COMMUNITY ED INTERVIEW WITH andres (he/him)
andres
cantey
what comes to mind when you hear sex education?
When I think of Sex Education, what comes to mind is what I learned—human reproductive anatomy. We learned the names of the organs and their functions. Sex was often discussed with a focus on vaginal intercourse playing into the gender binary. But then again, my overall Sex Education experiences were binary. It was very much “male” and “female”—"boy” and “girl”—and there was a clear emphasis on those differences. I remember being told that people who were “born male are boys” and people who were “born female are girls”—which isn’t always true. The world we live in isn’t just “man” and “woman”—it’s more than that; we collectively are more than just “man” and “woman.”
To me, Sex Ed should discuss different nuances—including different gender identities and orientation. I wish there was more conversations around how not everyone identifies as the sex they’re born as. Sex isn’t the same for everyone in general and truly is different for each person. I believe we need to broaden the conversations within Sex Ed so it won’t be a shock to people when they go out into the world and learn about different identities; it’ll instead be normalized.
what messages did you receive around pleasure and intimacy?
Growing up, I received two types of messaging. At home, it was more liberal and progressive. I grew up in a matriarchal family and around women during my entire life—and they’re specifically Black women and immigrants. Their experiences really defined what I was taught. At home, I was taught that sex is pleasurable and not anything to be ashamed of. It’s something that we as humans do. That’s also where I learned that sex isn’t just to reproduce. Versus, outside of the home, Sex Ed spoke more specifically about how sex is primarily for reproduction. And yes, sometimes, they would tell you that you can use a condom, but it was always emphasized that the safest way to protect yourself from STDs is to wait to get married—and then you can have have sex safely to reproduce and have a family.
My mom talked about how she didn’t get married and has kids today. Everyone has different experiences. Some people get pregnant and some might end up losing the baby. I remember, I had to take my friend to get an abortion—and I feel that if I didn’t learn what I did from my mom, my sister, and my aunts—from their perspective around being a Black woman, as well as an immigrant specifically in this country, and seeing how they moved through varying spaces of sex and our current health care system—I don’t know that I would have been the person to take them to get an abortion or to offer care and resources for afterwards. Growing up, my messaging was different and conflicting—and definitely impacted my relationships and how I interacted with other people. It was tricky because the messages I had received outside of my home didn’t always match or align with the progressive and liberal messaging I got at home.
what messages did you receive around YOUR GENDER AND SEXUALITY?
No one said I couldn’t be gay, but there was a sense I couldn’t —because I was the man in the house. Being gay was fine for other people, but not for me—there were roles and expectations— and being gay wasn’t something I was allowed to do.
I remember seeing flamboyant gay men growing up and being confused about their behavior and how they were acting, and I vividly remember my sister telling me when I was 8 that “no one in this family is homophobic.” And she made sure I understood that some people including men are gay and flamboyant and some aren’t. And that is just what it is. It was okay for everyone else to be gay, but at the time, it wasn’t okay for me.
I came out to my family a little later than I would have liked. They were really supportive for the most part. My family was understanding in their own ways. Like, my aunt and uncles were supportive by not asking “where’s your girlfriend” because they understood. If I mentioned being interested in a guy, they cared most about if he was nice. I’ve been very lucky. I know a lot of people don’t have accepting families and not having support can cause folks to isolate and ostracize themselves; and sometimes even lose that connection. Not having a supportive family or system can have a huge impact on your life. It makes you wonder, who has your back? And sometimes people end up internalizing that homophobia and transphobia, instead of living authentically. We learn a lot of messaging directly from our family—and even how we see ourselves. I saw that challenge and internalized oppression often in the black gay men around me.
what messages did you receive around boundaries and consent?
In general, I was taught that if it feels wrong—it’s not right. It didn’t matter if it was with a friend, a partner, or even a family member. If someone makes you feel bad, step away. If someone in your family verbally assaults, and it cuts you deep—some people will say, “well that’s family. Deal with it.” But for me, I learned that its the opposite. Because its your family, they should respect you and your boundaries because they are your blood. I learned that from my mom and immediate sisters. There should be more respect because they’re your family. If someone says they’re your friend, they should respect the boundaries you set. And if they don’t, how are they your friend? If someone says they love you and you name the things that hurt you—and they continue to actively do those hurtful things, is that truly love?
If you don’t feel safe, get out—is the general message I received from home. In Sex Ed, I was often taught “no means no.” But that focus and emphasis was primarily on the boys. In my experience, I understand that men are more likely to commit sexual assault. As a survivor of sexual assault—my abuser was male. And its important for folks to know that people of all genders can experience harm—whether girls, boys, trans, non-binary, etc.
