaching, but after a while, I got in prayer, and I couldn't even hear him anymore. All I heard was Morehouse. And I was like, okay."

Aldridge, who identifies as queer, hadn't told anyone yet, because he didn't even realize it himself.

For over 100 years, members of Black greek letter organizations have been on the forefront of social change in the Black community.

Affectionately referred to as the “Divine Nine,” all of these organizations have their own missions, visions and core values, but they all share common goals - to give back to the Black community and to uplift and educate. These organizations have sowed seeds in the Black community worldwide.

It’s tempting to argue that there isn’t a need for groups like this anymore, but when you look at the kinds of leaders that they have produced, it becomes a harder sell. Huey P. Newton, Vice President Kamala Harris, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and MC Lyte are just a few names of members of Black greek letter organizations, and the list goes on.

Being LGBTQ+, out, and a member of one of these organizations, can be a challenge. Despite sometimes feeling like an “other,” queer folks have found ways to navigate these challenges, even rising into various prominent positions in their respective organizations.

Sandwiched in an alleyway on the northeast side of Washington D.C., Black queer, gay, and lesbian artists like Wayson Jones cultivated fertile ground in a coffeehouse. What they did in the cramped space is the stuff of legends, yet the coffeehouse is long gone—much like the city of old. A documentary recently released online captures what the coffeehouse meant—and continues to mean—to Washington, D.C. as well as to Black and queer histories.

"Fierceness Served! The ENIKAlley Coffeehouse" has been making its rounds at select screenings. The ENIKAlley Coffeehouse was a performance and rehearsal space for a cohort of artists, a gathering spot; plus a meeting place for political organizations. This was almost hallowed ground for Black artists to share and workshop their craft. Jones, Essex Hemphill, Cheryl Clarke, Audre Lorde, Blackberry, Casselberry-Dupree, and Pomo Afro Homos all stepped foot into the former carriage house-turned-coffeehouse between 8th, 9th, I, and K Streets, NE. The space at 816 Eye Street, NE was brick, the size of a large walk-in closet, but had great acoustics.

"The intimacy lent itself to that feeling of being part of the family," Jones said.

The film "Fierceness Served! The ENIKAlley Coffeehouse," celebrates this time.

Gerald Garth’s calendar is bursting with meeting invitations ranging from monthly check-ins to festive outings. He is a man-about-town wearing several hats, lending his advocacy along his travels. This afternoon, he’s taking it easy—a Zoom call here and there, a coworker dropping off items, and a hard stop at 2 p.m. He’s wrapping up his to-do list before attending a string of holiday parties and year-end celebrations.

Garth had a good 2021, personally and professionally. He describes prioritizing joy, setting boundaries, and tweaking his work-life balance. Sounds like sage advice, considering he’s stepping into multiple new roles in 2022. For one, he will be Director of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion with the Los Angeles LGBT Center. He was elected to two positions: vice president of community initiatives and programs with LA Pride and the head of media and communications for Global Black Pride.

“I start [at The Center] at the top of the year, building strategies,” Garth said. “We are taking a robust view, looking at the hiring practices, programs, protocols, staffing structures, opportunities, next steps, and so forth.”

The 800-employee-strong Los Angeles LGBT Center sprawls over nine locations. Close to 50,000 Angelenos receive services ranging from primary care, HIV specialty care, and legal assistance to gender-affirming services through the agency.

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.

“Black Is The Color of the Cosmos," was the theme for the 2022 CNP Summit, held virtually on Saturday and Sunday, March 19 and 20. In framing this year’s Summit, CNP offered the following quote to describe the work at hand; “So often, we’ve looked to the past, but where our liberation lies is in our future. This summit is for us to prepare for the movement of tomorrow.” While there is much within this quote to unpack, what resonates most with me is the pointed emphasis on the importance of preparation for [the movement of] tomorrow. In the simplest of ways, it all boils down to one significant point we’ve all seen and heard demonstrated time and time again; representation matters.

However, when it comes to the lives of Black queer people (and Black gay men in particular), there’s far more nuance and context to consider, simply because of how our existence has always been toyed with. Our Black gay lives have almost always had an ongoing (and extremely toxic) relationship with silence, shame, secrecy, and fear. Thankfully, that is why organizations like CNP and so many others exist; to combat such pointed attempts at erasure and humiliation, while ensuring that none of those attempts are successful in trying to dim our light or silence us, as they are structurally intended to do.

