Introduction: Philosophizing while Queer and Brown
There's a particular feeling of alienation when one is a queer and/or person of color in academia; it's imperceptible at first, like when no one in the room is eating the samosas you brought to seminar, but it amplifies when the same readings from the same predictable lineup-Plato, Descartes, Kant, Hume-are continually assigned. The supposed pillars of thought. For a second, I even mused if the Enlightenment thinkers had a round-robin vote on the idea that queerness and melanin somehow could not go together with intellectual vigor.
But let's go back: I didn't choose to delve into philosophy expecting to have red carpets rolled out in my honor. Philosophy wasn't exactly sold to me as a kid belonging to every marginalized minority possible growing up in a world where academia was proof of legitimacy, full stop.
What has drawn me to philosophy wasn't its promise of relatability-spoiler alert, that definitely wasn't on the menu. Rather, it was these big questions:
"What is truth?
"What does it mean to live a good life?
"Why are the coffee machines in this department always broken?”
The first time I read through the canon, though, it sounded like one big inside joke to which I was never supposed to be included. It was like all those voices were standing at a distance from me, abstracted and oblivious to the challenges with which my kind of identity burden themselves. The so-called progressives even sounded, well…regressive: Rousseau wanted universal equality but still maintained women did better staying home raising the children, while Kant gave us moral philosophy but his race stuff was so bad I'm pretty sure his ghost would be cringing.
For years, I struggled with the question: Was there space for me in this conversation? Could philosophy belong to someone like me-a person whose ancestors were often the ones colonized, not the colonizers; or to someone who never know the privilege to live in a place or time queerness wasn't a phase but an unapologetic reality?
Another spoiler alert: the answer is yes. But that revelation didn't come easy.
It was born from the very overdue discovery of thinkers who looked, lived, and loved like me.
This article is my ode to them-philosophers who had the guts to think out of the box, and in doing so, they made ways for people like me.
And while we're honoring them, I'm going to drag philosophy's history just a little bit, because what's an homage without some spicy critique?
Historical Silences and the Struggle for Representation
The question that I really wish I had asked in my first philosophy seminar is this one: why is the canon white? Not metaphorically white, but actually. Why does the starting point of western philosophy seem to be ancient Greece, and the endpoint-for all practical purposes-somewhere around 19th-century Europe? Did the rest of the world just take a philosophical nap? Also another spoiler: they didn't. They were simply ignored (OK ill stop this spoiler alert thing ... It was just to annoy the editing team ☺️).
The canon as we know it was curated, not discovered. The men who shaped it-often Europeans themselves-decided that the philosophies of their neighbors to the south and east were somehow less relevant, less rigorous, less worthy of consideration. Philosophies from Africa, Asia, and the Americas were dismissed as "spiritual" or "mythological," which are labels that conveniently disqualify them from the category of "serious thought." It cannot be a mere coincidence that this occurred through the same age of colonialism in which Europe was busy looting all manner of cultural treasures and insisting they were "improving" it. And then there's queerness. Western philosophy is often portrayed as this stoic, heteronormative enterprise where everyone was far too busy contemplating existence to notice things like same-sex desire. Except… they weren't.
Socrates had a thing for his male students.The closest relationships in Nietzsche's life were with men. Even Aristotle, with all of his rigid binaries, probably wouldn't bat an eye at queerness as we live it today. But somewhere along the line, the history of philosophy got sanitized, its queerness erased.
This active exclusion did more than just silence marginalized voices; it smothered them. It also painted this false picture that intellectual thought was reserved for the elite few. That is a narrative that still prevails today, as philosophy departments all over the world remain predominantly white, male, and cisgender. The result is too often a discipline that feels more like a museum exhibit than a living, breathing conversation.
Highlighting the Suffocated Voices
Now, onto the good stuff: underdogs, those who get overlooked, and the outright erased. Just as much as the canon is enamored with its straight, white, cis men, history was a little bit more kind. There have always been marginalized voices there, silently-oft quite loudly-just to contest the status quo, to show intellectual brilliance really didn't need an invite from the establishment.
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: The Nun Who Wouldn't Shut Up
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz was the intellectual troublemaker of 17th-century Mexico. Just imagine this: a girl who wasn't allowed to go to university because, well, she had the audacity to be born a girl. So what does she do? She joins a convent, not because she's particularly religious but because it gives her time to read, write, and roast the patriarchy in essays that would have gone viral if Twitter existed back then.