There also wasn’t any tools provided. No one talked about body language or things to be aware of. For example, being aware if you’re in spaces and you witness that someone isn’t consenting to what is happening to them. It would have been beneficial to have had conversations around what to do if I see things that are potentially unsafe happening around me. I learned most of that at home—not in school. My mom and sister talked to me about if I ever saw a girl maybe slumped over or intoxicated at the bar, how to check in and see if they’re okay. How to support them in finding their friends. Even conversations about the intersections between watching your drinks when out and how that can impact the sexual safety in different situations.
I often think about my gay-mother who introduced me to queer life and taught me a lot about safety. I was taught that if I get a drink—watch the bartender make it and watch them bring it to you. If someone approaches you, that’s okay but be aware and watch how they move. Know your exits/entrances. If you’re ever feeling unsafe, stay aware of your friends. As a tall, Black male, I feel like I was taught not how to set boundaries, but instead to respect boundaries. I understand why… physically I can come off as intimidating, but everyone needs to know how to both set a boundary and respect a boundary.
It’s hard to respect the boundaries of others and making sure they’re okay, when you’re not okay. I feel its important for all of us to have someone who can guide us when it comes to boundaries. Everyone should know how to say “no.” We all have the right to open the door as well as close the door and we can always change our minds. Even as an adult, it’s been hard to set boundaries. I sometimes worry that setting a boundary is selfish; and think its a bad thing.
But now, I’m learning that setting a boundary is caring for yourself; and thats never a bad thing. And if you cant care for yourself, you can’t care for others.
What comes to mind when you hear critical race theory (CRT)? what should be taught in crt?
When I hear the term Critical Race Theory (CRT), I think about the news. I know CRT is really just my experience and the experience of people like me. CRT centers conversation around the experiences of those who aren’t white, often Black folk in this country. The more we talk about the many experiences of different people, that’s how we learn. In school, I still remember being told that people who were enslaved were “asked” to work, and they agreed and “said yes,” and there were brief conversations about the civil rights movement, and it was framed that all was fine, until you realized—that’s not true.
There are holes in the narrative and I believe that CRT helps fill those holes. CRT needs to be an everyday conversation. Growing up, I remember being mocked for my hair texture because I was one of the darker skinned Latin kids. And I remember thinking that something was wrong with me. That is an instance where CRT can be helpful— having dialogue about how Black people’s hair might grow differently. Its learning about our differences to come to a better understanding. It also helps us talk about the hierarchy and intersections with the Black community like—-Black women, Black queer people, Black trans women, Black non-english speaking people, etc. CRT is about using our experiences to move forward.
And when discussing CRT, we need to remember that we can’t talk about the Black movement without the queer movement. We can’t talk about women’s history, without talking about the history of queer and trans women who have contributed to the accomplishments of our communities. Trans women have been around forever; and we can’t talk about about these points in history without acknowledging the critical queer and trans icons who were involved. I also believe that CRT can open doors to queer knowledge. Otherwise, unfortunately, we fall into the same cycles of history.
We can’t skip certain parts of history—that’s what CRT is trying to do. To fill in the gaps. And that’s what scares people and why there is such pushback. Some folks are not wanting to accept accountability for their identity and the privileges that come with it. And reflecting on whether or not they were/are complicit in holding some of these systems of oppression. Its not going to get better unless we learn to hold space to learn this information. CRT shows all of the dirt and all of the truth. We can’t grow if we continue to confine ourselves to one box.
I think there is fear and hesitation to teach or discuss CRT because there might be a loss in the hierarchy. If we learn about it, we lose it. People are scared of losing their place in the hierarchy.
HOW DID YOU LEARN ABOUT YOUR OWN CULTURAL BACKGROUND?
I learned about my race and ethnicity at home. With my mom being Black Colombian and my dad being Black American, a lot of it came from my home. My mom would introduce me to the music and the dances and the history within these art forms—we also have indigenous connections through my grandma—and we learned about the blends of cultures through dance, music and food. That’s how I mostly learned.
My dad’s approach was a bit different. He taught and showed me about the Rosewood Massacre— and how Black people were killed. He also taught me about what it means to be white passing. I remember meeting white family members and cousins for the first time—and was confused because they didn’t look like me. He’d explain to me—we were related ; and I remember being told that if you could pass for a white person in this world, you should. Why? Because the idea of living life as a Black person is not it; no one wants to see their kids and family struggling—there was encouragement to pass as white if you could.
