AYEDNICOLE

Introductory Scope & Disclaimer: Read This Before Anything Else

Before anybody clips a paragraph, takes one sentence out of context, or assigns this article a political or theological position that I did not write, understand its scope.

Before I am AyeDNicole.

Before the degrees.

Before the businesses.

Before the music.

Before the fitness brand.

Before 4HIO.

Before corporate America.

Before whatever success I have already achieved and whatever success God may still have assigned to my life—

I am a heterosexual woman, and I am a Baptist Christian woman.

Those are parts of my identity that I do not need to abandon, dilute, apologize for, or hide in order to love people whose lives may look different from mine.

Defending my gay friends does not make me gay.

Having LGBTQ+ people in my life does not make me confused about my sexuality.

Respecting another person’s humanity does not require me to abandon my faith.

And being Baptist does not require me to treat another human being like they have no dignity.

I can be secure enough in who Adrienne is to say all of those things at the same damn time.

This article is written from that standpoint.

Its purpose is to explain how I can maintain my heterosexual identity and Baptist Christian convictions while simultaneously defending gay and LGBTQ+ people I know from the dangerous assumption that homosexuality itself is synonymous with predation, grooming, child sexual abuse, or inappropriate interest in children.

It is not.

My success does not come before my humanity.

My résumé does not come before my identity.

And before I ever put my hand on a Bible in connection with law, I want my words to demonstrate something I believe matters:

You can have conviction without cruelty. You can have boundaries without hatred. You can protect children without stereotyping adults. And you can disagree with somebody’s life while still recognizing their humanity.

That is the foundation of everything that follows.

Why I Am Specifically Defending Black LGBTQ+ Humanity

A significant portion of this article centers Black LGBTQ+ people.

That is deliberate.

And no, that is not an offense, dismissal, or slight toward white, Hispanic, Asian, Indigenous, multiracial, or any other LGBTQ+ community.

Their humanity matters too.

But I am a Black woman writing largely about people, institutions, friendships, churches, HBCU spaces, Greek-letter culture, professional environments, entertainment circles, and Southern communities that have shaped my own lived experience.

So naturally, Black LGBTQ+ people are going to appear heavily in my reflection.

I have watched Black LGBTQ+ people exist at intersections where race, sexuality, religion, family expectations, masculinity, femininity, church culture, and professional respectability can collide at once.

Sometimes they can catch hell from multiple directions.

Too gay for somebody’s church crowd.

Too Black for somebody else’s comfort.

Too feminine.

Too masculine.

Too expressive.

Too quiet.

Too loud.

Too different.

And then when one LGBTQ+ person is accused of doing something disturbing, suddenly somebody wants every other gay person standing nearby to answer for it.

Hell no.

That’s exactly the thinking I’m challenging.

Centering Black People Does Not Mean Devaluing Everybody Else

There is a difference between centering a community in a particular conversation and declaring everybody outside that community less important.

I’m doing the first.

I’m not doing the second.

Other LGBTQ+ racial and cultural communities have stories deserving their own space.

This one comes through my lens.

And my lens includes Black people.

Black churches.

Black families.

Black men.

Black women.

HBCUs.

Divine Nine culture.

Hip-hop.

Military families I’ve known.

Corporate environments I’ve navigated.

And Black LGBTQ+ people who have actually been part of my life.

I don’t need to erase that specificity to prove everybody deserves dignity.

Specificity is not exclusion.

Sometimes loving humanity means being willing to talk specifically about the human beings standing right in front of you.

It Is No Secret: I Love My Gay Friends

It is no secret that I love my gay friends.

And yes, baby, they show up for me.

I’ve experienced women withholding compliments, withholding support, moving funny, competing unnecessarily, or acting like giving another woman her flowers somehow removes petals from their own bouquet.

Some of my gay male friends?

Baby.

They’ll tell you when your hair looks good.

They’ll tell you when the outfit is eating.

