Abstract
Research addressing the lives and friendships of older Black lesbians is virtually nonexistent. Using narrative analysis, we chronicle the lives of two older Black lesbians (73 and 85 years of age) through the lens of positive marginality. The concept of positive marginality asserts that living both inside and outside of the mainstream produces strengths rather than helplessness (Mayo, 1982). We use four conceptual frames of reference to explore positive marginality: critical watching and reframing of life experiences on the margins, wise conversion of obstacles into opportunities, the subversion of social institutions, and the creation of safe spaces for people on the margin. From these two women's stories, we show how each, through lives of activism and seduction, created positive environments that defied traditional categories. We discuss how race, class, gender, sexual orientation, and aging affected their lives and how their friendship was an anchor for each. We offer their stories as a point of entry to future inquiry concerning older Black lesbians.
The notion of positive marginality, introduced by Mayo in 1982, invited psychologists to recognize the strength, vibrancy, and radical possibilities that lie and grow in the margins of social arrangements. Mayo recognized that people situated at social margins do not necessarily internalize their exclusion but instead embrace difference as a strength and sometimes as a source of critique and action. The concept of marginality as positive has been echoed by a number of women of color—scholars, writers, and activists—who critiqued social arrangements but refused to view living at the margin of mainstream society as a site of low power, victimization, or even marginality. Audre Lorde (1984) and bell hooks (1984, 1992) conceptualized the margins as a space of radical possibility and resistance. Lorde identified the necessity and wisdom born of marginal watching, challenging, and reclaiming. She suggested that people on the margins of society become proficient in studying their oppressor's style and using it to their own advantage. People who are oppressed must learn to understand this pattern, break free of it, and learn to appreciate rather than vilify their differences from their oppressors.
bell hooks (1992) argued that from the margins, Black men and women develop “… an overwhelming longing to look, a rebellious desire, an oppositional gaze … a site of resistance for colonized [B]lack people globally” (p. 116). Positive marginality has been a cornerstone of the Black experience by providing psychological and political tools that are used to teach survival skills and coping styles generation after generation.
Rhoda Unger (2000) amplified the concept of positive marginality by addressing its historic role in activism, thus coining the term “radical marginality.” According to Unger, being marginal allows one to have a simultaneously objective and subjective life experience of being both inside and outside of the dominant group—that is, on the margin. Joining marginality with activism, however, is a conscious decision made by refusing to accept the labels of the dominant group and going beyond a demographic descriptor. For example, in her analysis of marginality among the Society for the Psychological Study of Social Issues activists, Unger documented the curiosity, freedom, and creativity of those at the rim of social arrangements.
Similarly, Patricia Hill Collins (1991) noted that “… the creation of an outsider-within stance [is] essential to Black women's activism” (p. 12). For Collins, being on the margin is not necessarily a negative experience. Valuing the positive aspects of one's marginality is, in itself, taking an activist stance. Clearly, positive marginality is an acquired skill of marginal group members. Positive marginality enables those in the margin to live lives of potential and possibilities and, for many, to become activists and dissolve the barriers created by the margin.
We identified four aspects of positive marginality: (a) Critical watching and reframing refers to one aspect of positive marginality identified by DuBois (1922) in his writings on double consciousness; (b) the conversion of obstacles into opportunities pertains to a transformation that requires both sensitivity to the vulnerabilities in the obstacles and a strong sense of possibility and resilience, allowing one to view obstacles simply as challenges (Ouellette & DiPlacido, 2001); (c) the subversion of social institutions requires engagement with social institutions with the aim of exploiting what is useful, resisting what is oppressive, and surviving within the institution—this is accompanied by a simultaneous commitment to establishing segregated spaces free of stereotypes and of the acid rain of negative expectations (Weis & Fine, 2001); and (d) lives of meaning evolve when people create lives in which they can grow and prosper, given the constraints with which they contend.
The intent of this project was to identify if and how the four critical aspects of positive marginality were expressed in the life narratives of two elder Black lesbian women, Portia (age 73) and Dorthea (age 85). Portia and Dorthea's lives tell a story of the United Sates that for the most part has been invisible within the White, Black, and lesbian communities. A major emphasis of the narrative analysis was to explore how each woman's experience challenged theories that assume that one's structural position determines social consciousness, everyone internalizes the same social values and beliefs to the same degree, and oppression breeds learned helplessness.
A secondary goal of the research was to understand the role Portia and Dorthea's friendship of 50 years played in their lives. Weinstock and Rothblum (1996) discuss the important role of friendships in the lives of lesbians. Because lesbians are often ostracized by their families and also by a homophobic society, they create families of their own through friendship. Portia and Dorthea shared not only two marginal statuses, lesbianism and race, but with time, they shared a third marginalized status, the elderly. Long-term friendships between older Black lesbians have not been examined previously. This article is a beginning.
METHOD
Participants
A snowball sampling technique was used to recruit Black women as participants. The participants interviewed in the present study were two older Black lesbians (age 73 and 85) drawn from a larger project, conducted by the first author, that addressed the coping styles of Black women.
