We spend a lot of time talking about race. We should.

 

We talk about discrimination, representation, healthcare, politics, safety, and the unique experiences of being Black in America. Those conversations matter because race shapes our lives in countless visible and invisible ways.

 

But there's another conversation that slips quietly through the cracks.

 

Class.

 

For some reason, talking about money, education, occupation, and social status often feels more uncomfortable than talking about racism itself.

 

I've noticed it for years.

 

Walk into almost any gathering of Black gay men and, within minutes, people begin trying to figure one another out.

 

"What do you do?"

"Where do you live?"

"What school did you go to?"

"What kind of car do you drive?"

 

None of these questions are inherently bad. They're normal enough. But sometimes they're less about curiosity and more about quietly placing one another into categories.

 

He's successful.

He's struggling.

He's cultured.

He's connected.

He's "our kind of people."

 

The funny thing is, we rarely admit we're doing it.

 

Class has a way of whispering while race speaks through a megaphone.

I don't think most people are intentionally exclusionary. In fact, I think many of us genuinely believe we're open-minded. But belonging isn't just about whether someone is invited into the room. It's about whether they feel they can exhale once they get there.

 

Can they tell the truth about where they came from? Can they admit they're living paycheck to paycheck while everyone else is discussing their latest international vacation? Can they acknowledge they never finished college without feeling judged? Can the successful attorney talk honestly about growing up poor? Can the executive admit he still feels like an outsider? Can the man with the six-figure salary sit comfortably beside the man who's working two jobs to make rent?

 

Those are class conversations, even when nobody says the word.

 

The irony is that many of us carry multiple identities at once. We may experience privilege in one room and disadvantage in another. We know what it feels like to be underestimated because we're Black, yet we may unknowingly underestimate someone because of the neighborhood they live in, the clothes they wear, or the grammar they use.

 

We're human.

 

That's why these conversations matter.

 

Real community isn't built because everyone has similar incomes or similar résumés. It's built because people believe they'll be treated with equal dignity regardless of those things.

 

That takes intention.

 

It means asking questions to genuinely know someone, not to assess them. It means becoming aware of the subtle assumptions we all make.

It means recognizing that someone's net worth tells us almost nothing about their character, their capacity to love, or what they've survived to get where they are.

 

Perhaps most importantly, it means creating spaces where nobody feels they have to audition for belonging.

 

I've been thinking a lot about that lately.

 

The strongest communities I've experienced weren't the ones where everyone looked alike, earned the same salary, or shared identical life experiences. They were the ones where people could show up honestly without worrying whether they measured up.

 

Maybe that's the conversation worth having.

 

Not whether class exists within our community. Of course it does. The better question is whether we're willing to notice how it shapes who speaks, who stays silent, who feels welcome, and who quietly decides never to come back.

 

Because if we truly believe that every Black man deserves dignity, belonging, and connection, then that commitment has to extend beyond race alone.

 

It has to reach across every invisible line we've drawn between one another.

 

And that might be one of the most radical conversations we can have.

 

 

Brothers of the Desert is a nonprofit organization dedicated to establishing a robust support network for Black gay men and their allies in the Coachella Valley. Our mission is to empower and uplift Black gay men and allies through initiatives focused on philanthropy, volunteer service, mentorship, education, advocacy, and social networking. We aim to transform the barriers that lead to feelings of isolation, disconnection, and inequity among Black gay men.

 

Brothers of the Desert has contributed over $20,000 in scholarships to various organizations within the Coachella Valley. In 2023, it was collectively decided to launch our scholarship program specifically designed to address the unique challenges faced by young men in our community.

 

This scholarship is committed to fostering equity, inclusion, and educational access. This scholarship program welcomes applicants from diverse backgrounds who align with and support the mission of affirming Black LGBTQ+ communities.

 

Recipients receive a $2,000 scholarship award, and recipients may apply for renewal in the subsequent academic year. The funds can be allocated toward educational expenses, excluding off-site housing.

 

Eligible majors include any field of study in a four or six-year program. Recipients of the scholarship are expected to provide bi-annual updates to Brothers of the Desert and will gain membership access, allowing them to connect with their support network for academic and personal assistance. The scholarship awards are outright grant awards. No services will be required as a consequence of receiving the award.