They’ll tell you when something needs to come off.

They’ll hype you up.

They’ll laugh with you.

They’ll check on you.

And some have shown up for me with a type of friendship that taught me something important:

Support does not have to become competition.

That’s what I love.

And that’s why it pisses me off when somebody takes an entire community and reduces those human beings to the most disturbing allegation they can associate with somebody who happens to be gay.

Especially when Black LGBTQ+ people already have enough stereotypes attached to them by people who have never taken the time to actually know them.

Those aren’t the gay people I know.

Nicole Bowden Showed Me Something Before She Probably Knew I Was Watching

One woman I took heed from early was Nicole Bowden.

Nicole may not even realize that.

I remember being a freshman and paying attention.

Not obsessing.

Not trying to become her.

Observing.

There is a difference.

From what I personally saw, Nicole appeared comfortable having LGBTQ+ friends around her, including people who supported her and showed up like genuine friends.

I remember Shad — S-H-A-D.

And then there is my other bookie in Atlanta whose name has completely escaped me while I’m writing this.

Oh my gosh.

Oh my gosh.

Oh my gosh.

I know that man’s FACE.

I can see the face right now.

And cannot give y’all the damn name.

So, bookie, if you ever read this:

Charge it to my memory and not my heart.

Because I remember you.

The name just said, Girl, you’re on your own today.

What I Saw Was a Different Kind of Brotherhood

What stood out to me was how some gay men around women I admired seemed capable of showing up almost like brothers while also understanding things about femininity, presentation, fashion, emotion, beauty, branding, or womanhood that created another layer of connection.

And I’m going to admit something.

That’s a little awkward for me to articulate.

Not because something is wrong with them.

Because I’m a very straight woman writing my first article specifically defending my gay friends, and I’m trying to find language that respects people without accidentally sounding ignorant.

So yes.

I’m a little choked up writing parts of this.

When I say somebody can feel like a brother who also understands parts of a woman’s experience, I am not saying gay men are women.

I’m describing an emotional familiarity I have personally experienced within some gay male friendships.

That’s the best way Adrienne knows how to explain it right now.

And if my language gets better over time?

Good.

That’s called learning.

Nicole Could Still Be Nicole

What I positively took from watching Nicole Bowden was that, from my perspective, she didn’t appear to believe having LGBTQ+ friends required her to stop being herself.

She could still be beautiful.

Still confident.

Still feminine.

Still a bad bitch.

Still be around the girls.

Still be a woman of God.

Still maintain her own boundaries.

And still appear capable of loving people without making judgment the centerpiece of every interaction.

That mattered to freshman Adrienne.

Sometimes influence isn’t somebody sitting you down saying:

“Little sis, here’s what you need to do.”

Sometimes influence is simply:

I watched how you moved.

And something healthy registered.

That’s why I consider Nicole a real big-sister figure.

She doesn’t have to be in my face every day.

Hell, my real sister isn’t in my face all day.

Neither one of them.

Baby, go home.

I love you.

I’ll call you.

We got shit to do.

That’s family.

And yes, my name is Adrienne Dallas Nicole Floyd.

Yes, Nicole is part of my name.

Cute coincidence.

But that ain’t why.

I simply recognize somebody I viewed as a big sister and from whom I believe I observed something valuable:

A heterosexual woman does not have to become insecure about her identity simply because LGBTQ+ people are part of her circle.

“She Always Around Gay Niggas”

And I already know another statement somebody can make:

“She always around gay niggas.”

Okay.

And?

Merely being around gay men establishes absolutely nothing about me.

I know who I hang around.

I know the friendships I’ve developed.

I know how long I’ve known certain people.

And I’ve had years to exercise discernment around people I keep close.

Are gay men somehow exempt from being messy?

Hell no.

Gay men are human beings.

Gay people can lie.

Straight people can lie.

Gay people can cross boundaries.

Straight people can cross boundaries.