The Interview Protocol
Using the framework of narrative analysis (e.g., Josselson, Lieblich, & McAdams, 2003; Weis & Fine, 2000), the interview included 24 questions exploring six aspects of the participants' lives as Black women, including: how their priorities changed across the life span; their assessment of their limitations and strengths; strategies used for self-fortification; the creation of support systems; self concept; management of oppressions as Black lesbian women; and self-care (mental, physical, and spiritual health). The participants also were asked what they would like to know about other Black women, what advice they would give to other Black women (especially younger Black women), and what they had learned from being on the margin that could be passed on to others. Demographic data also were requested (i.e., date of birth, relationship status, education, siblings, and birth order).
In addition to the individual interviews, Dorthea and Portia also participated in a joint interview to describe their friendship. Specifically, they were asked to identify how their friendship developed, how they expressed their friendship, and the ingredients that sustained their friendship over time.
Procedure
Once a participant agreed to be interviewed, the first author scheduled an appointment to interview each in her home. The joint interview on friendship took place in Dorthea's home. Prior to the interview, each participant was sent a cover letter that included a request to be prepared to tell the first author two stories: (a) select a favorite picture of yourself to show and to talk about, and (b) tell a favorite story about yourself (Ayala, 2001). The letter indicated that the interview would be between 90 minutes and 2 hours in length and that the interview would be tape-recorded. In order to minimize distractions, the participant was asked to meet with the interviewer by herself.
Before the interview began, the procedure and the participant's right to decline to answer questions were explained and the participant signed a consent form. At the conclusion of the interview, the first author asked if there were any questions and encouraged the participants to call if necessary. Participants received a thank-you gift (a CD of Black women piano players of the early twentieth century). A similar procedure was used for the joint interview on friendship.
Narrative Analysis
The two individual and one joint interview were transcribed by the first author. The authors then coded each interview independently and identified examples of four aspects of positive marginality: (a) critical watching and reframing, (b) the wise conversion of obstacles into opportunities, (c) the subversion of social institutions and creation of safe spaces, and (d) living lives of meaning. After the interviews were coded, the authors met to discuss their coding and come to consensus on the concepts represented in both interviews.
RESULTS
Portia's and Dorthea's accounts of their lives serve to illustrate that living within a space of social marginality for these two women fertilized radical reconceptions of social categories and created transgressive strategies for survival (e.g., Fine, 1996; Foster, 1997; Giroux, 2001; Scott, 1992). Each woman's story embodied resistance to the traditions, institutions, norms, and expectations of their times, as well as reflected the social history of the era. Each dared to challenge what the nation thought of them as female, Black, and lesbian. Both Portia, married and divorced with two children, and Dorthea, never married, pursued an education, worked, and created supportive and sometimes underground social environments. Portia and Dorthea described their lives as adventures of activism and seduction, respectively—ones that created space and connections with younger lesbians and younger women and men of color.
To begin, Portia and Dorthea are nurses. They met at the hospital where they both worked while taking a cigarette break. Portia, a 73-year-old single Black lesbian, grew up in New York City during the Great Depression of the 1920s. Portia was the youngest of three children, with two older brothers. Her father left the family when she was 6 weeks old; her mother worked as a domestic and a seamstress. Portia ran away from home at age 15 after a physical altercation with the younger of her brothers. She married at 16 and was divorced with two children at the age of 19. Later, she earned a master's degree in both education and psychiatric nursing. Although she officially retired at age 65, she continued to work part-time.
Portia's life was laced with activism and a commitment to making change. Since childhood, she was involved with causes that dealt with issues for Blacks and Black women. Portia defied the margins placed upon her as a girl and created an environment that fed her interests rather than confining herself to gender role behavior and racial stereotypes. She energized environments with her presence. For Portia, positive marginality was demonstrated in many other ways, including her reactivity to layers of oppression that made her an agent of change in her personal encounters and in her career.
Dorthea, an 85-year-old biracial lesbian, described herself as “colored.” Her current partner, Stacy, is a 50-year-old Black woman. Dorthea retired at age 65 from a career in nursing and currently does volunteer work. She, too, was a native New Yorker, but moved to another northeastern metropolitan area 35 years ago. Dorthea was the only child from her mother's second marriage (her mother, Black, was 41 and her father, Italian American, was 25 when she was born). Her father was a graduate of a historically Black college and worked for a railroad company managing food distribution. Her mother was a homemaker who did not complete high school but who created financial opportunities for herself throughout her life.
Dorthea described her life as being a mixture of pleasure and purpose. Her career was not central in her life but provided her with flexibility and a means to help others. Although not an activist, Dorthea's volunteer work was frequently in support of social causes. Furthermore, she had a strong commitment to her relationships with others. Dorthea described her life as one of adventure and of living life to its fullest, at times with charm and seduction, and at others with caring and compassion. Positive marginality was manifested in her setting and attaining her goals without letting race or sexual orientation compromise her. For Dorthea, playing with gender and sexuality became a chip that activated entry into a life of excitement and fulfillment.