 

Applicants are required to submit an essay detailing their personal journey, including any affiliations with LGBTQ+ and Black focused organizations and the challenges they have faced or continue to face that may pose obstacles to their degree completion. Please explain why you deserve this scholarship, how you plan to use the award, and if you foresee any challenges in pursuing your degree in your chosen field. Additionally, outline some of the goals you have set for yourself after graduation.

 

The application packet MUST include:

1) Completed application form (online or paper)

2) Completed FAFSA form

3) 1 letter of recommendation

4) Essay (Please see Eligibility regarding essay requirements)

5) Transcript (unofficial is acceptable)

 

** Please submit your applications to dshackelford@iegives.org.**

Denisha Shackelford

Inland Empire Community Foundation

For more information, contact Denisha Shackelford, Sr. Scholarship Program Manager at

dshackelford@iegives.org

Brothers of the Desert is excited to continue our monthly discussion group called Barbershop: A Black Gay Men’s Space for Honest Talk About Wellness, now in our second year!

 

Building upon the tradition of barbershops in Black communities, the discussion group is designed to encourage open and honest conversation. The meetings are welcoming a spectrum of Black men, gay, bisexual, transgender and nonbinary. The wellness topics discussed are diverse, ranging from dating and intimacy, aging considerations, how we get and offer support, and exploring our identities as Black men.

 

The group meets the second Tuesday of each month from 5:30-7:30PM. There is no charge to attend. We begin with a meet and greet with dinner that begins at 5:30PM and the discussion group starts at 6PM. The group is facilitated by Stuart Huggins and Will Dean.

 

To register to attend the meetings email: willdean.boardmember@brothersofthedesert.org

 

So much of life is about stories:

The funny memories we tell friends;

The painful challenges we confide to a biological or chosen family member; and

The dreams we share with an intimate partner.

 

Among gay or same-gender-loving men of color, our stories are not often recorded. However, novelist Wyatt O'Brian Evans is changing the narrative.

 

Join Brothers of the Desert Board member (and host) Will Dean as he engages Mr. Evans in conversation about his new novel, "Ruthless!," at 5:30 p.m. Aug. 26. It's the author's fourth novel in a book series he created, "Nothing Can Tear Us Apart."

 

"Ruthless!" centers Wesley and Antonio, a monogamous couple of gay/same-gender-loving men of color, who face unique challenges that explore volatile family dynamics and intimate partner violence and abuse. The author merges bold humor, thoughtful insight, and a journalist's research skills to weave a story that is uniquely his own.

 

The conversation with Mr. Evans will be virtual, with an audience also gathered at The Center to watch and participate. Come out and enjoy the discussion and refreshments.

 

With co-sponsor Rainbow Advocacy Press, which plans to stream the event on its new virtual platform, we are inviting book lovers who are part of LGBTQ+ communities of color and our fabulous allies to join us in person or from wherever they are in the world.

 

When: 5 p.m. Aug. 26, 2026 (Please RSVP by Aug. 21)

Admission: Free

 

 

Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/88233454486?pwd=IPeA3KADMZD5CXmrzVk1MbVE8evOPW.1

 

Black men continue to die years earlier than they should from health conditions that are often preventable, detectable, or manageable. While health information is widely available, it does not always reach Black men in ways that feel relevant, trustworthy, or easy to act on.

 

The Male Quotient was created to help close that gap.

 

Hosted by physician, author, and health advocate Dr. Leo Moore, the podcast offers evidence-based health information designed specifically with Black men in mind. Each episode combines real medicine, relatable stories, and practical guidance listeners can use to make informed decisions about their health and move toward a longer, healthier life.

 

Rather than overwhelming listeners with medical jargon, The Male Quotient makes important health topics more accessible and personal. The podcast recognizes that improving health is not only about knowing the facts. It is also about receiving information from voices that understand the experiences, concerns, and barriers Black men may face when navigating healthcare.

 

Dr. Moore brings extensive experience to the conversation. He is a graduate of Morehouse School of Medicine, completed internal medicine training at Yale, and is board-certified in Lifestyle Medicine. He was also named Men’s Health Magazine’s 2024 “Ultimate Guy” and is the author of The Men’s Preventive Health Guide.

 

New episodes of The Male Quotient are released every Wednesday and are available wherever podcasts are found. Listeners can search for “The Male Quotient” on their preferred podcast platform and follow @male.quotient on Instagram for clips, health tips, and additional resources.

 

The Male Quotient is more than a podcast. It is a resource created to help Black men better understand their health, feel more confident asking questions, and take meaningful steps toward prevention, early detection, and long-term well-being.