That’s why I watch character, not merely sexuality.

My Gay Friends Were Around My Boyfriend—and Nothing Happened

Some of these friends were around my ex-boyfriend Ronald Wiggins.

And you know what happened from everything I personally witnessed?

Nothing.

They were around him.

He was around them.

I did not personally witness my gay friends trying to pursue him, proposition him, or interfere with my relationship.

That’s what I can responsibly speak to:

What I witnessed.

What was communicated to me.

What I did not witness.

Could somebody privately have thought my boyfriend was attractive?

Maybe.

Maybe nobody did.

I don’t know.

A thought becomes relevant to my relationship when somebody turns it into conduct that violates a boundary.

Did you proposition him?

Did you secretly contact him?

Did you deliberately interfere?

Did you disrespect the relationship?

Did you lie?

Did you manipulate?

Those are behaviors I can evaluate.

Prayer, Discernment, and Evidence

I believe strongly in spiritual discernment.

I believe prayer has protected me.

I believe God has brought things to my attention when I needed greater awareness.

But because I am talking about eventually entering law, I need to distinguish spirituality from factual proof:

My spiritual discernment guides Adrienne’s decisions. It does not automatically become factual evidence against another human being.

I can pray and feel:

Something isn’t right.

That can tell me to slow down.

Pay attention.

Ask questions.

Establish distance.

Protect my relationship.

Protect my future children.

Protect my household.

But if I’m publicly accusing somebody of actually doing something?

Then I need facts.

Prayer gives me grounding.

Boundaries give me structure.

Observation gives me information.

Evidence gives me something concrete.

And discernment tells me when I may need to pay closer attention.

That’s my spiritual ecosystem.

Assuming somebody is dangerous merely because they’re gay?

That’s paranoia wearing church clothes.

My Boundaries With Gay Women Are Tighter—and There Is a Reason

My boundaries within some friendships with gay women are admittedly tighter.

That comes from my experiences, not from a declaration that gay women as a group behave one particular way.

I have personally experienced situations with women I understood to be gay where I felt somebody became too free, too comfortable, or too loose with my boundaries.

And respectfully:

I will be the bitch-ass friend who says no.

No means no regardless of whether the person hearing it is a heterosexual man, heterosexual woman, gay man, gay woman, bisexual person, friend, or stranger.

My heterosexuality doesn’t disappear because another woman is involved.

My boundaries don’t become negotiable because we’re both women.

Women Can Cross Women’s Boundaries Too

Some of my experiences have made me uncomfortable with situations where alcohol and blurred boundaries became involved.

I have experienced or observed dynamics that made me feel somebody was becoming overly familiar once alcohol lowered boundaries.

That’s something I take seriously.

Remove sexuality for a second:

Nobody should be trying to get another person drunk for sexual access.

Male or female.

Gay or straight.

Friend or stranger.

Being intoxicated is not permission.

Friendship is not permission.

Being another woman is not permission.

And being LGBTQ+ certainly isn’t permission.

Conduct Creates the Boundary—Not the Label

Women can hurt women.

Men can hurt men.

Women can manipulate women.

Men can manipulate women.

Gay people can behave badly.

Straight people can behave badly.

That’s humanity.

So if attraction, resentment, jealousy, or personal conflict begins interfering with my boundaries, I reserve the right to create distance.

What I won’t do is automatically assume somebody is dangerous simply because they’re gay.

Conduct creates the boundary—not the label.

Ronald Wiggins and Why I Hate Sexuality Being Weaponized

Around the time of my breakup with Ronald Wiggins, I became aware of a rumor or insinuation concerning whether Ronald was gay.

Let me make something extremely clear:

I am identifying that as a rumor—not establishing Ronald Wiggins’s sexual orientation.

His sexuality is his to define.

I am also not going to state that Alexis Etheridge originated that rumor when I do not possess evidence establishing its source.

I had concerns based upon patterns I personally believed I observed within overlapping social circles.