Growing Up in America: Race, Class, Gender, and Sexuality in the Early Twentieth Century
Their journey began during The Great Depression. The Great Depression's impact on Black America—as on other Americans—was reflective of the time. Employment for Black women was disproportionately relegated to unskilled and semiskilled positions, while better opportunities—even in skilled and semiskilled jobs—were available to White women (Greenberg, 1991). Although census information during this period is unavailable (Stella Cromartie, Bureau of Labor Statistics, personal communication), oral histories tell us that jobs common to Black women in White communities include domestics, nannies, cooks, cleaning people, and laundresses. Other employment opportunities were in the garment industry (piece work and seamstresses) and in some factory work. Because the Black community provided the services for other Blacks, there were additional employment opportunities in the service industry for Black women including beauticians, secretaries, midwives, and waitresses. Professional jobs for Black women were primarily in teaching and nursing. Clearly, gender, race, and socioeconomic status restricted the types of jobs available to Black women during this era (Greenberg, 1991).
For both Portia and Dorthea, The Great Depression marked a critical passage in their childhood. Living in a racially mixed neighborhood with other poor people provided common ground for Portia during The Great Depression. Although Portia grew up Black and poor, her mother provided her children with advantages that many poor families did not have. In contrast, Dorthea was raised in an upper-middle-class predominantly White neighborhood and had the privileges that money provides. Their life stories are shaped acutely by the opportunities and struggles that these distinct class positions afforded them. To each story, each woman provided her own, distinct “music.”
Portia's working-class family valued people over money. Never neglecting the basics of food, shelter, health care, and culture, Portia's mother took pride in providing for her children. Portia learned to do without luxuries and to value responsibility and self-reliance. She framed her biography of growing up, her identity, her work, and professional stories through a discourse of politics and activism. She was the family rebel. Like many Black women, a career of nursing became her stepping-stone out of poverty.
Portia described her upbringing as follows:
I didn't know I was poor until I got older [laugh] you know… but at the time I was poor, uh, 99% of the people were poor. You know, Black, White anything, everybody was poor… Well, because it was the Depression Era and my mother used to work [in] houses—day work—and sometimes she worked two jobs in a day… It was a hard era and if my mother hadn't of worked, we wouldn't have eaten. But nobody believed it because [laugh] I was so well dressed. She was [a seamstress]… [laugh]… [I] didn't get everything that [I] wanted but you got what you needed… uh, never had bad teeth, you know… [We] never missed a meal, never had raggedy shoes. She, she took care of us… Uh, but we [were] exposed to everything [a variety of music], classical… and then [my older brother] played the piano and [my younger brother] played the uh, violin, I played the piano, I took dancing lessons you know….
The upper-class status of Dorthea's family offered her a protective barrier that Portia did not have. Dorthea's father was the family provider whose job frequently took him away from home. From him, Dorthea learned the importance of appearance (“He was a what they would call then a sharp dude. Stayed dressed all the time”) and some of her enjoyment of the good life (“… we used to go out together [when she was a young adult], go to the bars… and he taught me how to dance”). Dorthea's mother encouraged a compassion for others who were less fortunate. Dorthea's story reveals a life narrated through beauty, playing with gender, the “manipulation” of men and the seduction of women. For Dorthea, nursing was a profession open to Black women and one that would provide her with her own income.
Dorthea's account of growing up during the Depression differed starkly from Portia's:
I didn't know nothin' about The Depression. I didn't know a damn thing about it. Because he, he [my father] was ordering the food so, you know, we had everything to eat. I mean… I grew up in the upper class because…. you had to have some money to live [where I lived]… I had a very comfortable life. I didn't want for anything really, not really… I guess I've been lucky all of my life and I'll tell you the reason why. My mother was the kind of person if she saw somebody out in the street and had no place to stay, she'd bring them in, they stayed, she'd feed them and I used to wonder, I used to say “Mamma, why you doing that? You might get hurt.” And she said “Nothing will happen to me and I may not get it back but you will be taken care of all you life for what I did will come back to you.” My father took care of the [expenses], someone was there to clean the house, do whatever.
Both Dorthea and Portia's experiences of The Great Depression were influenced by their financial status, but Portia, like many low-income Black children, was unaware of her poverty. Within the Black community, subjective measures of class include community status, not income alone (Floyd, Shinew, McGuire, & Noe, 1994; Hall & Greene, 2002, 2003; Jackson, 2001; Wyche, 1996). Nevertheless, the availability of money did matter.
Because employment opportunities for Black men and women were typically in lower paying jobs, two incomes were financially necessary. Ironically, racism in the United States operates so that Black women are more likely to secure employment than Black men, even if at lower pay scales. Portia was aware that her mother had two jobs, and she found that as natural as Dorthea found her stay-at-home mother. That Dorthea was not part of the typical dual-income family especially during The Great Depression clearly illustrated her upper status (Hall & Greene, 2002, 2003).
Positive Marginality in the Life Narratives of Two Older African American Lesbians
Portia's and Dorthea's stories illustrate how rich and creative lives are sustained within and outside of the dominant group. For Portia, socioeconomic status, race, gender, and sexual orientation created her marginality but she did not allow her statuses to become barriers to her success. By reframing, taking risks, and creating a supportive environment with friends and family she carved out her own spaces. Similarly, Dorthea worked along the seams of marginality and, like Portia, found safe spaces and opportunities that allowed her to prosper.