In school, during Black History Month, we learned about Malcolm X but they often just described him as very militant—and that was it. Everything else I learned was from home. Growing up in Miami, Black History Month never highlighted the fact that Black people are all over the world; only those in the United States. There wasn’t a lot of focus or conversation on the African diaspora. I remember telling people that I am Black and Colombian—and people assumed my mom was White. People would be confused; and didn’t seem to realize that enslaved people were taken to countries everywhere, not just the US. And that yes, my Colombian mother could also be Black.
I feel similarly with LatinX Heritage Month. It was always featuring White latinos. Sometimes, we’d hear about Celia Cruz but even then—they didn’t talk about her as a Black cuban who was proud of her Black roots. They didn’t talk about Joe Arollo, who wrote one of the most famous salsa songs called “No le pegue a la negra”, which is literally about a slavery—specifically a slave master beating a Black enslaved woman. In the song, they say, “don’ hit my wife” “no le pega a la negra” and how that led to a slave revolt hapenning in Cartagena, Colombia. The song maybe came out in the 80s and at the time, was very controversial.
Also— slavery is always described as “not that bad” in other places like Colombia and Cuba—when compared to the United States. Its important to know that Black people don’t look and don’t act one way— we don’t all have the same experience—and we don’t all live in one country. Same with Latin folks, we all look differently. We don’t all have fair skin, or the long straight hair, some of us have dark skin, and look very Black and African. Proudly so. If we talked more about that spectrum, it would help folks in understanding their background—and people won’t feel like they have to choose between the many pieces of their background. Not having to choose between being Black and Latin or any part of their identity—because ALL of those pieces can still exist.
How can education support our QTPOC YOUTH?
Its important to let students know that people like them exist—and people like them have already existed—they definitely aren’t alone. If I had grown up and knew about Bayard Rustin, if I had known that ballroom culture…things would have been different. The amount of queer Black youth that have access to this information now-a-days, even through clips on TikToks—I know they are having feelings of relief that they aren’t alone, they aren’t a freak, they aren’t bad, aren’t from hell…instead, they are just existing.
Ballroom cultures reminds me of African and Indigenous Cultures with their own tribes and houses—and even though there is a battle—at the end of the day, we are holding a space for us. At the end of the day, we are here and this is ours. Representation matters. If I was able to see that as a young age, I can imagine how different I would have moved through life. It might not have been easier, but I might have been able to roll with and/or dodge the punches more gracefully. It would have made a lot of it more bearable. It would have been helpful to know that I’m dealing with some crap…but I’m not the only one.
I think about if 8year old me knew that RuPaul was a drag queen and not a twin…I really thought RuPaul was twins. If 8year old me understood that, then 8 year old me would have been more exposed to ballroom culture. And, I love ballroom culture because there’s isn’t just one way to be Black and there isn’t just one way to be queer. You can be super flamboyant and a queer man—or a butch queen. Come as you are. Maybe you’re femme and maybe you’re masc, and maybe it changes. I love the femme queen category—and I love that term because it says you are such a queen and you are radiating this feminine energy. It’s about you bringing that energy.
It makes me happy to know that ballroom and drag are becoming more mainstream—even in shows like Drag Race.
If kids can see that, they’ll have reassurance that they will be okay because they aren’t alone. I know there’s tons of Black queer people in art, literature, tech—and we need to let the kids know that people like them exist and are successful and thriving. Times can be rough, but hold on. I want to tell our youth that, Audre Lorde is like you. James Baldwin is just like you.
Sometimes kids don’t even know they’re gay, but they know they are different. The world is already telling them they’re different because they’re not like those around them— but if they can learn about some of these icons and figures, they’ll know that they aren’t some strange creature, but instead see themselves as just another person and as someone who deserves to take up space just like anyone else.
If we can show kids that—offer representation—and remind them that there are others like them—they’ll know that there is a space for them. Even when I’d go into schools, often the Title IX schools, so many of the Black and Latin kids would be so excited to see me—even when I was just there in a supportive role to do a quick joke. And the students would be so enamored by me; because I was the only one who looked like them on stage. I was also the only person who spoke Spanish fluently—and I could see the kids surprised that I speak Spanish—like fluent Spanish and was on stage. You can see the revelations for the Black and Latin kids—and they’d ask me how I got to where I was and they could see themselves in me. I’d remind them that if you keep pushing, you’ll get what you want. You might get some no’s along the way, but someone will say yes. Open the door to kids. Remind our students they can be anything else and what they want.
when should conversations around race and sexuality happen?
Whenever our youth ask— that is the right time to talk about it. We need to make these conversations normalized—in the same way we talk about roses and flowers. As we have these conversations, we’ll learn how to offer better answers to their questions. We aren’t going to get better if we practice in theory. The time is now. They are asking. If you have the ingredients to make it, make it.