That history affected how I interpreted what was happening.

But interpretation is not proof.

I don’t know who originated the rumor.

If somebody is gay, bisexual, questioning, straight, or still figuring themselves out:

Their private sexuality is not ammunition for your argument.

If somebody wants to come out, let them determine when and how.

If somebody is heterosexual, stop using “gay” as an insult because you want to embarrass them.

If you don’t actually know?

Stop motherfucking guessing publicly.

No, I Am Not a Gay Woman

No, I am not a gay woman.

For my own future family, I personally would not hope for my children to be gay.

When it comes to the man I choose as my romantic partner, I want a heterosexual man whose sexuality, faith, relationship expectations, and vision for family are compatible with mine.

Those are my personal convictions, hopes, and relationship boundaries.

But having those convictions doesn’t require me to mistreat somebody living differently.

My LGBTQ+ friends are my friends.

I can love them.

Hug them.

Work beside them.

Defend them.

Celebrate them.

And acknowledge everything positive they have contributed to my life.

Acceptance of somebody’s humanity is not adoption of somebody’s identity.

If one day a future child told me something about their sexuality that differed from what I personally hoped for them, that child would still be my child.

That’s still my baby.

A parent’s personal hopes and a parent’s responsibility to love their child are two different questions.

Victor Chrispin Represents Victor Chrispin

This is precisely why I bring up Victor Chrispin.

When a child speaks out and reports experiencing sexual abuse, molestation, predatory behavior, sexual flirting, inappropriate innuendos, grooming behavior, or another sexual boundary violation from an adult, listen to that child and take the report seriously.

Investigate it.

Preserve the evidence.

Protect the child.

Let appropriate professionals and the legal system determine what the evidence establishes.

And don’t minimize a child’s disclosure simply because the accused adult is somebody’s friend, church member, mentor, community leader, professional connection, or somebody with social power.

But there is another reason this conversation matters.

When allegations of this nature involve an adult who is also LGBTQ+, people who already hold prejudices against gay people can take one individual’s alleged conduct and weaponize it against an entire community.

And that shit is unfair to LGBTQ+ adults who aren’t on that shit.

It is especially important to me to say that about Black LGBTQ+ adults because those are many of the people I personally know and because I have watched sexuality, Blackness, Christianity, masculinity, femininity, and respectability get thrown into the same judgmental pot.

The gay friend doing somebody’s hair isn’t responsible for another person’s alleged conduct.

The gay military officer isn’t responsible.

The gay fashion professional isn’t responsible.

The gay friend sitting in my group chat isn’t responsible.

The gay man who can be around my boyfriend without crossing a boundary isn’t responsible.

The gay woman who respects another woman’s no isn’t responsible.

Nobody becomes responsible for another adult’s alleged conduct merely because they share a sexual orientation, race, gender, church, profession, or community label.

When a Child Speaks, Sexual Orientation Is Not the Question

If a child reports:

This adult touched me.

This adult sent me something sexual.

This adult flirted with me.

This adult made sexual comments.

This adult told me to keep something secret.

This adult made me uncomfortable.

The first question should not be:

“Is the adult gay?”

The questions should be:

What happened?

Is the child safe?

What evidence exists?

Were communications preserved?

Were appropriate authorities notified?

Did an adult cross a boundary with a minor?

That’s safeguarding.

Gay or straight has nothing to do with that basic standard.

One Person’s Alleged Conduct Cannot Become Everybody’s Identity

Public reporting concerning Victor Chrispin has described serious allegations involving a 13-year-old student. Chrispin has denied sexual abuse.

So I will continue using the legally responsible words:

Alleged. Accused. Reported.

I am not the judge.

I am not the jury.

And this article is not a verdict.

But allegations this serious illustrate why we need to hold two thoughts at once:

Take a child’s report seriously.

And:

Do not stereotype an entire LGBTQ+ community because of allegations against one person.

Those ideas do not conflict.

