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You are Black like that
By Ian L. Haddock
Every February, Black history is presented to us in grayscale. Black-and-white photos fill our textbooks, scatter through our social media feeds, and fill our minds with images from a past that feels long ago and out of reach. We see the grainy imagery that is now ingrained in our minds. Images of Rosa Parks in Alabama, Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. standing in Washington, D.C., and Harriet Tubman sitting in Maryland. The movement is far too often framed like a museum exhibit, important, sacred, and distant, from long ago. Something you cannot touch. As if Black history is something that happened, not something that is, at this very moment in time, happening.
Black history is not locked in the past. It is not some somber photo taken out of a drawer once a year. It is loud. It is living. It is in Technicolor. It is right here, in Houston, Texas, and within you. It is biking around the Third Ward to promote HIV education. It is gathering with a group of friends to vote. It is dancing to R&B at Play or supporting a drag performance at Pause. It is organizing, performing, healing, dreaming, celebrating, and living right now.
Houston is one of the most diverse cities in America and one of the largest Black cities in the country, yet we rarely talk about the modern Black history being made here every single day. We celebrate the national icons, as we very much should, but we overlook the fact that this city is producing culture-makers and barrier-breakers in real time, especially within its Black LGBTQ+ community.
We are not just remembering history. We are living it. We are walking, talking, breathing history makers because our Blackness remains historic. And that is what it means to be “Black like that.” The phrase, popularized by Black trans activist TS Madison, is more than affirmation. It is a declaration. It means Blackness is celebrated, revered, and awe-inspiring. Blackness is a culture creator. Our leadership, activism, humor, music, dance, art, language, and style set the tone for the time in history we are in. And Houston has been holding the megaphone for Black culture for decades.
Our city has housed and platformed some of the greatest voices of modern Black history, particularly those in the LGBTQ+ community. And these are some of the many voices that deserve recognition, admiration, and a platform for celebration.
Cookie LaCook and Amazing Grace turned stages into sanctuaries for the people of Houston and beyond. They were not just entertainers and performers of the art of drag; they were caregivers, fundraisers, and chosen family for people rejected by their own. In many ways, Houston’s LGBTQ safety net first existed under stage lights and makeup mirrors before it did in policy. Their legacy continues to be honored in the drag community across the country.
Congresswoman Barbara Jordan built her political base here in Houston after segregation tried to deny her one. She became the first Black woman elected to the Texas Senate, and later the first Black woman from the South elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. And though she never publicly labeled herself, her lifelong partnership with Nancy Earl made her a quiet pioneer for LGBTQ Americans, too. Houston didn’t just produce a politician; it produced a role model for generations to come.
Monica Roberts was a Black trans journalist and activist who changed journalism worldwide. From her Houston home, she documented violence against transgender people long before the nation was willing to listen. She made sure Black trans women who were ignored in death were remembered with dignity. Today, much of the language the media uses to report responsibly on transgender lives exists because she insisted on it.
Larry Bagneris, a Black gay man, helped build the Houston Pride we know and love today. Growing up Black and gay in the Jim Crow South, he transformed survival into activism and activism into celebration. The parade thousands attend today exists because someone made the brave decision that visibility mattered more than fear.
And then there are those whose stories remind us why the work continues.
Tracy Single was only 22. She danced at Montrose Grace Place, loved fashion and styling her friends, and dreamed of a future where her passions could be pursued. Her tragic death became a national wake-up call about violence against Black transgender women. Even in loss, she moved a country to attention. Her memory is our responsibility to uphold. She has become a catalyst for change and a motivator for many activists in the Houston area and beyond.
And so many others have become a part of Black history that deserve recognition. Judge Fran Watson, who ensures the justice system serves those historically failed by it. Marnina Miller, the Co-Executive Director of Positive Women’s Network, creates affirming spaces for LGBTQ youth. Carter Brown, who founded the Black Transmen, Inc., ensured Black trans men’s voices were heard. Byron Canady, who created a comic book shop in the Third Ward, where Black and queer kids could finally see heroes who looked like them.
Every day, they take the legacy that was built from the civil rights movement and transform it into something beautiful for us here in Houston. They are reminders that Black history is not confined to textbooks. It is found in community organizing, dance nights with friends, writing, drag shows, comic book stores, voting booths, and chosen families. It is found in everyday people choosing to live openly in a world that once demanded our silence.
Here in Houston, culture moves through music, fashion, faith, art, and community. We want to create a space that recognizes what it truly means to be Black like that. Which is why this year, at my organization, The Normal Anomaly Initiative, we are bringing the first-ever Black Like That Festival to Houston. This event is a celebration of our community being living, breathing history and culture-makers. It serves as a reminder that to be a part of Black history, you do not have to wait to be recognized. If you are creating, loving, surviving, showing up, organizing, or expressing yourself, you are already part of it. You are Black history. You are, without a doubt, Black like that.