Critical watching and reframing. The capacity to counter racial stereotypes, like racism itself, is learned. As DuBois argued in the early part of the twentieth century, there is a dual consciousness or wisdom of vision garnered through the veil that comes with racial marginality. According to DuBois, Black duality emerges from being part of two seemingly disparate groups: “Negroes” and (White) America. DuBois posited that Blacks valued their culture and race yet assessed themselves through the eyes of their oppressor. This externalization of the self via the assumptions and stereotypes of the majority culture created a distorted self-perception, painting a people of compromised abilities and aptitude. Dual consciousness parallels positive marginality: both concepts recognize both a proud Black cultural heritage and the perception of other and, thus, allows Blacks to retain a sense of pride even though they are devalued by “the other.”
Portia's dual consciousness was evident in her ability to reframe her experience in a positive way. She spoke consistently against traditional assumptions of Blacks, women, and lesbians, and commented on the “special knowledge” that comes with being Black: “[Marginality] makes you very keen… you develop antennae and that kind of thing, you know, so yeah. It's a tool for survival.” According to Portia, these antennae gave way to a clever mind, a rejection of erroneous assumptions based on prejudice, and replacement with a relentless commitment to justice. Portia's early awareness of race signals her capacity to challenge racism with confrontation:
We lived in a predominantly White neighborhood in the Bronx… and outside of my family…, I had very few African American playmates… I didn't go to kindergarten so I had to be in first grade, yeah. I must have been five or six years of age! Anyway, a little White girl said to me, “God made a nigger, he made him in the night, he made him in a hurry and forgot to paint him White.” So [chuckle] my retort was, “White girl, White girl, you can't shine, take a little nigger girl to kick your behind.” [laugh] I don't know where it came from but it was, popped right up. And so I was aware at a young age that there was a racial difference but I never felt anything about it. I didn't feel that I was inferior in any way… I'd never let anyone get over on me. You know I don't even care you know…. I don't let anybody get over.
If Portia reframed the politics of race, Dorthea reworked the politics and performance of gender and sexuality:
RH: When did you decide that you liked women?
Dorthea: I liked them all my life. I've had a free range with it and you know one thing? I was just [flirt] like anybody. You don't know how to do that? Just look at them and smile. I'd go into bars and… they'd swing by… I'd wink, and I'd get a drink comin' over to me. You can work anything you want. Oh, yes, they say when you stop lookin' you're dead. I was doing all the grand things with the fellas and out there and then we'd all say good night and then I'd go on and change my clothes and I'd go to the more gay uh things. So it was like playing two roles. I was with girls “in the life” and those “not in the life.” They used to call me the bow tie girl. I mean, oh yes, they did. [laugh] Oh, and I had plenty of girls!
For Dorthea there was no need to “come out,” and she transferred the question of shame to the ignorant observer. Dorthea responded to the interviewer's question about coming out as an absurdity:
[Do you think I] put a sign on my back? If you think I am, I didn't I didn't say I was but if you like me well, you know what I am, that's a shame. That's all I can say [laugh]. Why you gotta tell? If you don't know, shame on you.
This thinking can be heard in her discussion of racial stereotyping as well. What was most important to Dorthea was how she envisioned herself and what descriptors she decided to accept. For Dorthea, “colored” was the racial descriptor of choice and the observer is left to her/his own devices: “[laugh] I got…. relatives from the other side [White] and relatives from this side [Black]…. I really don't go for that African American thing, I'm colored. That's what I say [laugh] to myself.”
Both Portia and Dorthea reflect on questions of race, gender, and sexuality with a wisdom born of watching, witnessing, and refusing. They saw and heard gender and race prejudices but refused to internalize them. To the contrary, they challenged the very hierarchies in which these prejudices were lodged. Even in the interview situation, Portia and Dorthea resisted viewing their multiple identities as sites of oppression.
Portia saw coming out as a freeing experience: “I… felt free when I can come out, I felt free… you don't have to lie anymore, you know [laugh] don't have to hide anymore.” Portia recognized the biases faced by her triple minority status (Greene, 1994; Hall & Greene, 2002). But she still kept “going strong.” The relevance of gender, race, and sexuality is not hierarchical (Lorde, 1987). Rather, status is contingent on the situation (e.g., to be Black in a lesbian community or to be lesbian in the Black community).
In their joint interview, Dorthea and Portia were asked to share the wisdom they have acquired at the radical margins of society (being lesbian, being colored/Black, being female). Portia rejected the suggestion of her marginality: “…. I never thought of myself as being marginal but in reality being on the margin.” Portia also challenged the belief systems of others who “saw” her marginality and made assumptions. Here, Portia bristled and reframed a patient's condescension into the ignorance and racism that it suggested:
I can remember when I was really young I was working in this nursing home it was one really young woman that was patient there… I'll never forget this…. I used to enjoy working with her… I remember one day in particular… she says to me, “You're so intelligent!” And I said, “There's a whole family just like me at home. [laugh] I'm not a phenomenon you know? There are many intelligent Black people, you know.” AAAHHHH… I didn't want to work with her anymore, you know. [laugh]
Dorthea is a woman of style and strength. Her air of confidence allowed her to take in and see herself for who she is: a woman who is at home anywhere. She offered a more personal but equally compelling stance of pride, courage, and presence when she allowed, “I'm self-confident, yeah, very self-confident,” to which Portia added, “sometime foolishly self-confident, you know.”