Separating them protects everybody.

It protects children because adults cannot hide alleged misconduct behind identity, status, church, friendship, or community loyalty.

And it protects innocent LGBTQ+ adults because nobody gets to make them answer for shit they didn’t do.

Protect the child. Investigate the conduct. Follow the evidence. Hold the responsible individual accountable if the evidence establishes wrongdoing. And leave innocent people the fuck out of it.

That’s discernment without damnation.

The Black LGBTQ+ People I Know Deserve Individuality Too

This is the part I especially want my Black community to hear.

If we know what it feels like to be stereotyped by somebody else’s conduct, then we should understand why individuality matters.

A Black gay man is not automatically responsible for another Black gay man’s behavior.

A Black lesbian is not automatically responsible for another lesbian’s behavior.

A Black LGBTQ+ Christian doesn’t have to explain every LGBTQ+ person on earth before somebody allows them to sit comfortably in church.

And a Black LGBTQ+ professional should not have to walk into every room carrying the burden of proving they are not somebody else’s stereotype.

That’s exhausting.

Let people answer for themselves.

The Black LGBTQ+ people I know have careers.

Families.

Faith.

Military service.

Businesses.

Creative gifts.

Friendships.

Heartbreak.

Goals.

Boundaries.

Good days.

Bad days.

And regular-ass bills like everybody else.

They are whole human beings before they are somebody else’s debate.

DJ, I Have Always Seen You

And while I’m talking about Black LGBTQ+ people deserving the freedom to be individuals, I need to stop and speak directly to one of my own line sisters.

DJ, I love you. And I have always seen you.

I remember meeting your mom.

I remember looking at her and seeing what I interpreted as something incredibly simple in a mother’s eyes: wanting her child to have a friend. Wanting her child to have a real soror. Wanting the women who were supposed to share sisterhood with her daughter to actually demonstrate what that word was supposed to mean.

I can’t tell another mother exactly what she was thinking, so I won’t pretend that I can.

But that’s what that moment communicated to me, and I never forgot it.

DJ, when the time is right for you, tell your own story.

Not when somebody pressures you.

Not because Adrienne wrote about you.

Not because somebody wants gossip.

Not because somebody wants to dissect your sexuality, your AKA experience, or your relationships.

When you are ready.

Because your story belongs to you.

And there are things from our experience as line sisters that I remember very differently from whatever polished version somebody else may choose to carry.

I remember moments when I felt certain line sisters ridiculed you.

I remember things being said and the energy in that group chat.

I remember watching certain women whom I perceived as popular or connected through legacy status treat you in ways that I considered unnecessarily mean.

And I didn’t like that shit then.

I still don’t like it now.

I’m not going to assign motives I cannot prove.

I’m not going to announce that I know what was inside another woman’s heart.

But I can speak to what I remember seeing, how I interpreted it, and what I believe sisterhood should have looked like instead.

Could any of us have stopped you from taking whatever personal journey God had assigned to your life?

No.

And that isn’t the point.

We could have shown better love.

Well—

Let me correct that.

They could have shown better love.

Because DJ, when we were in McGuinn and Diamond, you were my motherfucking dawg.

Period.

Before anybody needed an explanation.

Before anybody needed a label.

Before anybody thought popularity determined whose feelings mattered.

Before adulthood gave all of us enough distance to look backward and recognize where young women could have handled each other better.

You were my dawg.

And I remember.

Sisterhood Should Not Require Somebody to Perform for Belonging

A line sister should not have to become the most popular woman in the room to deserve kindness.

She shouldn’t need the right family name.

She shouldn’t need legacy status.

She shouldn’t need everybody’s approval.

And she damn sure shouldn’t have to explain every part of her identity before somebody decides she’s worthy of basic sisterhood.

There were dynamics within that group chat that I experienced as cliquish, dismissive, and at times cruel.

