On: Being a Writer in a World That Needs Doctors

Bayard Rustin

We need doctors, not writers,” they say. “In the age of technology and social media, anyone can be a writer. Be something useful!

Because of this rhetoric, most days I feel as though I bring absolutely nothing to the table. What contributions do I offer to the world, or even just those around me? I don’t care to be an oncologist and diagnose tumors, so what good am I?

According to society:  none.

It’s no wonder I spend many nights panicking about the direction my 22-year-old life is headed. In a culture that worships doctors and neglects patients, it is easy to get caught up in unnecessary comparisons. In doing so, I often come to feel as though being an activist through writing is a cliché waste of energy for Black queer people. Of our many prominent historical figures, an overwhelming majority are notable artists. Is that all we are capable of? Is this what our ancestors fought and died for–so we can think and express our “feelings” instead of perform open-heart surgery?


The work of those before us was not done to secure a future in which all Black children would be doctors and lawyers. Their work was to secure a future in which all Black children could be doctors and lawyers, should they want to. And those who do not? We, too, have a purpose.

As individuals who have a way with words, pens, paintbrushes, and our bodies, we the “artsy activists” may not be the ones to discover the cure for HIV/AIDS or send future Zimmerman’s to prison. We may not be the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies or creators of the product that causes the demise of Apple. But we will be (t)here in a multitude of ways. As a writer, I will be (t)here—using the power of my words to critique the system and teach diversity and inclusivity in professional spaces, thus demanding change throughout.

This is not to say that one cannot be both a writer and doctor. Many are. Many, however, are not; and so enters the social hierarchy forced upon us that values one type of individual over another. Doctors are regarded as highly intelligent masters of a craft. Writers are regarded as slackers. (There is also a lack of understanding as to why “minority” people may be more likely to study a ‘soft’ science.)

This work is not necessarily “fancy.” It does not require 12 years of college and a wardrobe of perfectly tailored suits. It does not make people ‘ooh’ and ‘aah.’ People often refer to activism through writing as “the easy way out.” They are misled. This work is not for the lazy. As a writer, I often find myself unable to produce writings because I feel as though my words have no value. As an activist, I often find myself unable care about the latest life lost because so many have come before and so many more are sure to follow. When constantly compared to those in more “admirable” fields, the constant ignorance surrounding our contributions to society leave me questioning why I even bother. The constant self-motivation, ostracizing, ignoring each “no,” attempting to create solidarity that is often one-sided…there is nothing easy about this way out. This is painful work. This is tiring work.

This is purposeful work.

What comes of activism through writing is a fundamentally grassroots effort at empowerment and the influence. Through writing, I heal, educate, and inspire. I tell the story of my 12-year-old lesbian self to the 12-year-old questioning themselves. I record incidents of oppression to use as evidence should society attempt to erase my community. I remember my oppression as a Black girl as I live through oppression (and privilege) as a Black man.

It takes a village to create change. The doctors are necessary, as are the lawyers and entrepreneurs; as are the dancers, the writers, and the filmmakers; as are we all in a movement greater than ourselves.

When people ask what I am studying in school, I say proudly, “Journalism with a minor in Community Development and Spanish.” I am no longer ashamed to be studying a “soft” science. I know that I don’t need to wear a white coat to make an impact. As a writer, as a social justice advocate, I delve into issues in “more respected” fields. I examine, albeit from a social standpoint, disparities in Black queer healthcare, exclusive laws, and inclusive business practices and create change. Current and future organizations I (will) take part in serve as spaces for Black queer people to exist freely.

We as a Black queer people have been silenced for endless decades, and that will not change with this generation. We are but stepping stones and pseudo-historians, using words and voices to tell the stories of our people and keep an accurate record of time—our time—so future generations know that we were here and we were queer. We lived, we loved, we laughed. We are worthy of the recognition society will surely attempt to deny us. We are inspiring. We are critical. We are here.

(Photo: State of the Re: Union)


A’yo You!: Dreams & Comparisons

Create Your Own Dream

A’yo you…you right there with no dreams but so much passion! Stop beating yourself up–the world already has that chore covered.

A sense of hopelessness has consumed your daily emotions. You feel lost, frustrated, confused. As friends take leaps toward their dreams, you continue making baby steps toward figuring out your own. This is not the life you envisioned.

Everyone else seems to have a gift. What is yours? Others call you inspirational. Maybe that’s it. If so, what are you inspiring them to do? Whatever they wish? Are you inspiring them to be great? Are you inspiring them to be greater than you?

Forgive yourself, poor soul, for you are competitive by nature. Society has played its role in this; we are taught that some professions are more honorable than others. Yet we can’t all be scientists and doctors, nor should we all want to be. We–and by ‘we’ I mean you–should do what makes us [you] happy, not what makes us [you] rich. But what makes you happy?

Does the world really need more writers and footsoldiers? Can you handle being just a drop in the bucket of people who think their opinions matter? You see voids that need filling yet do not want to be the one who attempts to do so. You concern yourself with the “what ifs” far more than you should and it will continue to cause your demise. What if you make the wrong decision and it all goes downhill? What if your efforts are in vain and you end up being a barista for the rest of your life? What if you try and fail? Or worse, what if you try, succeed, and are miserable?

Or…what if you succeed and find happiness?

You want to be happy as per your own definition. You want to wake up each morning proud of what you have done and who you have become. You want to inspire. You want to create. You want to inform. You want to impress.

Lots of wants, but what do you need?

You need to realize that your very existence is inspiring. Statistically speaking, queer Black bois should not be alive at your age. Yet here you are, queer as a three dollar bill and Black as Malcolm X with a tan.

You need to realize that you do not have to impress anyone but yourself. You do not have to prove yourself to anyone. You only have to lead a life you feel is worth living.

…lead a life you feel is worth living.

Perhaps that is where the turmoil begins. As it stands, the life you lead is worth much at all. There is more on your “could have, should have” list than “actually have” list. You could have learned to swim. You should have learned ballet. You could have learned a new language. You should have learned to read music. You could have learned to play an instrument. You should have improved your body. You could have taken your passions more seriously. You should have gotten involved. You could have, you should have…

Hush, child, speaking as though there is not still time. Silence those thoughts of failure. You are young and have accomplished much in your years. Acknowledge that. Celebrate that.

You must remind yourself that life is not a race. You are in competition with no one. You may not have a dream to work toward and that is okay. You will find your way. You must pay no mind to the friends in Costa Rica, San Francisco, or New York City, nor the friends who DJ, dance, and create films. You are not them. Stop comparing yourself, dear, please, before you drive yourself mad(der).

(Photo: Print and Be Merry )