When LGBT Detroit kicks off their “Sex, Hooking Up, and The Apps” four-day college bus tour on March 29, they will do so in the tradition of famous Black Detroiters who boarded buses and traveled across the country decades earlier to spread a sound that defined a generation. And while this new tour may be less flashy than a Motown revue, it is no less vital to the culture.

Originally launched in 2019, this year's bus tour is the second outing for LGBT Detroit and their ongoing effort to educate Michigan’s Black LGBTQ+ population on the facts about HIV prevention, transmission, and the state’s newly reformed HIV criminalization law.

The updated Michigan law, signed by former Gov. Rick Snyder, requires the person living with HIV to tell their sexual partner their status before having vaginal or anal sex unless they are undetectable and have no intent to spread the virus. Unlike the previous law, which charged the person living with HIV with up to a 4-year felony sentence for not disclosing their status before penetration — no matter their detection.

Cycling is quickly becoming the newest phenomenon of transportation in Atlanta. However, almost explicitly missing from the conversation is the presence of Black queer voices and how popular cycling is to this group, whether native or transplant.

Octavia “Tay” Roberts, better known as Big Oreo, and Lauren Fareira, known best as Senorita Awesome, are two Black queer cyclists leading the way for more to join the experience.

Eight or so years ago, Big Oreo became interested in cycling. But it wasn’t until 2015 before she purchased her first bike. And as soon as she did, she got busy immersing herself in the culture.

“I got the bike and then went and got a job at [the popular sandwich shop] Jimmy John’s—because I wanted to,” the Atlanta native told The Reckoning. “The type of cycling Jimmy John’s cyclists do is unorthodox. It’s not like how you would see a group of cyclists or even racers.”

Co-founder of the cycling group Rolling Peach Bandits, Big Oreo considers herself an urban street cyclist. When on her own, or with a group of her buddies, she can be seen dipping and dodging traffic on her fixed-gear bike. It’s an exhilarating thrill for her.

On a recent Sunday, on an unassuming corner in West Atlanta, an industrial-style gym transformed into a modern-day ashram. There, with the gritty rhymes of rap artists like Yella Beezy blaring in the background, dozens of Black and Brown people contorted their bodies into positions like high dragon, mermaid, and tree pose—reclaiming the ancient eastern art of yoga to find health and a little peace.

Countless people of color start their year with a handful of classic rituals—often a soul food meal, a vision board, and a lofty plan to get a snatched waist. The latter usually leads to a mad dash to the nearest gym—but across Atlanta, fitness professionals are encouraging people of color to add yoga to their list of ways to get summertime fine.

They’re offering “trap yoga”, Christian-themed classes, and even LGBTQ+ friendly practices as they try to woo a community that’s long viewed yoga as unwelcoming to all but the white health elite.

Then just a fresh-faced youth, Atlanta lesbian Charlotte Hubbard spent her early 20s attending the city’s legendary Black gay pride celebration — one of the few places where she felt she could truly exhale.

“I loved just being in a place where I’m not seeking acceptance,” Hubbard says. “Just being able to be free felt really good.”

Then something shifted. Fist fights seemed to rise. The carefree vibe seemed to diminish. Eventually, for Hubbard, it stopped feeling like home.

“The turning point was when I was at Piedmont Park and every other corner I turned, there was a fight,” says Hubbard, who at 37, hasn’t attended Black Pride in a decade. “I said, ‘I can’t do this’.”

NAESM exists to serve Black, gay and bisexual men. Full stop. This tenet has been central to the organization’s mission in the fight to reduce new HIV infections and to provide care for those living with HIV, including Atlantans who do not exist within the targeted group for over 30 years. It’’s with the same laser focus on Black, gay and bisexual men, one of the most heavily impacted groups by HIV, that NAESM’s African American MSM Leadership Conference on Health Disparities and Social Justice, the nation’s largest annual convening dedicated to exploring HIV prevention, care, treatment, policy, and research, will escape the cold of the Southeast in January for the warmth of sunny Los Angeles.

Each year on October 11, the LGBTQ+ community celebrates National Coming Out Day. Although today’s political and cultural environment is vastly different from it was in 1988 when Robert Eichberg and Jean O’Leary created the inaugural observance-coming out, or rather, inviting others in, still matters. While individuals arrive at this deeply personal decision in their own time, the benefits of living an authentic life far outweigh the alternative of a life rooted in fear and shame. For this National Coming Out Day, CNP’s staff is opening up about the moment the personal became public by sharing their individual coming out stories.