By resisting the limits of imposed social categories, Portia and Dorthea psychologically toppled the very hierarchies that create and sustain the categories inherent in stereotypes; they crafted lives that challenged and stretched the borders imposed by the majority. They assaulted the foundational social organization of race, gender, and sexuality within which stereotypes fester. They did so by the presence they brought to a situation, their expectation of what was right, and their creation of goals that did not fit neatly into established parameters for women, Blacks, or lesbians. For Dorthea and Portia, triple minority status created strengths and skills rather than barriers and stumbling blocks. Each in her own way discovered who she was and how she could effect a meaningful life.
Converting obstacles into opportunities: Taking the outside chance. Both women were remarkably adept at telling stories about incredibly oppressive situations in which they somehow found an exit ramp. Portia realized how strong she was when she ended her abusive marriage of 3 years. By the age of 19, she had two children and was divorced. She recognized that it was up to her to make a life for herself and was confident that she could do so: “I never doubted myself, you know, and yet I've been very fortunate because things fell into place and I had enough common sense to take advantage of that when it happened.” Portia said that her mother was opposed to her divorce, because she had grown up with no father, to which Portia replied: “… If we [both] stayed, they might grow up without either parent—you know one might be crazy and/or in jail and better they have one sane parent than none.”
Portia went on to explain the challenges faced by many Black women who choose to become fighters rather than follow a path of resignation:
I knew that it was a man's world at that time and that I had to do something about it if I wanted to survive. I had to do something about it for me, so that I could survive. And I became a fighter. I'm going to take the outside chance all the time but that has stood me in good stead because I didn't graduate from high school—I ran away from home [she was 14 and her mother was unable to find her for a year].… He [her soon to be husband] was still a minor and I was a minor and they [her parents] said either you get married or you go away 'til you're 18, so we decided that it was easier to get married and that didn't last but about 2 1/2/3 years… I had two kids and a divorce by the time I was 19… : Well, I got married to keep from going away [laugh], you know, going to a home…. wherever they send delinquent girls [laugh].
Portia's fighter instinct resulted in her seeking employment and then an education. Education became another hurdle and she accepted the challenge of obtaining her degree in nursing. Again Portia reframed what could have been a crisis situation into a routine behavior. At age 28 (1958), Portia decided that she wanted to return to school and obtain her Registered Nursing certification and a master's degree. When the college called and told her of her acceptance into their program, they informed her that they could not find her high school diploma. Portia replied, “‘I don't have one,’ and silence reigned on the phone. So what I ended up doing is that I had to take the high school equivalency.”
At times, Dorthea used gender like a bargaining chip and always came out a winner: “I loved the idea that I was born a woman' cause I found that a woman can manipulate the men.” Even so, Dorthea did have several male friends and it was her friends—both female and male—that formed her supportive community. It was family and fictive kin that assisted her. Just as her mother predicted that her kindness to strangers would benefit Dorthea, Dorthea's network provided her with the support needed in returning to nursing school. Dorthea was unemployed and was tempted to quit nursing school on several occasions. However, friends and family—men and women—rallied around her and assisted with her car note, rent, and food: “They all wanted to see me make something of myself… I think if that didn't happen I don't think I would have gotten anywhere.” Thus, with the financial and emotional support of friends and family, Dorthea began and completed her LPN while in her thirties.
We can see that although limitations were placed on Black women during the first part of the twentieth century, Dorthea and Portia were able to carve out lives generated by the confidence that they could accomplish their goals. Obstacles became opportunities for success in setting goals and achieving them in a manner that suited them. They demanded that situations respond to them rather than their fitting into predetermined parameters that confined Black women in this era.
The marginality born of oppression, however, comes with a cost. For Portia, depression, smoking, and drinking were obstacles she had to overcome. Her smoking and drinking have been reduced over the years and her energy prevented her from succumbing to depression. Portia recognized the genetic link of depression but stated, “… I could be [depressed] but I don't allow myself to be… I'm not going to do it.” For Dorthea the homegrown obstacle was her temper. She learned to control it but also recognized that a certain degree of vigilance and attitude is necessary for survival. What was once anger has transformed into a comfort with confrontation.
Converting obstacles into opportunities allowed both of these women to carve out avenues for success. Dorthea and Portia did not accept the limits created by gender, race, socioeconomic status, or sexual orientation; they recognized that they could, with the support of family and friends, achieve their goals. Nor did their marginalization create feelings of helplessness. They are not perfect women and had to face their own demons, but like many of us, transcended their grip and became successful.
Subverting social institutions and creating safe spaces.
RH: I was gonna ask you something… oh, when did you stop getting into trouble?
Portia: I don't think I ever have [laugh]…
RH: Okay, so you were kind of a…
Dorthea: Yeah, I, I, was devilish all the time you see… I will always be that way, I guess.
Throughout their interviews, both Portia and Dorthea made reference to their very nontraditional use of very traditional social institutions—marriage, school, family, and the law. In the language of today, these women developed an expertise at “queering” traditional institutions, that is, using them in subversive ways to extract their own ends. As Michelle Fine and Lois Weis (1998) learned from their study of working-class women and men in Jersey City and Buffalo, there is a skill developed within oppressive social situations by those at the social margin: the skill of assessing the potential of social institutions and extracting goods from those institutions without being contaminated by the sweep of the dominant ideology—without being co-opted. Fine and Weis heard from their participants a deep desire and yearning for safe spaces in which the toxicity of the outside world remained at the door—that is, safe spaces from which stereotypes are banned and solidarity among those at the margins is encouraged.