 

We’re delighted to reserve a seat for you at our Harlem Renaissance New Year’s Eve Bash.

This year, we’re putting a fresh twist on tradition. Instead of celebrating in Harlem, we’re bringing the glamour, style, and spirit of the Harlem Renaissance to the desert.

 

Join us at the DoubleTree by Hilton Golf Resort Palm Springs for an unforgettable evening of elegant dining, live entertainment, music, dancing, and a spectacular New Year’s Eve celebration as we welcome the new year in timeless style.

 

We look forward to celebrating with you!

**Tickets go on sale soon- Earlybird Pricing available**

Ask a Black man how he's doing and you'll often get the same answer.

 

"I'm good."

 

Sometimes that's true. But sometimes it means, "I'm overwhelmed." Sometimes it means, "My relationship is falling apart." Sometimes it means, "I'm lonely." Sometimes it means, "I'm grieving." Sometimes it means, "I don't know who I can tell."

 

Many of us were raised to survive before we were taught to share. We learned to be dependable, resilient, and composed. We learned to carry our struggles quietly because showing too much emotion could be misunderstood or even used against us. Those lessons may have helped us navigate the world, but they've also left many of us emotionally isolated.

The result is that too many Black men have become experts at managing appearances while quietly carrying burdens alone.

 

We gather at barbecues, happy hours, fraternity meetings, church, Pride events, and family reunions. We can debate politics, sports, music, travel, and relationships for hours. Yet many of us have never looked another man in the eye and simply said, "I'm not okay."

 

That silence comes at a cost.

 

It affects our mental health, our friendships, our romantic relationships, and even our physical well-being. It keeps us disconnected not only from one another, but from ourselves.

The truth is, most of us don't need more advice nearly as much as we need more places where we can be honest. Places where we don't have to perform strength, prove masculinity, or pretend we have all the answers. Places where listening matters as much as talking, and where vulnerability is met with respect instead of discomfort.

 

Communities aren't built because people share the same hobbies or identities. They're built because people feel safe enough to tell the truth.

 

As Black men, we deserve spaces where conversations can move beyond what we do and into who we are. We deserve friendships that can hold joy, fear, tenderness, disappointment, hope, and uncertainty. We deserve communities where asking for support is seen as wisdom rather than weakness.

 

Those spaces won't create themselves. We have to build them. We have to protect them. And most importantly, we have to participate in them.

 

Recently launched is The Connection Room, an online community for men of all stripes, who want deeper conversations about connection, intimacy, relationships, spirituality, sexuality, embodiment, and personal growth. It's one example of the kinds of intentional spaces I believe we need more of. Whether it's The Connection Room, a Brothers of the Desert gathering, a trusted circle of friends, or another men's group, my hope is the same: that more of us find places where "I'm good" can become something far more honest.

 

Because healing rarely begins with having all the answers.

 

It begins with finally having somewhere safe to ask the questions.

"Chosen family" is one of my favorite phrases in the LGBTQ+ community.

 

For many of us, it's more than a catchy slogan. It's survival. It's the friends who became brothers, the mentors who stepped in when others stepped away, the people who celebrated us when our own families couldn't. Chosen family has saved lives, including, I suspect, many of ours.

 

But lately I've been wondering if we've become so comfortable with the idea that we've stopped asking a harder question.

 

Have we given up on repairing relationships that might actually be repairable?

 

To be clear, I'm not talking about abusive relationships or families that continue to cause harm. Boundaries are healthy, and sometimes distance is the wisest choice.

 

I'm talking about the relationships that are complicated rather than dangerous. The father who's softened with age. The sister who doesn't always get it but keeps trying. The cousin you've been meaning to call for three years. The awkward conversations we've postponed because they're uncomfortable.

 

Repair is rarely neat. It requires humility, patience, and the willingness to risk disappointment. It's much easier to write someone off than to wonder whether both of you have changed.

 

Chosen family and biological family don't have to be competitors. For many of us, they can coexist beautifully. Our friends can hold us through life's storms while our relatives, imperfect as they may be, still have opportunities to surprise us.

 

As I've gotten older, I've become less interested in asking, "Who was right?" and more interested in asking, "What relationships are still worth tending?"

 

Not every bridge should be rebuilt. But not every bridge should be burned, either.

 

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn't finding a new family. It's taking one careful step back toward an old one and seeing whether anyone is willing to meet us in the middle.