LeChell Rush

When a microphone and a shotgun collide!

  • I Think The Word You’re Looking For Is Misogyny

    That man ain’t gay, he just hates you!

    I have a firm stance regarding outing folks. No one should have their sexuality, gender orientation, or any other information disclosed without their consent. The world is much too dangerous a place, especially for members of the LGBTQ+ community–exponentially so for those of us at the intersection of race, gender, and sexuality. Recently, however, there seems to be an uptick in content creators who have been sensationalizing the exposure of down-low men or ascribing them the title based on behaviors perceived as feminine or gay. It is a filthy practice. A disgusting one, seeking notoriety and some money. I believe anyone who makes a hobby or career of doing so can quite literally go straight to hell. However, this is not for the content creators. This is for the consumers. This is for the overwhelming supporters, who, in my peripheral vision, have been Black women.

    I’ll admit, I tend to have higher expectations of Black women. Hope us all to be less susceptible to bullshit, particularly when it is rooted in -phobias and -isms. We have been oppressed far too much for far too long to perpetuate oppression, and yet, as a Black queer gender non-conforming woman, it would be dishonest to say I am surprised. I am no stranger to homophobia in the Black community. Black women have often been the most vitriolic, given their inability to fetishize bisexual and lesbian women the same way men can. Compound this with their commitment to the Church, and Black women have been primed to spew hatred in the name of religion, ignorance, and loathing. Still, it’s hard to reconcile the blatant disregard and disgust they exemplify, the quickness with which they weaponize homophobia, and the lengths some will go to justify it.

    The most notable weaponization is the subjugation of the sassy man. The terms “sassy” and “zesty” are used to denigrate Black men or presume their desires and proclivities to engage sexually with other men. It is often used when men deviate from masculinity as defined by white patriarchal standards. This could be expressing too much emotion, expecting reciprocity, or something else. Also, and unfortunately so, it has also turned it into a tactless insult when men enact forms of misogyny.

    Somewhere along the way, Black women have started to conflate contempt with repressed homosexuality. Mistaken a desire to humble and humiliate us by arguing, insulting, rejecting, or flat out abusing us to mean these men are undercover as opposed to being deeply ingrained in a cultural and global practice of hating Black women. So instead of reconciling that the men we love perhaps do not love us the same, we resort to homophobia in an attempt to coddle our egos and disassociate from reality. The truth is, Black men are showcasing exactly what it means to be a Black woman under the boot of white supremacist patriarchy.

    Misogyny/misogynoir is a hard concept to confront, albeit an easy one to internalize. And homophobia is an easy scapegoat when the Black community has long deemed it unacceptable and grounds for damnation. It is far more comforting to say these men do not view women as the objects of their attraction than to say they view us as the easy targets for their resentment. Nevertheless, using homophobia as a shield to minimize the rejection and harm of men is a dangerous game, one that both women and the LGBTQ+ community will not win. Equating harm against women with homosexuality reinforces the idea that queer folks are somehow a danger to society. Attributing this abuse to sexuality takes us further from the fight of Black Feminists before us to be viewed as equals by absolving men from the work they must do to dismantle patriarchy. And much to my dismay, it allows Black women to disregard the work we must also do to deconstruct our participation in homophobia and misogyny.

    We try to justify this behavior under the guise of protection. I know the statistics of Black women contracting AIDS/HIV, STIs, and other STDs. I understand the desire for transparency & clarity on potentially risky behaviors. The issue is, these concerns seem to be more vehemently vocalized when they include homosexuality and not nearly as potent for men who have multiple partners, though heterosexual. Bisexual and gay men have become more dangerous than the physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive Black men that many Black women continue to shelter and platform. So perhaps it’s time to admit that you fear homosexuality more than misogyny. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge that the male gaze you so desperately want is clouding your judgment.

    A man not wanting to partner with you does not make him gay. It is more likely that he just doesn’t want you. A man willing to argue with and curse you out does not make him sassy; he probably just takes pleasure in demeaning you. Hyper-sexual men who are content to be a womanizer aren’t inherently gay, but it is wholly possible he simply hates all women, despite his desire to fuck them. Misogyny and homosexuality are not mutually exclusive theories. Openly gay or bisexual men are not exempt from misogyny, and straight men do not automatically disavow it just because they have sex with women (see the racist white girl and her Black baby daddy). And while homophobia and misogyny are distinct oppressive theologies, neither can be dismantled when we refuse to confront both of them directly and their interconnectivity. So maybe we can come to a consensus and call a thing a thing, and the word you are looking for is misogyny/misogynoir.

    Dive deeper with me on Youtube.

  • An Arsonist in the Fire He Made.

    It is the start of women’s history month and girls and women everywhere are quickly being reminded of our disposability. News outlets are reporting a missile strike on an all girls school, Shajareh Tayyebeh, in Minab, Iran. Casualties have yet to be confirmed, but nevertheless, the US-Israeli attack confirms what we have long known. Women and girls are disposable. This is evidenced by the long history of oppression we’ve face but also highlighted in recent event. The obvious sex trafficking ring discovered in the Episten Files, this bombing on a school of girls, and so much more. It is a maddening feeling, to know everywhere we go girls and women are not safe from the atrocities of men.