I remember feeling that certain women had social capital that allowed them to say or do things to other women that would have been treated very differently had the roles been reversed.

That’s my recollection.

And years later, I don’t need to rewrite history just because everybody grew up.

Growth means being able to look backward and say:

We could have loved each other better.

That’s not destroying the sorority.

That’s demanding that the word sisterhood actually mean something.

DJ, Your Story Is Yours

DJ, whatever parts of your life you eventually decide to discuss publicly are yours.

Your sexuality is yours.

Your faith is yours.

Your relationship with your family is yours.

Your experience with our line is yours.

Your experience as a Black woman is yours.

Your experience as my soror is yours.

And whatever intersections exist among those identities belong to you before they belong to anybody’s group chat, rumor mill, church conversation, article, or interpretation.

Sometimes defending somebody doesn’t mean speaking for them.

Sometimes it means looking at them and saying:

I see you.

I remember.

I love you.

And when you’re ready, you can tell your own damn story.

Until then, I’m not going to let my personal memory of you be rewritten into whatever was easiest for the popular girls to digest.

Because before all the adult titles, degrees, careers, brands, and everything else life eventually gave us—

DJ was my motherfucking dawg in McGuinn and Diamond.

And some shit you just don’t forget.

The LGBTQ+ People Who Have Actually Been Good to Me

That is why the people I’ve actually known matter more to my understanding than stereotypes.

Hollywood the Doll. Doney. Daysha Excel, also known as Bella Dond. Yoshi Lorenz. Karl Jones. China Neal. Shawn Lofton. Trey Trey. Larsh ♥️. Meechie. Leslie Jackson. Tag of Touch by Tag. DJ. My best friend. My cousin. Victoria Woods.

These human beings matter to my perspective.

In my personal interactions with the people I’m positively referencing here, I have not personally witnessed them behave sexually toward children, advocate sexual conduct involving children, or transform LGBTQ+ social acceptance into an argument for sexual access to children.

That’s what I can truthfully say based upon my experiences.

I’m not claiming omniscience.

I’m telling you what Adrienne has personally experienced.

LGBTQ+ social acceptance is one conversation.

Adult sexual relationships are another.

Child safeguarding is another conversation entirely.

Stop throwing them into one motherfucking pot.

Why I Call It the “Cult Christian Klan”

I sometimes use a deliberately provocative rhetorical phrase:

The Cult Christian Klan.

Let me define that shit.

I am not alleging anybody mentioned here belongs to the Ku Klux Klan or an actual cult.

I’m describing what I perceive as a mentality:

Protect ours. Question theirs. Forgive ours. Expose theirs. Explain away ours. Call theirs sinful.

That’s what I’m challenging.

Some people spend so much time establishing boundaries around somebody else’s life that they haven’t established boundaries with their own anger, sexuality, relationships, vengeance, money, ego, or power.

Why I Specifically Say I Am Baptist

I identify myself as Baptist intentionally.

My Baptist upbringing informs how I understand prayer, Scripture, repentance, accountability, forgiveness, and my relationship with God.

And because much of my experience exists within Black communities, I am particularly interested in what happens where Black Christianity, Black family life, HBCUs, Divine Nine organizations, professional spaces, and LGBTQ+ identity intersect.

We cannot demand extraordinary discipline from everybody outside our circle while offering unlimited grace to everybody inside it.

Repentance Isn’t Performance

Repentance, as I understand it, isn’t:

“I’m sorry, Lord.”

Then knowingly repeat the same shit.

Go to church.

Raise your hands.

Serve.

Take pictures.

Post Scripture.

Repeat it.

At some point repentance should involve genuine effort toward transformation.

Showing up at the pulpit isn’t the same thing as changing.

LGBTQ+ Christians Have Their Own Walk With God

There are LGBTQ+ Christians.

There are LGBTQ+ people serving churches.

There are LGBTQ+ people wrestling with doctrine.

Christian traditions themselves disagree about same-sex relationships and how Scripture should be interpreted concerning them.

