The Mathematics Of Gay Men Donating Blood: FDA + Queer = HIV-Positive

Contrary to popular belief, all gays are not HIV-positive. This may come as a shock to the Food and Drug Administration (“FDA”), however, but believe me when I say – some gays are, indeed, HIV-negative.

If you are able to donate blood, be grateful. Every day, individuals die because they cannot receive the proper blood or they receive blood, but there is a problem during transmission. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the FDA is part of the problem of why many people across the country are dying. For the past 30 years, the FDA has discriminated against, among other things, men who have, or has had, sex with men. In 2007, I was one of those men.

In a statement released earlier this year, an FDA spokesperson said, “[we are] trying to protect the public and basing [our] policy on science, not “any judgment concerning the donor’s sexual orientation.” While reading this statement, I had to laugh to myself, because the first time I was turned away from donating blood, it felt exactly like being discriminated against because of my sexual orientation.

I love donating blood. No, I mean it – I love donating blood. No, not the awkward feeling after your finger is pricked. And no, I definitely do not love the feeling of being rushed apple juice and cookies because the nurses thought you would pass out. But I love the idea that my blood can be used to save a life.

In the summer of 2007, while still “in the closet,” me and several friends went to an American Red Cross truck to donate blood. One-by-one my friends went up, spoke to the nurse, answered questions, gave blood, and received juice, cookies, and a sticker of good citizenship for donating blood. As most of my friends went outside, I stepped up to the computer screen to answer the same questions they answered so swiftly. The question that stood out was – “Are you a man who’s had sex with another man?” In my head, I knew I could lie and donate blood anyhow, but I figured the question was for a reason.

Instead of lying, I looked around to see if any of my friends were around, and asked the nurse “what does this mean?” She said very bluntly, “Have you ever had anal or oral sex with another man?” Already knowing the answer, I hesitantly said “yes.” She then told me she could not allow me to donate blood because gay men are at a high-risk of being HIV-positive. I attempted to convince her that I was, indeed, HIV-negative, but she told me it was FDA policy that a man who has had sex with another man (even if only once) could not donate blood. In fact, I was told that my name would be placed in a database and I could not donate blood ever. Well, unless the policy was overturned or other circumstances.

I turned around . . . extremely disturbed with tears in my eyes. The fact is, I felt discriminated against. Let’s face it – the sole reason I could not give blood was that I had sex with a man. To make matters worse, I was still in the closet and did not know how I would explain to my friends why I was coming out much faster than they did.

When I came out of the Red Cross truck, a friend said, “Wow, yours was fast!”

Have I just been clocked? Was my secret about to spill out? Did the FDA place me in an incredibly awkward situation?

I felt trapped and unsure as to how I would answer the question. So, I made up some ridiculous lie about the blood and one of my four tattoos or some problem with a heart condition when I was younger – neither of which had anything to do with my reason for being denied. My friends all had puzzled looks on their faces, but seeing how I reacted, they chose to leave it alone. Though we went about our day without any mention of me being rejected from giving blood, I felt sick, embarrassed, and wanted to crawl into a corner. “Is this what being gay is about,” I thought.


In 1983, the FDA enacted policy that refuses “the blood of a man who has had sex with another man since 1977.” This policy was created at a time where no reliable tests for screening blood for HIV existed.  Now, however, information is readily available and technology has vastly improved.  Because of this new information, myself and many groups across the nation have submitted petitions to the FDA. The petitions demanded an overturn on the FDA policy because it was based on archaic notions regarding who had HIV, how it was transmitted, and unintentionally perpetuated the idea that the LGBT community is sexual deviants.

Over the years, the amount of blood donors have significantly decreased. But why do I care more than the FDA? Why does the FDA not care that they automatically assume that queers are HIV-positive?

After speaking with someone from the FDA, I was told that even after blood is tested, HIV-positive blood could remain dormant without the person knowing, and since gay men are at a high-risk, they ban them [me – you – us] from donating blood.

There are major problems with the FDAs thought-process: First, the FDA is continuing the stigma that only gay men can contract HIV, which we all know is illogical and irrational. Second, by focusing on groups the FDA believe are HIV-positive, they completely miss individuals that may actually have HIV. Third, if HIV may not show up in blood for a certain point-in-time, why is this only important if it is from the blood of a man who has sex with another man? Banning blood from an entire community because science shows we are at higher-risk of having HIV is discriminatory. The problem with the FDA statement released is the person presumes that science cannot be discriminatory. I assume the spokesperson never heard of Charles Darwin.