    Femicide is gender-related killings against women and/or girls. It is a global crisis that shows no signs of slowing, but rather feels as though it is escalating for us women and girls. Even as more atrocities are revealed, the responses show further disregard for the impact on us physically and emotionally. Around the world, men remain the greatest threat to our safety, and they seem to relish the notion. Seek out the power to constrict, abuse, and murder us for their pleasure. None of us are safe. The modest, the promiscuous, the meek, the outspoken, it does not matter. Men determined to set us on fire will always find a reason, a way, and protection from it all.

    A series of unfortunate events:

    A woman is murdered by her boyfriend, and her body stored in their home basement
    Another is shot while walking her three month old baby down the street
    Another causally set ablaze, in New York, in Chicago, while riding a train
    Another beaten and left for dead in the subway

    The road, from girl to woman is blood soaked and burning coals
    Sandalwood and smoke, torch lit by violence
    Women will hold the fire with utmost care but
    a flame is still a flame
    and a man still a man
    So we will still burn pretty anyway

    I know a girl whose death is blooming in her belly
    a woman writing her own obituary to the news
    Making love to her undertaker & calling it holy
    And I don’t know what’s worse
    The anticipation or the act,
    Hopelessly waiting for what always comes or the moment it finally finds you
    But I know what it means to walk stiff & quivering the same

    How unlucky we are to be born women, ill-fated from birth
    in a world where men will label our deaths misfortunes before they ever call them murders
    Femicide is too heavy a word for their feeble tongues
    Even though their hands hold on to it like their last hope

    Fear wafts through the streets
    Caresses fists as if to soothe the punch before their landing
    Power yearning for a place to penetrate
    And what beautiful prey a soft thing makes
    What a trophy to display of the hardening

    How women will harden our hearts in attempts to protect our bodies
    Become soldiers and sisters in arms on homeland to preserve our safety
    Each of us become each others look out & back up plan
    When a man uses rejection as reason to send us to a morgue.

    I know a group of girls who’ve developed their own language to signal for help
    Women, who’ve already crafted false names and numbers to ensure their escape
    Who’ve tried developing apps to send warnings before the war finds us

    And still the men will find us, and a way to infiltrate
    Smoke us out, and into their arms to die ablaze
    A flame is still a flame
    And a man is still a man
    And we women, are bound to burn pretty
    anyway

  • Friendships Forged and Forgotten : On Divorce and Community

    Anyone who knows me knows that my poetic muscles are strong. I write poems often. I have a directory of depth and bullshit for whatever the occasion requires of me. However, recently, I was asked to perform a piece specifically on friendship. And upon further research, I discovered I did not have one. Coincidentally, this request came right after I had posted to threads, “I want to flex my poetry muscles through commissioned poems. Writing on topics not because I have motivation, but because I’ve been asked.” So naturally, I took this as the universe’s way of affirming me, telling me to get my ass to work. And with a whole month ahead of me, I just knew I would write a new poem about friendship.

    Well, it is a day before the performance, and as fate would have it, I DON’T HAVE SHIT. Hell, I am here writing this SubStack when I should be writing this poem, but I can’t. And it is at this moment that I realize, I’ve never actually tried to put the value of my friendships into a poem. Not because I don’t have any, but perhaps I’ve fallen into the common narrative of knowing my friends mean the world to me, but doing very little to acknowledge it.

    I know of love poets. I know of love poems. But finding ones that decenter romance seems harder. I won’t say I am surprised. As a society, I think we are conditioned to place romance on a pedestal. For women, we are expected to seek a husband and family, but we are seldom, if ever, told to seek friendships with the same kind of fever. Sadly, I know what it’s like to be the woman consumed in motherhood and marriage.

    It’s hard to admit, but there is some merit to the idea that women change after marriage. Sometimes it is by choice, sometimes not so much, but it is a reality. Your partner and children become your immediate family. They become your first priority. Quickly, you lose yourself in caring for them first and foremost. Slowly, you lose other relationships too. It wasn’t something I noticed until it was too late. I looked up one day, and I was Mrs. and Mom, but far from myself and all the people who knew and remembered her.

    My friends were already long-distance, so limited communication was already a usual occurrence. And generally, while I’ve always been popular or known, I never really had many close friends. The ones you call on when things get rough or to celebrate the major accomplishments, and very little time to myself or the people I loved that weren’t my daughter or husband. Marriage and motherhood left me isolated. Nothing made this fact clearer than when divorce came knocking.

    As my marriage slowly began to crumble, I found myself doing everything to get out of the house. Searching for ways to reclaim myself, my sanity, and a bit of joy that didn’t require my daughter’s smile. I was desperate to call my old friends, but too guilty and embarrassed to do so. Besides, who wants to unload after going missing? Who was to open the doors to welcome others into their misery? I was left rebuilding. In a city that wasn’t my home, in search of community. Tapping into the old, like engineering, but also leaning into the new, like poetry. And lucky me, four years in, when the reckoning came, there were people there to carry me.

