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“Sometimes we are blessed with being able to choose the time, and the arena, and the manner of our revolution,
but more usually
we must do battle
where we are standing.”
— Audre Lorde, 'Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches'
Recently, I finished Robyn Crawford’s debut book, A Song For You: My Life with Whitney Houston. I tossed and turned all through the night as I thought of the pain of loving someone you could not have romantically. I'm still catching my breath.
This book is a love letter to Whitney Elizabeth Houston that began at summer camp in the early 1980s. It has pulled me out of the mundanity of my life to remind me of the gift of same-gender love through legal marriage and cultural shifts. There was a time I felt deeply saddened by Whitney’s “All The Man That I Need" performance, believing that her marriage to Bobby — which was littered with tabloid displays of abuse, insecurity and pain — was the highest love she ever experienced before leaving us way too soon. Now, I listen with different ears, proud that she got to feel loved whole by Robyn Crawford.
For me, Crawford’s book connects Queer People of Color (QPOC) history to the broader, historic, LGBTQIA struggles. I felt connected to her account about the constraints of the time, societal norms, political ignorance and conservatism of religion, which is fundamental to a lot of QPOC childhoods, including mine. Whitney and Robyn faced all of these challenges while growing up in Newark, New Jersey, in the 1980s, a decade where the “war on drugs” and suppression of AIDS research and support under Reagan was promoted. This was not too far from where I grew up in Long Island, New York, and within the decade of my birth in July 1988.
Robyn’s story of her close friendship with Whitney catapulted me back to my own teenage love stories in the early 2000s, as I figured out whether my same gender attraction was a phase based on just one individual, and wondered if I would stay in the glass closet during high school. The one thing that helped my decision to come out was the way I fell so deeply bereft of my same gender's interests — in a way that was beyond the surface, typical affection with boys I held as love interests.
As I watched Robyn’s tears swell up in her eyes while discussing Whitney during her Red Table Talk interview, I was further convinced that Whitney was in fact “the greatest love of all” to her. She confirmed this when responding to Jada’s question of whether she loved and missed Whitney. She responded, “Like yesterday.”
I know that look of love, so deep that you will support, build and protect someone regardless of whether they were ready to be romantic with you. Her book told the tale of many of my same-gender-loving siblings before and after me who have had to choose a path that did not lead to them embracing all that they were, due to the time, family, religion, status or, for some, safety. And I tossed and turned with that very decision in my teens and throughout my life — and there is still a cost for me in 2019. However, Robyn reminded me of the reward. The deep love I have for my wife is too deep, too beautiful, too important to hide. And I live in a time that I don’t have to hide.
While Whitney and Robyn ran around the summer camp grounds at 17 and 19 years old, and scored drugs across the bridge in Harlem, New York, I was yet to be born. And I am grateful that by the time I reached my marrying age, I had met a woman that was willing and able to build her life with me. Robyn reminded me of this gift. As she carefully took the reader through the personal tale of her love story with Whitney, she tenderly spoke of their relationship, what they meant to each other and the depths of their love. She humanized the strong-willed, adventurous, talented, young Whitney. Some of us will never get to experience a love so deep, so consuming and everlasting. It seemed gentle, uplifting and, as she said, “it was ours.”
Robyn chronicles the years of the media and Whitney’s family being suspicious of their deep connection, since love cannot be hidden. She stood by Whitney’s side, supporting what Whitney believed was the life she needed to have to make way for God’s gift, “the voice.” After Whitney signed to Arista, they exchanged notes in a Bible to commemorate the end to their physical relationship. At a time when some same-gender-loving folks had to adopt their partner for security, live as “close friends” in one room apartments, but could not declare their love in the eyes of the law or in their church, for Robyn, being Whitney’s best friend was the penultimate relationship and the most legal thing she could be to her. Robyn stood by Whitney as a creative director, best friend and was the maid of honor at her wedding to Bobby. Though she felt she may lose her deep friendship, she loved Whitney so much that she stood by her side.
Robyn’s story is a story of love before recognition and a love that is unbound. In her interviews, I can still feel what I felt when I flashed through her book in under three days on a work trip. She is deeply indebted to Whitney, she was her “greatest love” and is still healing from the fact that her love seemed unable to hold and save Whitney from herself in the end. In the last few chapters, Robyn quits Nippy Inc. after Bobby explodes over her purchasing a gift for George Michael, after Whitney stood him up a couple times. That was the last straw for her. After more than 20 years of friendship and love, she had enough of being disrespected and drowned out by Bobby and the rest of Whitney’s family. Robyn chose herself, her life, but always kept the door slightly open for Whitney to call. She did not call much and they never reconnected fully, believing they both had time.
Robyn says she whispered in Cissy Houston’s ear at Whitney’s funeral, “I thought we had time.” However, their time was cut short, much like the many queer folks in the '80s and '90s.
Robyn writes and looks like she is doing some deep work on herself, for her healing and health. She teaches us a valuable lesson in her walking away and into love with her wife, Lisa, and their twins. She shows us that sometimes love consumes in an unhealthy way and you need to regroup to re-focus on your individual needs. Echoing our ancestor Nina Simone, “You have to learn to get up from the table when love is no longer being served.” However, she continues to try to wrap her mind around how “Nip,” an avid swimmer, drowned in a bathtub alone. Then, “Kristina,” passing three years after her mother. Loved ones are always left with the scars.
To give more context to Robyn and Whitney’s story and the genealogy of QPOC history, Robyn’s brother, Marty, and her Mom, Janet, suffered and died during the AIDS crisis. This disease was rampant without governmental aid and support under Reagan and then Bush Sr. Robyn’s socioeconomic status may have been the only thing that kept her mom and brother comfortable a little longer than others that died at epidemic proportions. However, their struggles were silenced by the broader society, who believed it was a gay disease for deserving people.
Marty, who felt the weight of those beliefs, did not feel he could be out with his partners. Robyn’s father reminded him of his disappointment with his sexuality, but did not judge Robyn for the same. Marty passed, then her mom followed — who never disclosed how she contracted the disease. However, her mom wanted to trade places with her son, Marty, and she regretted never getting to tell her son how she would have embraced him and whoever he chose to love.
Though research and medication for HIV and AIDS has improved, we still need to do more for our QPOC and Black women living with this crisis. We have come far enough that a young Robyn and Whitney can have a chance at same-gender love, today. However, I'm not sure how well a young Marty or Janet would fare, or our Black Trans siblings. I'm also not sure that either of them will be protected in the workplace and raising children in their homes.
Robyn’s book is a love story, a genealogy and a reference for me as a queer Black married woman. I am grateful for her words and her testament of our love, love that is deeper than the physical. She reminded me where we came from and where we fit in this fight for equality — and all the work we still must do.
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Shaneda is a Black Queer-Loving woman, wife, aunt, godmother, yogi, lover of Black people and an Assistant Professor of Sociology and Africana Studies in Tennessee, who also writes a little.
