I'm the only gay Black man doing standup in Canada — but I don't want to be an outlier anymore

My name is Brandon Ash-Mohammed and for the last 10 years, I've been the only gay Black man regularly doing standup in this country.

My debut album, Capricornication, is the first comedy album ever be released by a gay Black Canadian — but pointing this out doesn't give me pride. I'm sharing that to acknowledge the lack of representation of people like me in Canadian media. The last decade has been lonely. My peers have people like them who they can go to for advice or model their careers after; I don't. My peers can do a show at any time and have an audience full of people just like them; I can't. I've been blindly forging a path for myself in an industry that hasn't seen someone like me before. That means that when I have successes, it's in spite of the system that's in place, not because of it.

Releasing your first album is a big moment in every comedian's career. All you want is for it to be successful and for people to take notice. Mine has been doing just that! Debuting at number one on the Canadian comedy charts, the demand was so high that it broke my label's website and we raised over $4000 for three charities. I'm extremely grateful and happy — but I'm also worried about whether this will actually make a difference in my career in Canada because of the barriers I face as an openly gay Black man.

I know people recognize me as a talent in this country. Many of the "who's who" of Canadian comedy see me as an equal. But I don't get the same opportunities as them, despite all I've accomplished. I see my mostly white peers with much less experience just being given jobs outright, with no need to even apply. When I'm invited to do things — which is rare — it's usually in a lesser position and I'm always asked to submit an application. The only time comedians of colour are given opportunities outright is when they're co-signed by powerful white people in our industry. Without the stamp of approval, it's back of the line.

The Canadian entertainment industry reflects Canadian society in the sense that it actively ignores its racist history. When Canadian media does focus on the voices of those outside the status quo, they're usually shown as a "model minority." To succeed in this industry, you have to make yourself and your ideas approachable for a white audience. And even internationally, the comedy industry has never had a gay male standup comedian become a household name.

Now imagine what it's like for me to simultaneously navigate systemic racism and systemic homophobia in a country that doesn't even recognize comedy as an art form.

I don't feel welcome in what should be my communities. When I do queer events, I'm usually the only Black person in the entire venue. When I do Black events, I'm usually the only queer person. I have so much anxiety dealing with this that I won't seek certain opportunities because I'm worried that I'll have to deal with some sort of racism or homophobia. Being a gay Black man doing comedy in this country is constantly worrying, "Will they accept me?" before, "Am I funny?"

My worth is only ever seen in my identity, not for my talent. Whenever someone approaches me with a possible opportunity, I always brace myself because usually my identity is referred to as the reason first and my talent second. My identities are also always compartmentalized. I think people assume being gay and Black is having two experiences at once — but they don't realize that being a gay Black person is its own separate and unique experience. We have our own distinct culture that's often excluded or appropriated by the two communities it intersects, as well as others that don't.

For people like me in this industry, opportunities often break down to filling a "diversity casting quota." Those spots are usually limited to one, which puts me at a constant disadvantage because I'm always being grouped in with people who have more privilege than me. If someone "like" me is already in that space, then there's this unwritten rule that I can't be there because we're "the same," no matter how different our lived experiences actually are.

We've seen a wave of Black gay excellence taking over mainstream media in America the past few years. RuPaul, Billy Porter and Lena Waithe have all won Emmys for their trailblazing work on television. Moonlight, a movie about the gay Black experience, won Best Picture at the Oscars. Lil Nas X publicly came out while he had the longest-running number one single on the Billboard Hot 100 of all time. I even see myself reflected in comedy for the first time with comedians like Jaboukie Young-White and Dewayne Perkins blowing up. Finally, Black gay artists are starting to get the recognition we deserve.

The Canadian industry should start showing up for us! There's no shortage of queer talent of colour here. I want it to be known that I've managed to have a successful comedy album in a time when my industry has been completely shut down. If that doesn't show you that people like me can be commercially viable here, what else can?

I ask you, Canada: please support artists like myself, Trey Anthony, Jade Niles-Craig, Jada Shada Hudson, Ajhanis Charley, Kevin Vidal, Coko & Daphney, Brandon Hackett, Tynomi Banks, Marisa Rosa Grant, and so many more. Support people like Martha Chaves, who was the only queer comedian of colour in this country for two decades. Help us create content that is for us and by us. Help us break new ground — because whether you like it or not, the foundations of our society are changing.