    A crew that let me cry. Had the guns loaded—literally and metaphorically. They wrote beside me, performed on stages. Stayed the night. Took care of my daughter when I underwent surgery. Made me laugh. Let me curse. Scream “ fuck that ninja” on my behalf. And when I was ready to date again, they played the role of wingmen and women. Encouraged my shenanigans. Babysat so I could have fun again. I showed up at events, birthday parties, book releases, and weddings. I built a small but mighty community. My daughter gained a village of new aunts and uncles, and favorite people. My friends became a priority, but also a non-negotiable. It’s been nothing short of a blessing.

    They say that people change when they get into relationships. I was one of those people for the majority of my marriage. But as I step back into the world of romance, I don’t want to be the girl who forgets her friendships, who gets so caught up that I am left behind. My friendships mean just as much to me. And now I’m working on this first draft. Trying to put into words how much they saved me. Hoping the gratitude I feel for the chance to start again shines through. It’s not very good yet. I don’t know when it will be or if I could truly do it justice. Regardless, when I finish, I’ll probably share it here and, more importantly, with each of my friends.

  • Evil Influencers and the Ethics of Child-Centered Content

    Netflix released its documentary Evil Influencer: The Jodi Hildebrandt Story, retelling and reintroducing the story of Jodi Hildebrandt and Ruby Franke to the world. Jodi Hildebrandt was a former therapist and relationship counselor in the LDS community. Ruby Franke was a former mom/family vlogger on YouTube for the channel 8-Passengers, which at its peak boasted over two million subscribers. Both are currently serving time at the Utah State Correctional Facility on multiple counts of child abuse after being arrested in 2023.

    While the documentary is titled after Jodi Hildebrandt and Ruby Franke’s attempts to shift blame to Hildebrandt, Ruby Frank is and was no victim. For those of us who have found ourselves down the rabbit hole of the Ruby Franke story and the 8-passengers YouTube channel, there was clear evidence, prior to Jodi Hildebrandt’s arrival, that the Franke home was a place of hidden chaos. Subscribers petitioned Child Protective Services for wellness checks to intervene when YouTube videos began to take a darker turn. Nothing was done.

    I want to take a moment to acknowledge the many circumstances that enabled child abuse to occur and persist. A rural community, steeped in religion. A faith known for its less-than-Godly ways. Members who have always toed the line between righteous discipline and criminal abuse. Manipulation. Obliviousness. An onslaught of viewers tuned in every release to watch, and checks clearing. I can recognize it all. But what makes this case like so many others, is the foundation of child abuse that is hidden in plain sight in the age of social media and kid influencers.

    Child celebrities are not a new concept. Children have been in the public eye for as long as there has been money to be made from doing so. All the same, many of these child celebrities have been said to suffer abuse at the hands of the adults surrounding them. These experiences happen under and sometimes, at the hands of the parents who are supposed to protect them. Some of these child stars have been able to tell their stories. Documentaries like “Quiet on Set,” books like “I’m Glad My Mom Died” by Jenette McCurdy and “The House of My Mother: A Daughter’s Quest for Freedom” by Shari Franke, daughter of Ruby Franke, make it clear that children in entertainment frequently endure traumatic experiences for fame and money. 

    As a parent, I can appreciate the child-centered and star content. My daughter should be able to see herself in the media, just as I. And still, in a space where even adults struggle to protect themselves, I struggle to consider how we can ethically produce such content. I watch childhood stars become adults with glaring evidence of mental instability , fighting personal demons from their experiences. From Justin Bieber to Orlando Brown. Alyson Stoner to Amanda Bynes. I’ve had to sit through the discomfort of watching toddlers (Ms. Shirley) on tours with adult audiences taking pictures. Little boys dressed like YNs, with women swooning. Wondered in quiet what assurances are in place to ensure that, long after these moments pass, the children will be financially set and emotionally supported. It’s a jarring experience.

    My daughter has been begging to start a YouTube channel since she was around seven years old. As she nears the age of twelve, I still can’t quite allow her to dive into the deep end of social media and content creation. I oscillate between questioning if my fears are limiting her and my reminding myself that it is my duty first and foremost to protect her, especially as a Black girl. And sure, there is a chance nothing comes of it, but there is also the chance it does. In truth, I wholeheartedly believe she can succeed. But the fear of her being plastered across social media for anyone to find and see terrifies me.

    I appreciate the parents and platforms of child celebrities for the representation and child-friendly content. Simultaneously, I am extremely critical of family content that is heavily centered around minor children. The kids seldom, if ever, get to choose this path with a full understanding of the impact. They cannot directly access the funds generated because of age restrictions. Laws have not been established globally and consistently to ensure their safety. Simply put, I do not know if there is any ethical way to utilize children in the unregulated landscape of social media content. Unfortunately, Ruby Franke is just another story in the mine of victimized children for fame and money’s sake. Fortunately, these children were saved. Unfortunately they will never be the same. And worse yet there will likely be others.