Suck My Clip: Queering the Black Male Thug

“Man suck my clip, swallow my bullets and don’t you spit!” ~Lil Wayne, “We Be Steady Mobbin’”

The (mis)representations of the black male body in American culture continue to haunt and dominate our often misconstrued perceptions of black sexuality and identity. This is especially true in our current discussions surrounding homosexuality and notions of manhood. Let me preface by saying that when the black male body is queered, it is not simply or specifically a homosexual reference. While this may occasionally be the case (and in this essay, it is), queering is also challenging one’s understanding of the status quo. Our associations and processing of images surrounding black men and their spaces of existence are often dictated through a heteronormative lens. So when a black male thug (a normal, highly recognized reference) is sexually attracted to men, this becomes problematic.

While shows like Aaron McGruder’s The Boondocks presents a satirized definition of thug homosexuality through the fictitious rapper Gangstalicious, HBO’s The Wire give us Omar Little.

This critically acclaimed series featured a plethora of characters that intersected at various points in each other’s lives, but Omar was a centralized nuisance. Anyone could be a target. His gun rained bullets freely and openly. He was a rogue with no allegiances but to himself. Omar was the most gangsta of them all because he was not predictable.

His character is an embodiment of both homophobic and homoerotic desires. Omar shatters the assumptions of black homosexual men as weak or effeminate. James Williams argues that as the “lone gay wolf,” Omar fulfills his role because the ‘hood that he inhabits is a homoerotic space. In the majority of other social constructs where homosexuality is marginalized, Omar’s sexual desires dominate and frame the expectations of the black male’s inner city existence. Williams’ observations can be extended to suggest that The Wire’s interpretation of the inner city as a hypermasculine space does not necessarily mean a hypermasculine heterosexual space. Omar is doubly feared. He is openly gay and violent. He uses his sexuality to intimidate those around him. Omar redefines masculinity through a queered lens, showing the black male gay body can also be a menacing presence.

It is interesting how the only medium available for the development of characters like Omar Little are in imagined communities where the scapegoat is the understanding that “this is just fiction.” With a limited discourse for homosexuality (especially in the black community), shows like The Wire and their representations of inner city black men provide enough critical distance where at least the prospect of a homosexual thug is somewhat accepted and open for discussion.


On the flip side of that observation also lies the notion that while fictitious, Omar is still subjugated to a realistic solution to his existence– his murder by a green, wannabe thug. On the surface, Omar’s death may seem demonstrative of the street code – “it’s all in the game.” Symbolically, however, Omar’s death signifies the silenced gay black man. He is returned to the shadows where, though lurking, he is still perceived to be a non-threatening entity.