The interviews of Portia and Dorthea echoed both of these strategies—subverting social institutions and wiggling through to create safe spaces among peers. Portia described briefly relying upon welfare until she was able to find employment. She recalled the racist and classist stereotyping of a social worker who was a catalyst for her to apply to nursing school and seek out a career as a nurse.
Portia: I didn't graduate from high school. I was bringin' up my kids and I had no resources and I… was on welfare… I finally got a job as a nurse's aide in a hospital. [chuckle] In those days the… social workers would come to [you]… and this woman sat in my own house one day and said to me, “Well, you know, you will never be anything, you know, but a houseworker” or stuff like that. And I said to her, “Well, then I'll stay on welfare forever because I'll never be a houseworker,” because I had memories of my what my mother had to do and… she said, “Well, I don't see why that would be a problem for you because my mother and I, we have a girl [laugh] and we have lunch with her.” And I said, “Yes, and how old is that girl? Is she a girl or is she a woman?” And I could see her face getting red. Anyway, she left that day and I was determined to get a job. That was the turning point for me. I mean I can remember the day I got off of welfare. I stopped. I was going to work. I put the kids in nursery school on my way to work and I stopped at a public phone, called her, and told her “Take me off [welfare].” I'm didn't want any more checks. She said, “Well, what are gonna [do]?” And I said, “None of your business.” [laugh] And that was it! I was 21-22. Yeah. And I've never looked back.
Dorthea's journey was quite different from Portia's. It entailed the accouterment of fashion. She subverted, with pleasure, the gender and sexuality mandates of her family and the church. Dorthea queered any institution or situation merely by her presence. She loved her spark and reveled in her powers of persuasion. Overtly, Dorthea remained closeted to her parents, but both were aware of her lifestyle. “Now this one [in the picture] here was taken at a party that, a dance that my father gave. That's my girlfriend there and that's me. This fella came here with me and that was her [fella].” When confronted by her father about her sexuality, Dorthea played her trump card by moving out of the house rather than modifying her lifestyle. She felt that challenging her father's decision actually made her stronger:
I was home one night and [my father] came out into the hall where I was and he said, “I don't think— whatever you want to do—I don't think you should do it any more in front of your mother. I think you should leave and get a place.” And he said it just like that. I was shocked but, like I said, I've always been lucky all my life. I think it was the next day,… I met someone at the picnic and,… and we started seeing each other. She asked me to come and live with her…. A week later, I was out of the house. I left everything there but took my clothes. My mother, she liked to died because I was leaving, you know?… Well that [relationship] didn't last long… and I was alone and all of a sudden, I grew up. I had responsibilities, and… [I] went up to the Bronx and I… got a job. I was on my own.….
Toying with conventionality, Dorthea invented stories for the Catholic confessional. “I used to say, ‘What? What am I doing that I gotta confess?’” At times her creativity led to acts of indiscretion (taking money from her mother's purse) in order to have ammunition for the requisite confession as the segue to Sunday school. Either way, confession was subverted.
Both Portia and Dorthea had uncanny abilities to subvert established institutions; but as important, they were most appreciative and supportive of safe spaces carved out in the shadows for lesbians to create lives and communities of meaning and pleasure. In the shared interview they reflected on the importance of lesbian spaces in the 1930s, 1940s, and today. Their experiences paralleled Faderman's (1991) documentation of lesbian life in the mid-twentieth century—one of covert spaces and frequent police raids. Portia began:
When we were coming up, we were in the club dancin' and when the light flashed, we changed partners and you danced with [the opposite sex]… because the police were coming. They'd [the police] come for their payoff—yeah… we don't know how we did it either! [laugh] But I did it very well, even though I did it with resentment…. I always resented not being able to be me. That's why I dropped out of church for 40 years. There were no roles for Black women in the Episcopal church or for any women much less Black women, and I resented the fact that my brothers were altar boys and I couldn't do that. I always resented that I had to live or felt that I have to live the way other people expected me to live. The '30s, '40s—those were tough times. So that's why I think that Black lesbians in particular formed groups…. it was the only place they could be comfortable. When I discovered the bar scene, “ahhhhh” [laugh] you know?
Dorthea joined in, “But you see, if you went to somebody's house and they weren't home, you knew which bar to go to” [both laugh].
Portia's and Dorthea's experiences are similar to that of noted Black lesbian elder Ruth Ellis, whose documentary, Living With Pride: Ruth C. Ellis @ 100, chronicles the roles of race, gender, and sexual orientation in her life over 100 years (Welbon, 1999). Ellis opened her home to Black lesbians and gay men in Detroit during the thirties and forties; her “Gay Spot” provided a refuge and companionship for young and old. Like Ruth Ellis, Portia and Dorthea's experience of safe, segregated spaces was common. While Portia resented having to play games, Dorthea
… didn't resent anything because I was playing the role very well.… I was foolin' everybody… I did whatever I wanted to do. [laugh] I used to go into the bars where the ladies were and follow them into the bathroom and get their addresses. Oh I could work it.
