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Reclaiming the Mosaic: Dr. Tyler TerMeer on the weight of intersectional leadership

Reclaiming the Mosaic: Dr. Tyler TerMeer on the weight of intersectional leadership


<p>Reclaiming the Mosaic: Dr. Tyler TerMeer on the weight of intersectional leadership</p>
Tommy Omolabli

As we head toward life under another Trump administration, one queer Black leader offers words of wisdom, reflection, and hope.

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EDITOR'S NOTE: This opinion essay is by guest contributor Dr. TerMeer, CEO of the San Francisco AIDS Foundation.

The 2024 election results demand reflection, especially for Black queer leaders. In this challenging moment, Trump’s victory feels like a direct statement about the nation’s resistance to change and equity, a decision to double down on systems that marginalize us. Yet, it also reaffirms the urgency of our leadership and resilience. This is not the first time our communities have had to rise after setbacks, and it will not be the last.

In August of last year, the nation heard powerful words from Michelle Obama spoken at the Democratic National Convention – about the potential and hope we have as a nation to move forward under the guiding principles of decency and service to others. It spoke to me, not only as she shared her vision for the future of our country, but through the vulnerable ways she described how Trump “did everything in his power to try to make people fear” her and President Obama.

“His limited and narrow view of the world made him feel threatened by the existence of two hardworking, highly educated, successful people who also happened to be Black,” she said.

Who among us hasn’t felt like this at one time or another – judged cruelly and unfairly by the color of our skin, our accent, our culture, or our bodies? And what Black person in this country hasn’t felt personally attacked for our identity at one point or another?

At the same time, my thoughts keep returning to the incident in July of 2024 when Trump questioned Kamala Harris’ Black identity – in a room full of Black journalists, no less. For mixed-race Black people in this country, including myself, hearing this questioning caused pain and anger – but also presented a chance to reflect.

Mixed-race Black leaders have the experience of both ends of discrimination: having their legitimacy as leaders questioned because they are Black, while also enduring invasive questions about their claim to “Blackness.”

This way of thinking – perpetuated by people like Trump – is an attack on all of us who navigate multiple identities. It’s a reminder that our society still struggles to embrace the fullness of who we are. However, it’s also a call to resist and reclaim our narratives, to affirm that our identities are not for others to define or diminish. Kamala Harris is a testament to the strength and resilience of multiracial and Black communities, and her identity, like ours, is valid and powerful.

As a multiracial queer man living with HIV, my experience is layered. It involves not only resilience and pride in my Blackness, but also the balancing act that comes from being multiracial – knowing where I “fit in,” even with both sides of my family. Add to that the stigma associated with being Black, queer, and HIV-positive, and together it comprises my journey of fighting for dignity in the face of intersecting oppressions.

I first started understanding that I was Black around the time I started school. Growing up in a predominantly white city in the Midwest, it became clear pretty quickly that I was different from most of the other kids.

As a child, race wasn’t something we talked about overtly, but it was always there, in the background. It wasn't that my family had a big "sit down and talk about it" moment, but there were everyday experiences and subtle things my mom, grandmother, and aunties would say.

They reminded me to be careful when playing with other kids, and to be mindful of how I was interacting with or talking to teachers. I remember my parents trying to prepare me for certain realities, like being treated differently or having people make assumptions about me. They didn’t want to overwhelm me, but they also knew I needed to be aware. Early on, I didn’t really understand why.

Tyler TerMeer (L) at work as the CEO of San Francisco AIDS Foundation.courtesy SFAF

I also remember feeling confused at times, especially since I wasn’t just Black — I was multiracial. I didn’t quite look like the other Black kids I saw on TV or in books, but I also didn’t look like the white kids in my class. It led to a lot of internal questions, and while I didn’t talk about it much as a child, it was something I was always trying to make sense of on my own.

As I grew older and went to college, I started finding more of my Black identity. Being in a more diverse environment, I met people who shared similar experiences and could articulate things I had felt but never fully understood. College was where I began to explore and embrace my Blackness more intentionally. However, the journey became even more complex when I was diagnosed HIV-positive in 2014 as a young Black college student.

The diagnosis added another layer to my identity that I had to navigate. It was hard enough trying to reconcile being multiracial and queer, but now I had to deal with the stigma and fear associated with HIV, especially within the Black community. It was a time when I felt incredibly isolated, trying to manage the weight of this new reality while also figuring out who I was.

Even though I found more of my identity in college, I still felt hesitant to fully own who I was. It wasn’t until the summer of national racial reckoning in 2020 that I truly began to feel comfortable in my own skin. The conversations and movements during that time made me confront not just my racial identity, but the entirety of my experience, including my HIV status.

It was then that I realized I didn’t have to compartmentalize different aspects of who I am — I could embrace all of it. My Blackness, my queerness, my HIV status — they all make up my authentic self, and I finally began to own that truth.

Now, as a CEO in the fight against HIV, I still confront the micro and/or macro aggressive questioning of my identity. Taking on the role of CEO in the last decade of my career has been a profound honor but not without its challenges–especially since I am one of only a handful of Black CEOs in our movement.

There is a unique weight that comes with being the first person of color in a leadership position in this space — an incredible opportunity to amplify the voices of those who have been marginalized and silenced, yet also a constant reminder of how far we have to go.

I’ve found that stepping into a leadership role as a person of color, especially when you’re the first in a position historically held by white people, can be a profoundly complex experience. Every decision we make, every action we take, is scrutinized more intensely. Then, there’s the burden of representation. I often feel the responsibility not only to perform well for myself, but also to represent our entire community. There’s also the unfair expectation to be everything to everyone — an expert in diversity issues, a mediator, and a bridge between cultures — roles that our white predecessors were not required to fill.

One of the most painful experiences in this journey has been the erasure of my Black identity by those who claim I am "not Black enough."

It is a form of violence that seeks to diminish my existence, to question my authenticity, and to erase the complexity of my lived experience. This is what Kamala Harris has endured in Trump’s comments about her identity, and what countless other Black, mixed-race people in this country have endured their entire lives.

But let me be clear: Blackness is not monolithic. It is not confined to one narrative, one experience, or one expression. My journey, my leadership, and my identity are valid, and they are deeply rooted in the resilience, strength, and diversity of our community.

When people challenge my Blackness, they are not just challenging me; they are challenging every person of color who dares to exist in spaces where we have historically been excluded. They are challenging the progress we are making toward true representation and equity. But their attempts to erase us will not succeed. We are here, and we are leading with power, with purpose, and with pride.

In moments of doubt or adversity, I remind myself of the incredible ancestors who have paved the way, the community that supports and uplifts me, and the future generations who will benefit from our work today. My Blackness is a source of strength, and it fuels my commitment to this cause. Together, we will continue to dismantle the systems of oppression that seek to divide us, and we will build a future where everyone, regardless of race, has the opportunity to thrive.

I stand proud in my identity, and I encourage others to do the same. Our diversity is our strength, and our collective power will create the change we need to see. I strive every day to remember that leadership is about resilience and authenticity, and our stories are the foundation of the progress we strive for.

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Tyler TerMeer, PhD, is CEO of San Francisco AIDS Foundation and co-chair of the AIDS United Public Policy Council. He is passionate about improving the health of people living with HIV, ensuring that LGBTQ+ people have access to affirming care, and supporting and empowering Black-led organizations and BIPOC leaders. Dr. TerMeer has been honored by the White House as one of the “Nation’s Emerging LGBTQ+ Leaders,” and as part of the “Nation’s Emerging Black Leadership.”

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