Having my blood refused made me feel unwanted. Having my blood refused made me feel something was innately wrong with me.

“Gay blood” equals “good blood,” too.

Today, I write this blog to challenge everyone. If you can give blood, do; many lives depend on your services. If you cannot give blood because of your sexual orientation, please write letters to the FDA and begin a petition in your communities. I challenge you to speak to those at donor banks about cultural competency. I think back to my experience in the summer of 2007 – instead of rushing me out the door, the nurses could have allowed me to sit down like a “normal” person, faked me giving blood, allowed me to receive some cookies and juice, and sent me out after my “fake donation.” But no. The nurse was concerned about placing me in the banned forever category without giving another thought to my embarrassment.

That day, I was discriminated against. If you put lipstick on a pig, it is still a pig. Similarly, if you cover discrimination by referring to it as “science,” it is still discrimination. Let us work together to eradicate homophobia. This may not be popular, but it needs to be addressed.

Good night and much love.

My First Kiss: Gays, Too, Fall In-And-Out Of Love

I have been in love. I have been heartbroken. Listen to me when I tell you – “gays, too, fall in-and-out of love.” My love was not with my “first.” My first was just that; someone who helped me evolve in the LGBT community, and he made that perfectly clear. Despite what he saw as clarity, however, I saw it as confusion and ended up falling head-over-heels for someone who could care less.

My first was beautiful: caramel-complexion, beautiful smile, perfect teeth, average height, and athletic. I remember the first time I met him at Trotwood-Madison Middle School. I was new, so he walked up to me and introduced himself. As he approached me, this big smile grew across my face as I reached my hand out to his. Intentionally shaking his hand longer than normal and looking into his eyes, I nervously mumbled, “My name is Preston.” He smiled, said his name, asked where I was from, and one lunch break later, we instantly became friends. We exchanged numbers and our friendship with one another blossomed into something beautiful.

My freshmen year at Trotwood-Madison High School was an interesting one. Girls searched for the cutest boys they could find and boys attempted searching for young girls that caught their attention. This is when I noticed I had no interest in girls. I always thought they were attractive, but no real connection. I began to pay attention to masculine behavior and how I should act in order to be accepted. Boys constantly talked about girls, sports, and parties, and though I liked to enjoy myself, these were of no interest to me. So to fit in, I dressed “masculine” in an attempt to overcompensate for my growing femininity and lack of desire to be with women. This did not last for long.

Still attempting to find myself, I pretended to have crushes on different girls in my high school. When I was not pretending about having crushes, I fabricated stories about girls I dated from work. I could hear the lies getting bigger and more ridiculous, but that never stopped me. At one point, I remember telling a friend that I broke up with a girl because she was pregnant and said the child was mine, though we never even had sex. But, of course, there was no girl and most certainly, no pregnancy. Though rumors about my sexuality began to spread, I went on with my life until someone would blatantly ask, “are you gay?” That never happened.

As senior year arrived, me and my first reunited after he left for another school during our junior year. Homecoming came by, and being selected for homecoming court brought me some attention. Was I masculine now? Is this how I was supposed to reach the pinnacle of manliness in high school? In short – no, but it was worth a shot. After homecoming, me and my first exchanged numbers after losing brief contact and made a commitment to continue speaking; and we did.

During senior year, my depression increased. Externally, I would smile and show all signs of positivity, but on the inside, death seemed to be a great option. From problems at home to remarks behind my back, I was at my wits-ends. So I called my first to talk; he immediately picked up the phone, came over, and we just sat in the car as he listened to me vent my frustrations. Something was odd about this friendship though; the way he looked into my eyes felt like someone who could see inside my soul. I ignored it and continued talking. We sat in the car for hours just talking about senior year and what colleges we would attend.

The night of senior prom changed me completely. After I was announced Prom King, I remember being tapped on the shoulder, heard “congratulations” whispered inside my ear, followed by a “call me later – it’s important.” After the limo dropped off me and my prom date, I waited for my best friend to take us to the charter bus for “After Prom.” All day, the only thing on my mind was “call me.” To my surprise, I received a call later that night offering to come take me home after the bus dropped the seniors back at the high school. I graciously accepted.