Dorthea dressed in drag, dated men in public and women in private, refused to wear a sign signifying her sexuality and defied easy coding in terms of race and sexuality. At this point, the interviewer asked, “So you didn't know if [other women] were in the life or not?” Together they laughed and said: “It didn't matter.” Dorthea expanded, “No it didn't matter because I had whatever I wanted to do. I did it.” Portia confirmed, “One of the earliest relationships I'd ever had—this woman said to me… there's no woman that can't be had under the right circumstances.” Dorthea concurred. When asked if this was a philosophy that they share with younger women, they responded affirmatively. Dorthea said: “Yes, because they [women] all have that sort of emotions and if you can excite 'em—well then, I also believe that.”
Lives of meaning created through activism and seduction. Like so many Black women, Portia chronicled a personal and professional life dotted with activist politics, in her case dedicated to the struggles for Black and gay liberation. Professionally, Portia's activism dramatically affected several organizations. For example, when Portia worked for an international service organization, she insisted that employment and training opportunities were open to anyone who wished to work for her organization regardless of age, race, and gender. Portia became the first female, first Black, and first nurse to be the Medical Officer of this organization. Not only does Portia remind us of the invisibility of Blacks in integrated settings, she recognizes the importance of segregated work. When she and her Black colleagues caucused at the American Nurse's Association regarding the needs of the Black community, they decided that the best response was to begin their own organization. These women founded the National Black Nurses Association and Portia was one of the first officers.
Even Portia's coming out story was narrated through the politics of the historic period:
I was about 18 or 19 I guess when I came out… I knew it was something that the society at large was not prepared to deal with but I always went to gay bars…. and I always went to dances and never had any feeling about it except feeling good about it, but also didn't discuss it with everybody, you know. People said I used… the fact that I was married and I had children as a cover but it was no cover, it was reality.… I had two groups of people, two crowds of people that I hung around with. There was the predominantly White crowd and the predominantly Black crowd…. There were crossovers but not much and…. Black gays—men and women—had a class thing going, you know. They were mostly professional people. I remember going to parties and them saying, “And what do you do?”… [laugh].… I didn't find that so much with White kids—I guess maybe because they were more working-class people. The White crowd, [there] was compatibility with them. If we get along, we get along…. but Black people were highly conscious about what you did. So we're talking about now the late '40s, '50s, '60s…. until the Civil Rights movement came back up…. but I felt free when I can come out, I felt free. You don't have to lie anymore, you… don't have to hide anymore.
Portia's experiences reflected the times and concurred with Faderman's (1991) perception that bars were the congregating place for many lesbians even though they were objects of police harassment. Whether it is across color, class, or sexual orientation lines, Portia continually personalized her spaces and created comfort zones that varied by class or race, depending on her need. For Portia, a life of resistance and refusal and the inability to be categorized defined who she was.
In contrast, Dorthea reveled in a life organized with similar rhythm, but one far more deliberately narrated (and lived) through sexuality and seduction. She too engaged in a broadening of circles, a life of resistance, and a refusal to play traditional gender or sexual roles. But for Dorthea, the play was sexuality, another form of political work. For example, when talking about a first date in her youth, Dorthea laughed and said: “…. when I got up to her room, she met me at the door, stark naked with a towel around her and I said, “Oh, I know what you want. [laugh]. Yes, I know what you want.” Even within heterosexual relations, Dorthea was committed to queering gender relations, being in control and “always lookin' good.” Dorthea had men doing “exactly what I wanted them to do—not what they [laugh] wanted me to do. I was always in control… Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. [laugh] Always look sharp for the men you see? I was devilish.” Dorthea created opportunities to socialize even if it meant sneaking out of her mother's home nightly. In fact, as a young adult, Dorthea was a well-respected socialite in Harlem. Her name appeared often in the New York Age and The Amsterdam, two of the Black newspapers of Harlem. Dorthea's social status brought her into contact with the “color struck” Harlem elite where skin color, like occupation, was another form of currency:
I used to go to Church where Clayton Powell went to church… I was in school with his sister and… I was going there just to meet the people and be popular… because I—in those days, you know…. in New York and down in Washington [there] was a great deal about that [skin color]. It's still prejudice among our own race… Now, if you were light or near lookin' White… you did better than the dark ones. And of course, I had a lot of problems with that because I don't think those girls liked me that much because I was light, dressed well… the women are jealous of each other, you know…
We see again how status was important and being a member of the Black bourgeoisie was a comfortable place for Dorthea. Skin color and class status gave her entry into this stratum of Black society. But Dorthea was not smug about her advantages, rather she took her status for granted. When asked if she saved the clippings, she reflected how she normalized the exotic life she led; she said, “No, didn't even think about it… You know?… things that surround you, you sort of take it for granted. I thought it was the way it was supposed to be.”
While Portia and Dorthea have dedicated their lives to very different trajectories of meaning—politics and seduction—we can hear in their narratives that both women were committed to resisting social labels about race, age, gender, or sexuality and to supporting younger women. Portia offered this advice to younger lesbian women:
Don't let anybody tell you who you should be [laugh]… uhm, and to bond with sisters… So, what I try to tell young people is, “Get your education, 'cause [that's] the only way we're going to get out of the dumps and stay.… We don't have to emulate the ex-oppressors or the current oppressors…. but we do have to beat them on their own ground…. I need to know some stories from other sisters on how they manage, because when you're doing it, you don't even realize that you're managing. [laugh] You're just doing your daily stuff and I think it's the kind of stuff that we need to pass on.