My Baptist convictions belong to me.

Someone else’s testimony isn’t my property.

Someone else’s relationship with God isn’t my full-time investigative assignment.

I don’t know how somebody will blossom spiritually.

Neither do you.

If We’re Discussing Sexual Sin, Discuss Everybody’s Sexual Sin

If a heterosexual person has sex before marriage, traditional Christian sexual ethics address that too.

If somebody commits adultery, Christianity addresses that.

If somebody lusts, lies, cheats, manipulates, retaliates, or abuses another person, Christianity has something to say.

Don’t construct an entire theology around gay people while heterosexual people get a motherfucking hall pass.

If we’re discussing sexual morality:

Everybody comes into the conversation.

Friendship Does Not Automatically Mean Sexual Attraction

Straight boys and straight girls can be around each other without every interaction producing sexual thoughts.

Gay people can be around straight people without wanting them.

Men can have male friends.

Women can have female friends.

People can laugh, travel, work, pray, create, and genuinely enjoy somebody else’s company without every relationship becoming sexual.

For me, prayer, upbringing, self-discipline, personal values, and strong boundaries have helped establish how I understand relationships.

We are prayed up, but we’re also boundaried up.

Protect Children by Watching Conduct, Not Hunting for “Gay Traits”

If parents genuinely want to protect children, watch behavior.

Does somebody respect the child’s physical boundaries?

Does an adult insist upon secrecy?

Does somebody attempt to isolate the child?

Does somebody introduce age-inappropriate sexual material?

Does somebody pressure the child to hide communications?

Does somebody disregard parental boundaries?

Does somebody make the child uncomfortable?

Those questions concern safeguarding.

They apply whether somebody is gay, straight, Christian, atheist, military, civilian, family, or friend.

Safeguarding follows behavior—not stereotypes.

Before I Put My Hand on a Bible for Law

Before I ever put my hand on a Bible in connection with law, let’s be real.

I cannot say I care about justice and intentionally confuse identity with evidence.

I cannot demand evidence when somebody accuses me and abandon that standard when the accusation concerns somebody I dislike.

Conduct is conduct.

Evidence is evidence.

Identity is identity.

And those motherfuckers are not interchangeable.

If a heterosexual Christian is accused, investigate conduct.

If a gay person is accused, investigate conduct.

If a military officer is accused, investigate conduct.

If a pastor is accused, investigate conduct.

If somebody wearing Greek letters is accused, investigate conduct.

And if evidence doesn’t establish what somebody claims?

Have enough integrity to say that too.

Matthew 7:3 — Check Your Plank

Scripture asks why somebody focuses on the speck in another person’s eye while ignoring the plank in their own.

That’s the Scripture underneath this article for me.

Before you investigate the gay person:

Check your plank.

Before you investigate the unmarried woman:

Check your plank.

Before you investigate somebody’s rap music:

Check your plank.

Before you investigate somebody’s family:

Check your plank.

Before you investigate somebody else’s sin:

Check your motherfucking plank.

Diversity Does Not Require Sameness

Diversity does not mean everybody becomes the same.

Diversity means recognizing differences without automatically converting those differences into threats.

I can be a heterosexual Black Baptist woman and love a Black gay friend.

A gay friend can respect my Christianity without becoming Baptist.

A military officer can be LGBTQ+.

A fashion professional can be LGBTQ+.

A heterosexual man can have gay friends.

Children can be taught boundaries without being taught hatred.

Parents can protect their households without humiliating somebody else’s child.

Christians can maintain convictions without pretending cruelty is evangelism.

Black LGBTQ+ adults can demand dignity without being made responsible for every LGBTQ+ person’s conduct.

And LGBTQ+ people of every other racial and cultural background deserve that same basic individuality and humanity.

Centering Black LGBTQ+ people in this particular article does not require diminishing anybody else.