That 15-minute car ride felt like an eternity. We said no words; we just let Usher’s “Can You Handle It?” play in the background, which made our interactions increasingly awkward. He dropped me off, and just as he was about to drive off, I said I needed help carrying my bag into the house. That was a lie; he knew it, but that same beautiful smile lit across his face, and he decided to help me anyway.

He walked into my room, shut my bedroom door, sat on the bed, and he talked to me. “Preston, you can sit on your bed,” he said. It was probably best that I didn’t, I thought, but I sat down anyway. He looked in my eyes and said, “You know I won’t hurt you right? I will always be here.” I let out a nervous chuckle out of fear of saying something stupid. Before I knew it, warm hands grabbed my face to turn it slightly, and I felt soft lips press against mine. Did you know heaven had a taste? From that moment, I did.

It was my first kiss from another man.

I didn’t budge. I didn’t flinch. It felt . . . perfect. He took his lips away, chills ran down my spine, and immediately, I wonder what just happened. Should I be kissing another man? Better yet, should I have liked it?

That summer, we grew closer and closer. Every morning, I knew I would receive a “good morning” text, followed up by an “I hope I see you later.” Suddenly, however, the messages stopped, the phone calls stopped; it all just – stopped. After not speaking for weeks, I received a phone call urging us to talk. Already thinking I had fallen head-over-heels for the wrong person, he came over so we could speak. My heart started to pound; pound so hard that it felt it would explode out of my chest. He approached me, gave me a hug – he always had this amazing smelling cologne where you could easily identify him in a crowd.

The first few moments were awkward, so I finally said, “What happened to you?” His response will never leave my head: “I wanted to help you figure out yourself.” In other words – “you got too clingy and this will never happen; we will never happen.” I politely asked him to go home. I sat and cried for minutes, which led to hours, which led to days –  thinking of how stupid I was to ever think that an attractive, assertive, secure guy would want me in the same way I felt about him. That, coupled with my first kiss from the same-sex, did not help. So I grew even more confused; hating myself on the inside, but still attempting to pretend I was happy on the outside.

Finally “coming out” to my best friend, Felicia, I had someone to talk about too about my internalized feelings and emotions. That helped to a degree, but I needed to find another outlet. So I prayed constantly and wrote everything I was feeling in a journal, but I never shared it with my first.

So, today, I write this blog post not only for myself, but for those who never brought their internal feelings to the external. It is important for us not to internalize negative emotions or negative energy. We always need a healthy outlet for the preservation and progression of our mind, body, and soul. I write this because, somehow, when homophobes think about “homosexual relationships,” they refuse to take their mind off the word “sex.” Same gender-loving relationships are much more than about sex – they are above love, heartache, and confusion – just like many opposite gender-loving relationships. If you are reading this blog, just remember an important lesson that I learned the hard way – that “gays, too, fall in-and-out of love.”

Suicidal Thoughts, a Rainy Summer Night, and the Power of Frozen-Hands

“A few slits to the wrist in the right direction will make this all go away,” I thought on one humid, summer night. While it would not erase my ‘blackness’ and ‘gayness,’ it would erase the thoughts in my head that I was neither black enough nor gay enough. When I was younger, I repeatedly heard comments from white people, mainly teachers, on how surprised they were to hear such articulate words come from my mouth. What shocked them so much about the way I pronounced the same words they were using? Was it that a little black boy from the hood of Youngstown, Ohio understood the use of syllables? Were they shocked that I never uttered the word, “yo’” and other ‘hoodisms’ they saw presented through the lens of the media?

Growing up, I always wondered “am I black enough?”

Let me be fair – the same black folk they saw on television were similar to the ones that chastised me in elementary and middle school for being a little too “proper.” I was no stranger to the, “you are trying to be white” attacks, coupled with the “no one from Youngstown talks like that.” Sadly, “like that” meant “proper,” which, in turn, meant “white.” You see, where I come from, if you speak proper English, you are not black because many believed that the only black person that spoke properly, were the ones attempting to assimilate into a culture, dominated by white people.

Since I concluded that I was not black enough, when I accepted that I was gay, I immediately thought if I was gay enough.

It was completely my fault for believing that the gay community was all accepting. Let us face it; it is not. I blame myself entirely for believing that a group angry about discrimination would not blatantly isolate others in the community. But during my “questioning” days, I assumed I was going to be in this LGBT community and everyone would love me, because after all, we are gay and have that in common. Wrong.

