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Scientists and researchers have named several reasons for why Black men are seemingly targeted by prostate cancer. These reasons being genetics, environment, healthcare, and mistrust.

By Da’Shaun Harrison I received the news the morning before Thanksgiving. It was around 1:30am that Wednesday when my mom walked downstairs, quiet and teary-eyed. I was lying on the couch watching Netflix, as I often do before I sleep. I looked over at her and waited, waited for her to share the news with me which led her to weep. She stared for a moment and then, immobile, she stood by a chair near me and stated, “Uncle Donald just passed.” My heart sank. I had just visited my Uncle Donald in the hospital earlier in the year. In August, to be exact. He had been diagnosed with Stage IV Prostate Cancer a little while before that, so I visited him knowing that it could be the last time I ever saw him. However, just a few days after visiting him, he was discharged from the hospital. I knew that this did not mean that his fight with cancer was over, but I was still not prepared to hear that he had died. I lost my maternal grandfather in March of 2010 to prostate cancer as well, I remember that day vividly, I begged my mom to allow me to skip school that morning because I did not want to miss a moment with my granddad. The family sat and laughed, cried, and conversed waiting on ‘that’ moment. And that afternoon, it came. Lying in his bed in Hospice Care, he took his last breath while I stood beside his bed—his hand in mine. My mom was there with me then, too. She had leaned over his bed and, just as she did this time when she delivered the news of Uncle Donald’s passing, she wept. I was only 13, maybe 14-years-old, then. Just days after receiving the news about my uncle’s death, my father informed me that my paternal grandfather had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer as well. My family is not unfamiliar with prostate cancer. However, what I did not know during my maternal grandfather’s  battle is that many Black American families are not unfamiliar with prostate cancer. According to Prostate Cancer News Today, Black American men are known to have a 60 percent higher risk of developing prostate cancer in comparison to white men, and their chances of dying of the disease are twice as high.
Related: THE RACIST ROOTS OF GYNECOLOGY & WHAT BLACK WOMEN BIRTHED

Fat, Black people with bodies like mine are ignored, fetishised or an unfortunate burden.

By Mary Brighton I write this piece as someone who easily (and painfully) passes for cis, as a transmisogyny exempt nonbinary person. I write as someone who is neither very fat nor very dark-skinned, but is often the fattest/darkest person in the room. I write as an able-bodied person, as a naturalised British citizen and native English speaker. I write as someone who grew up in a decidedly middle-class home. These privileges, and doubtless many others that I have not considered, will inevitably shape my experiences. I was a devout and traditional Catholic until my late teens, with many of the sexual attitudes that would suggest. Therefore, my early sexual imagination was shaped less by porn than by TV shows and advertising. It was formed in the extrapolation from the fade to black in a 12A rated film, or the racy scenes in YA fantasy novels. Long before sex itself interested me, I knew what sexy looked like. I knew this just as surely as I knew that unremarkable brunette white boys are destined for greatness or being liked meant having no emotional boundaries. I knew that people like me, the fat Black people with bodies like mine, were either ignored, fetishised or an unfortunate burden taken on out of pity or desperation.
Related: BLACK GIRL INTERRUPTED: MY BODY, THE WORLD, AND NONBINARY ME

Welcome to #AskCam, a column where sex and intersectionality are not divided but welcomed together.

Dear Cam, I'm not quite sure how to navigate this. I have a white partner (we're polyam) and I feel like he gives his white partners more space, patience, and consideration to feel insecure or needing validation to feel safe in a polyamorous relationship than he gives me. Am I imagining how big of a problem this is? Why is empathy something that's used so often against Black folks in relationships? How do I talk about this?   -Deserving of Empathy
Deserving, Whew, this question has been on my mind for a while and I'm glad that you brought it up. By no means is this a unique problem to your relationship. In fact, I've heard this question raised over and over by the BIPOC in my life, no matter what kind of romantic relationship they have. I believe that in every relationship — romantic or not — everyone involved has to commit to performing labor for the betterment of the relationship. But when it's done evenly (i.e., both parties commit to doing labor for each other and themselves), the relationship itself is healthy and balanced. It's when this labor falls unfairly on one party that this balance is thrown out of whack. And because nothing exists in a vacuum, we can't separate the fact that this imbalance of labor almost always falls on the shoulders of marginalized people. There's a rising interest in non-monogamy, which is great, but I think a lot of people who are first learning about or are new to non-monogamy often forget that there's work that goes into these relationship structures as well. We're still interacting with other people, and that means that we still have to take care in treating them with respect, love, and understanding and not just project our own assertions and demand they fulfill our needs without considering what effect that will have on them. So much of this creates violence and unnecessary hardship — especially when we take identities like race into account. There's also an assumption here, it seems, that your partner thinks that there is an equal dividing of care he gives to you and his other partners. Care and work that goes into a relationship doesn't come with an on/off switch; it isn't neatly divided between "yes" or "no", "all" or "nothing". It's highly unfair of him to assume — not even ask — that you would need "less" support in the relationship with no evidence other than the assumptions he's making on your identity as a POC.
RELATED: #ASKCAM: CELIBACY IS A VALID CHOICE

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