The commitment to pass on information to the next generation spilled over into sexuality. Both women felt that the art of lesbian lovemaking is learned collaboratively and is a skill that must be passed on. Dorthea discussed the importance of making love to each other to which Portia commented, “… love is love and lust is lust and if you got the two together, that's magnificent… ”
On Speaking and Loving Across Time and Across Differences
Gabbay and Wahler (2002) posit that the aging process for lesbians is more gracious due to the adaptive mechanisms acquired from their marginal status of gender and sexual orientation. However, since aging and lesbianism are not valued in our society, there are a limited number of articles that address older lesbians (Gabbay & Wahler, 2002). The existing research focuses on White middle-class lesbians and varies in the operational definition of “older.” Most articles consider 60 years of age and above as older and some researchers consider women over 40 years of age as older. Studies are not available that examine the experience of aging for Black lesbians. Portia and Dorthea are vibrant women who see age as a given, not as an obstacle. They are representative of the experiences of older Black lesbians. Their histories add to the limited literature available on race, lesbianism, and aging (Welbon, 1999).
Portia and Dorthea are also sexual women, a notion absent from the discourse on older women but synonymous with society's definition of lesbianism (Fullmer, Shenk, & Eastland, 1999). We see that Dorthea and Portia have altered the stereotypic scripts given to them by society as Black lesbians (and now as older Black lesbians) by creating safe spaces and converting obstacles into opportunities. Their familiarity with lives of marginality as Black lesbians allows for a more accepting experience of aging and sexuality that is not as likely to be experienced by aging heterosexual women (Minnigerode & Adleman, 1978).
Gabbay and Wahler (2002) also posited that having at least one important relationship makes the aging process easier. Portia and Dorthea are wonderful examples of this concept. Their 53-year friendship began as a chance meeting of two Black women taking a cigarette break at work and developed into a long and enduring relationship. Although friendships may vary in race (Hall & Rose, 1996) or in age (Stanley, 2002), having a friend who shares age, race, and sexual orientation can create a unique bond. Interestingly, both Portia and Dorthea identified their differences as a source of pleasure, interest, intrigue, and growth—a critical element of their relationship. This may, indeed, be another feature of positive marginality—the capacity to see difference as opportunity rather than boundary. They valued each other's honesty and supported the expression of differences of opinion. What was valued in their friendship was the sense of being heard even when they had differences of opinion. They recognized that their relationship changed over the years from one of partying and clubs to spending other kinds of time together, including the theater, movies, and visiting friends and family. They remained in contact through visits and phone calls and kept abreast of each other's lives. With humor and commitment, they tell us how they value their relationship:
Portia: Keep a friend, keep a friend, you can always have a girlfriend, but keep a friend.
Dorthea: You don't have to be a lover, have a friend. If you've got one good friend, you've got it made.
Portia: You've got the world.
CONCLUSION
In the present study, the concept of positive marginality was found to be an effective tool for viewing the personal life narratives of an understudied segment of the population—older Black lesbians. We have much to learn from the life experiences of Portia and Dorthea. Positive marginality is not an opportunity open to everyone who lives on the margins. The degree to which Portia and Dorthea created an affirming life on the margins was contingent on many factors. For example, internalized oppression (Lipsky, 1991) did not paralyze their growth as women. Instead, Portia and Dorthea fashioned a belief in their abilities as Black women. Unharnessed anger singed by experiences with racism propelled rather than blocked their forward momentum. Both created support systems and possibilities for change rather than a resignation to remain in a space built on familiarity but not on comfort or possibility.
Our investigation of positive marginality allowed us to see how Black women create spaces of energy and creativity. Contemporary research on marginal groups disproportionately examines failures rather than successes; defeat rather than possibility. By looking at the lives of two ordinary but extraordinary women, we have the privilege of sharing their lives, of catching snapshots of how they emerged as full-bodied women who take life on—for good and bad—and make a mark for themselves. Their individual and friendship narratives allowed us to hear and analyze the moves of positive marginality, without refusing to hear the pain, the struggle, and the costs of surviving in a country premised on racism, sexism, and homophobia.
Positive marginality was clearly expressed and lived in the lives of these two remarkable women. Although their experiences differed in many ways, both women made opportunities, created safe spaces, and have lived long satisfying lives. As representatives of the “very old” in our society, Dorthea and Portia are making the most of their lives, valuing their successes, experiencing their failures, and creating a bond that continues to grow with time.
Dorthea: So, I have to say, no, I have no longings. No, because everything that was out there to do…. I was a devil, you understand that? So I hope we satisfied you. Drinkin', eatin', and talkin' trash—that's what people do.
Portia: So at night now when I don't sleep, I make a loop. I have a mental loop of all the places that I've been in the world, all the things I've done in the world, all the people I've known in this world… My now ex-lover said to me when we were breaking up, “You're going to be a lonely old lady.” And I said, “I doubt that.”…. I think loneliness is like everything else, it's a state of mind… which you can feed or not feed.
Portia and Dorthea and their friendship have lasted through most of the twentieth century and continue into the twenty-first:
RH: What else keeps your friendship together?
Portia: I don't know, I just love the old bitch that's all.