It means I’m speaking directly from the community, relationships, institutions, and cultural experiences I actually know.

Different does not automatically mean dangerous.

Familiar does not automatically mean safe.

Character, conduct, evidence, boundaries, faith, discernment, and compassion have to work together.

I don’t need everybody around me to become Adrienne Floyd.

I need people around me to understand something much simpler:

Respect my humanity, and I will respect yours. Protect children. Respect boundaries. Tell the truth. Let adults answer for their own conduct. And give people enough room to be different without turning difference into a damn indictment.

That’s the diversity I can stand beside.

That’s the diversity I can pray over.

And that’s the diversity I can carry with me before I ever put my hand on a Bible for law.

Legal & Editorial Notice

This article contains personal commentary, religious reflection, recollections, opinions, rhetorical language, and discussion of matters of public concern. It is written from the perspective of a heterosexual Black Baptist Christian woman and does not purport to speak on behalf of Baptist churches, Christianity generally, Black communities, LGBTQ+ communities, legal institutions, military institutions, Greek-letter organizations, employers, or any other organization or community referenced.

The article intentionally gives particular attention to Black LGBTQ+ people because of the author’s personal, cultural, and community experiences. That focus is not intended to diminish, exclude, or make comparative claims concerning LGBTQ+ people of other racial or ethnic backgrounds.

The article’s discussion of LGBTQ+ people is principally intended to distinguish adult gay/LGBTQ+ identity and social acceptance from allegations involving sexual misconduct toward children. Nothing herein asserts or implies that homosexuality or LGBTQ+ identity causes, predicts, or constitutes evidence of pedophilia, grooming, child sexual abuse, or other criminal conduct.

References to criminal allegations involving Victor Chrispin Jr. concern publicly reported allegations and proceedings. Chrispin has denied sexual abuse. Nothing in this article constitutes a finding of guilt. Criminal guilt or innocence is determined through the judicial process. General examples describing what a child might report are safeguarding examples and should not be read as additional factual allegations concerning Chrispin beyond matters established in reliable reporting or official records.

Statements concerning other named individuals reflect the author’s personal experiences, recollections, interpretations, questions, or opinions unless independently documented otherwise. Positive references should not be interpreted as comprehensive character certifications concerning another person’s private life.

The discussion of DJ and the author’s line-sister experience reflects the author’s personal recollection and interpretation of interpersonal and group dynamics. Descriptions of other women’s conduct, popularity, legacy status, or group-chat behavior should not be interpreted as assertions concerning their private motives, intentions, or beliefs. DJ’s identity, experiences, and any decision to discuss her own life publicly remain hers to define.

References to rumors concerning Ronald Wiggins do not state or imply that those rumors are true or purport to define his sexual orientation on his behalf.

The phrases “Cult Christian Klan” and “Mafia” are rhetorical metaphors criticizing perceived hypocrisy, selective accountability, closed-circle protection, and exclusionary religious or social behavior. They do not allege membership in the Ku Klux Klan, an actual cult, a mafia organization, organized crime, or any criminal enterprise.

The author’s religious conclusions represent her personal interpretation of Baptist Christianity. Christian denominations and individual believers hold differing theological views concerning sexuality, sin, repentance, marriage, and LGBTQ+ relationships.

Nothing in the parenting discussion suggests sexual orientation can reliably be identified through appearance, mannerisms, hobbies, personality, masculinity, femininity, or stereotypes. Child safeguarding should focus upon conduct, age-appropriate boundaries, supervision, communication, consent, and evidence.

Discussion of uncomfortable experiences involving alcohol, attraction, consent, or boundaries reflects the author’s individual experiences and does not assert that gay women, gay men, Black LGBTQ+ people, or LGBTQ+ people generally are more likely to engage in manipulation, intoxication, sexual misconduct, or boundary violations.

This article is commentary, personal documentation, and religious reflection.

It is not a judicial finding, criminal accusation, professional character certification, or substitute for an official court record.