When I first “came out,” I was nervous, overjoyed, and felt empowered. I felt fire burning deep inside me, but unfortunately, this fire began to simmer once I realized that I did not (1) have my eyebrows arched; (2) the newest Steve Maddens; or (3) a fantastic murse (man purse). The one thing Will & Grace did not teach me, you, or the rest of society (maybe besides that one episode with Taye Diggs), was that blacks, too, can be gay. The LGBT community is a lot more divided than people may think – some are rich, middle class, and many others are very poor. Just like Democrats and Republicans, we fight for our individual interests instead of, unfortunately, considering the community at-large. Do not get me wrong. I love my LGBT brothers and sisters, but we have a lot of work to do because we suffer from a deeply entrenched hierarchy of oppression.

Though we should not judge one another based on stereotypes, my life experience has taught me that some do hold true. On one hand, I did find myself isolated in the Black community for not wearing baggy clothes, the newest Jordan’s, or not being able to relate to things I simply did not like that many in my community did. On the other hand, many of my new LGBT friends always had a peculiar look when I said, “I don’t have casual sex.” Where was my strong Black community that fought against white supremacy? Where was my all-inclusive LGBT community? This internal confusion and isolation went on for years. This, in turn, led to arguments; the arguments turned into depression; depression turned into suicidal thoughts. As hard as this is for me to type, on June 16, 2006, at 2:00 a.m., I considered taking my own life. Outside of my friend’s house, crying in the rain, stood me, a bottle of vodka, Vicodin, and a knife. All I could think was, “do it right, Preston . . . don’t cut in the wrong direction.”

As you can see, I am still here. Still standing and stronger than ever before. That is because, at that moment, my hands literally froze and I could not move them for a brief moment in time. I would have to be silly not to understand that my Creator was telling me that he/she was not done with me yet.  I just wanted to know that someone cared for me. I wanted to know that I was not alone – that I could be Black and LGBT – that I did not have to pick between the two. I needed to know that I was put on this Earth for a purpose! I still have a life to live! My friend came outside, saw everything surrounded by me, picked me up, and brought me inside. We never spoke of that moment again. From that day forward, I made a re-commitment to change my life and instead of “thinking outside of the box,” I would fix the box; I would change my worldview.

I am a fan of therapy. The problem with many communities is that people advocate for “praying things away” as the sole answer. They preach that “God will find a way” when problems are not about religion or faith. Some issues are much deeper than prayer can answer; this is where I found myself on June 16, 2006. So, when I the fall semester began, in secret, I enrolled in therapy sessions. In addition to praying, I would seek professional help to tell my story about being a victim of sexual abuse, discuss my suicidal thoughts, and the feeling of isolation and abandonment. Were it not for her, I am not sure I would be here today. It is important to seek help for our problems, but first, we have to admit we are suffering from a problem. I am here to tell you that suicide is not a white problem, a rich problem, or a gay problem. It is something that anyone can experience and I urge you to seek help if you are having suicidal thoughts and know that you, too, have a life worth living!

My experiences have taught me that no group is monolithic – though we may share a common identity, we think differently, feel differently, express emotions differently, but should not be treated differently. Thank the Creator for saving my life that humid summer night. My “box” may not be fixed, but I am living and learning every day. That is a reason for me to smile!


The Transformation of Me: Queer, Black, and Finding Myself Once Again

“Just close your eyes and relax,” he said. “All men do this with their children.”  However, I soon realized these were not the typical actions of men. His distinguishing features continue to disturb my thoughts. His beady eyes still create an un-settling feeling in my stomach. The slightest sound of his baritone makes my skin tremble. This unfortunate experience occurred for nearly two years, and since I was a child, I felt powerless and without a voice. Although I did not realize the value behind this experience at the time, law school and life educated me on its importance. I made a promise to never let anyone silence my voice again, and to always advocate for those who may not feel comfortable. Sixteen years later, I finally have the courage to say, “I am a sexual abuse survivor!” This sexual assault on my human rights was a catalyst for me to declare my commitment to civil rights, constitutional law, and public service.