If you have the information, give our youth the information. I think people are worried about throwing too much information at kids. No one is saying to talk to your young 5 year old about the KKK… but yes, talk to our youth about what they are seeing in their everyday.
Growing up, I remember hearing people say racist things to my mom because she was a Black woman and an immigrant and didn’t speak English—and it was often White latinos who would say those things because she was Black and they assumed she wouldn’t understand. My mom would tell me what those comments meant once we got home. If we have those convos at a young age, kids will know how to move through these spaces and/or how to deal with it.
Also with information, people learn how to speak up when things aren’t okay and how to respect the people around them, even if they’re different. Growing up, I remember having moments of seeing “women” and it sometimes challenged my own understanding of what a woman was. If I had someone tell me as a kid…that trans people also exist…it would have been normalized at a younger age. We need to teach respect at a younger age. For example, if someone tells me they identify as a woman, our response needs to be, yes m’am. We need to follow that. That’s what we need to teach our youth. We need to challenge the binary and remind the youth that they aren’t meant to be anything but themselves.
We need to meet kids where they’re at. If a student asks, “Why is Tommy now Tammy?” A teacher can respond and say, “Tammy is trans.” Talk about how “Tommy was a boy; but Tammy has always been there and identifies as a girl.”
If we, as adults, have these conversations with youth and other adults and our families—that’s how we all collectively learn. We won’t learn without the conversations. We have a responsibility to teach students to respect all identities, no matter how unfamiliar—especially if they’re asking. There isn’t much more to it. And honestly, it doesn’t have to be that deep. Answer the questions as best as you can—and believe it or not—most kids will appreciate having the information. It’s real easy, meet them where they’re at.
WHAT MESSAGE DO YOU HAVE FOR FUTURE QTPOC YOUTH? TO QTPOC ELDERS?
I would say, across the board, keep going. Keep pushing. And to quote Beyonce, “these haters aint stoppin’ me, I’m that girl.” Focus on you. Its your life. Live your life how you want. Its yours by the end of the day. To our queer youth, I would remind them that they aren’t alone even if you feel alone. And that’s a valid feeling—but when you feel that way, remember there’s so many people like you who feel the same way you do. And folks of all ages feel that way—on and off. Even as a 30 year old, I have moments where I feel I’m the only gay Black man but I need to remember in the grand scheme of things—I’m not.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have queer elders to look to. If you have them, look to them. Look to them and grab them tight. If you see me, I am happy to be that elder and to hold that space. And that’s a message to the elders. We need to hold space for our queer youth. We aren’t doing this whole “I went through it.. and you need to go through it…” I don’t need any other queer youth to go through the same struggles I went through because that’s not going to make things better. We don’t need to all have battle scars to be deserving or worthy. It says more when less of us have battle scars. Open the door and let our younger generations walk right in and walk right through.
This then allows youth to understand that this is how we do things. I’m holding the door open as young as age 6 because that’s what we do. We need to hold the space; we need to tell our queer youth that this space is for them and they don’t need to suffer to prove that they are like me. I don’t want queer youth to feel they have to hide who they are. Also—I would hate to hold the space…and the only way or reason they feel they can come to me is because of their struggles and bad experiences. But I can and want to also hold the space for the good parts, the parts that feel good. Many queer youth don’t have people or someone to say, “I’m proud of you.”
That takes a lot. Hearing someone tell a young femme boy, “I’m proud of you” because they wore a dress for the first time. “I’m proud of you.” “You wore the dress… and worked it. You wore the dress and didn’t let it wear you.” That’s what our queer youth need to hear. I have a lot of trans-masc friends— who want to feel affirmed or validated. Hold the space for the positive experiences. Even simple things like I got an A on my test or I rose my hand in class today. “I’m so proud of you!”
We need to hold space—not just for the sorrows, but for their strides, wins and accomplishments! From planting a tomato to building a cake— “I’m proud of you!” I want young queers to know that their pain isn’t the only thing that makes you valid. That’s something I had to learn and am still learning. Your pain isn’t what makes you valid. I will hold the space if you feel rejected or un-welcomed; but also will hold space for the days that feel good. Maybe there are days where you look in the mirror and like what you see. I’m there. If that changes, I’m there for that too. That’s what queer elders do. I didn’t have a queer elder to do that for me. Youth, if you have queer elders, …look to your elders. Elders, be the elders you didn’t have.
And it’s okay if you don’t know who you are some days. Go into the spaces anyways and take up that space. You deserve it. That space is available because you deserve it; and because its yours.