Hello all – my name is Preston Mitchum and it is true, I am queer and I am black; yes, the two are not mutually exclusive. I have been queer from birth; I came into the full realization at the age of 15 when I was a little more than just physically attracted to someone of the same-sex in my high school. Feelings clouded my head with joy, happiness, nervous energy, coupled with constant fears of going to Hell from what I was taught as an abomination from hypocritical preachers who were caught in other scandals. This high school crush turned into something much more. A “good morning” text at 7:00 a.m., ending with an occasional visit to surprise me at night made me smile from ear-to-ear. Could this be love? It was certainly more than simple attraction and was much more than I could handle; it was the first time, I felt my heart skip several beats the moment I saw a beautiful smile on such an angelic face. But I had to question myself and what I was feeling inside since I only heard young boys refer to women in the same manner I was thought of this young man. So I sat quiet – positive on the outside; attempting to emulate “masculinity” on the outside; but depressed on the inside.

In undergrad at Kent State University, I met several people who I connected with on a multitude of levels. Everyone seemed to essentially like me, and it was something that made me happy. Though “popularity” should have been of no concern to me, I was 18, still impressionable, and believed me admitting my sexuality would get in the way of being elected to student government or being on Homecoming court. Already being Black at an 86% White school, I didn’t want me being queer to have that same or similar negative affect. Still, with homophobia, effemiphobia, and religious fundamentalism running rampant with some members in some Black Greek organizations (you know who you are), it caused me to think – a lot about masculinity and acceptance. Who was I? Who was the person I wanted to become? Again, however, I told a few people, promised them to secrecy, and said I wanted to “come out” own my own terms.

And boy, did I come out on my own terms. During my 1L year at North Carolina Central University School of Law, I immediately felt accepted. I bonded with groups of people and it felt like my new home. Moving from Ohio to North Carolina made me realize that I could be myself and allow people to take me or leave me. I decided to come out on National Coming Out Day that year in October. I felt so refreshed that it did not seem to have a negative effect on people who wanted to get to know. Still, something was missing and I knew what it was – the lack of discussion or race, gender, and sexual orientation in the Black community. Being in law school where we rarely discussed LGBT equality, shocked me and left me isolated and disappointed. Sure, we had Outlaw Alliance, which I was an active member, but that organization still had more white members; and at a historically black law school, I was disturbed. What were the Black students so afraid of? As Tonya Davis Barber and I thought, “straight people didnt want people to think they are gay, and gay people didn’t want others to know they are gay.” This left us in a rather uncomfortable situation. Though I was happier and becoming more comfortable with myself, it was something off-putting about an entire school with only three “out” Black men. Where was our power? Did we even know we had it to begin with? Since I had recently come out, I couldn’t make a “call to action” for others to do the same; that would be pretty hypocritical. So I thought and I thought. Though I have always been a social and political activist, this was mainly around “Black issues” and not “Gay issues.”

At American University Washington College of Law, Professor Darren Hutchinson taught me about the danger of separating the two groups – “they work together . . . intersectionality is important.” Wow, I thought! This is exactly what I needed to hear. This entire time I never realized that the “black versus gay” rhetoric unintentionally isolated one group – the Black LGBT community. This is when I began reading, researching, and writing about the dynamics of the Black LGBT community. Though we are thought not to exist, we do.

Coming from a city and school where being gay was never discussed, imagine my surprise when Professor Hutchinson told me about the National Black Justice Coalition (NBJC), an civil rights organization, headquartered in Washington, DC, dedicated to the Black lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender community. Months later, the National Coalition of LGBT Health told me they were sponsoring me for the Third Annual “Out On The Hill 2012 Black LGBT Leadership Summit.” Out On The Hill was the most life-changing experience of my young life.

During the leadership summit, I met both “inexperienced” and “experienced” social and political activists, doctors, attorneys, CEOs, politicians, educators, and artists/musicians. One thing was clear – everyone came with a purpose; that purpose was to advance the civil rights and liberties of the Black lesbian, gay/queer, bisexual, and transgender communities. The joy I am now feeling in my heart cannot be matched. From the White House briefing to issue advocacy day to the town-hall discussions to the various panels to the receptions and to our own late night on the town, this is one experience I will never forget and it is all thanks to the National Black Justice Coalition. NBJC works tirelessly to combat both homophobia and racism and has been doing a wonderful job, especially under the leadership of Mrs. Sharon Lettman-Hicks. I am honored and humbled to be sponsored to attend this leadership summit. I learned that though queer and black, it is necessary for me to just . . . BE. Be me. Be fierce. Be all of me. My spirit is full of joy and I have a renewed energy.

To my family, friends, my Creator, NBJC, mentors, and supporters – I salute you. Today, I thank all of you!