Her most famous work, La Respuesta a Sor Filotea, was essentially a mic drop to those who said women shouldn't pursue knowledge. She argued that women have just as much right to education as men-a revolutionary idea for her time, and depressingly, still controversial in some circles. Her words still echo today, a reminder that intellectual rebellion knows no gender.
Alain Locke: Cultural Renaissance Extraordinaire
Fast-forward to the 20th century, and we land on Alain Locke (not to be confused with John Locke). If you've never heard his name, congratulations-you've just found one of many ways in which academia has failed you. Locke wasn't a philosopher; he was a movement. Being the first African American Rhodes Scholar and one of the key figures within the Harlem Renaissance, the work of Locke wove in and out between philosophy, art, and activism.
His concept of "cultural pluralism" took the cause of diversity from feel-good slogan to foundational operation. Admittedly, he did not exactly shout his queerness from the rooftops, but then again, it was no secret among his contemporaries either. A gay Black man, his identity informed his work and made him a trailblazer in both thought and representation.
Audre Lorde: The Poet Who Wasn't Playing Around
Then there is Audre Lorde, a woman so unapologetic in her identity that she probably would have scared Kant into an existential crisis. Lorde wasn't just a philosopher; she was a force of nature. A poet, activist, and theorist, she wrote on everything from systemic racism to homophobia, to the failures of mainstream feminism.
Lorde's work is as much about philosophy as it is about survival. Essays like "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House" are less critiques but rather battle cries from her. She didn't just want to critique systems of oppression; she wanted to burn them to the ground and rebuild something better.
Dr. B.R. Ambedkar: Philosopher of Liberation
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, another struggle was being waged by Dr. B.R. Ambedkar in colonial India. A Dalit, part of a group that had been historically oppressed as "untouchables," Ambedkar used his status as one of the best-educated men of his era to challenge the caste system. His philosophy wasn't an abstract thing; it had been born of lived experience.
Ambedkar's critique of Hindu orthodoxy, his push for social and political reform, reshaped not just India but the meaning of philosophy. He showed that intellectual thought is not for armchairs and lecture halls but is a tool of liberation.
Vine Deloria Jr.: The Philosopher of Indigenous Resistance
Vine Deloria Jr., a member of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, was the unapologetic voice Indigenous philosophy needed in the 20th century. His groundbreaking book God Is Red didn’t just critique Western religious and philosophical traditions—it turned them inside out. Deloria argued that Indigenous worldviews, often dismissed as “mythological,” contained a depth of wisdom and understanding of humanity’s relationship with the environment that Western thought sorely lacked.
For Deloria, philosophy wasn’t abstract; it was rooted in lived experience, community, and land. He challenged the colonial mindset embedded in Western academic traditions, exposing how they erased Indigenous voices while claiming universality. In works like Custer Died for Your Sins, Deloria not only critiqued the injustices faced by Indigenous peoples but also highlighted the arrogance of a philosophy that prioritized individualism over collective responsibility.
Deloria’s brilliance lay in his ability to marry intellectual rigor with activism. He wasn’t content to let philosophy stay in ivory towers; he wanted it to serve as a tool for resistance, empowerment, and healing for marginalized communities. His work is a reminder that Indigenous philosophies don’t just exist in the past—they are dynamic, living systems of thought that continue to challenge and enrich our understanding of the world.
Kahlil Gibran: The Mystic Philosopher of the Heart
Kahlil Gibran, the Lebanese-American writer and philosopher, was a voice of the Arab world that transcended borders. Best known for his poetic masterpiece The Prophet, Gibran wove together philosophy, spirituality, and profound humanism in a way that spoke to both East and West.
Born into a Christian family in Lebanon, Gibran’s philosophy reflected his dual identity, blending his Arab heritage with the universal themes of love, freedom, and justice. He believed in the sacredness of individuality and the interconnectedness of all humanity. His work challenged societal norms and celebrated the beauty of diversity, making his writings as relevant today as they were a century ago.
Gibran reminds us that philosophy need not always speak in dense prose—it can whisper through poetry, touch the soul, and inspire profound reflection. His legacy is a testament to the power of Arab and Christian thought to enrich the global philosophical conversation.
Michel Foucault: The Queer Theory MVP
And finally, there is Michel Foucault, the French philosopher who gave us the tools to deconstruct power, sexuality, and identity. Indeed, it was the work of Foucault that provided some foundational work for queer theory: how power operates in society via institutions, language, and even our own self-perception.
He wasn't in the closet about being gay, and the experiences ran deeply into his work. The thing is, Foucault didn't just analyze power structures; he lived them. And by so doing, he opened up the way for queer philosophers to understand that their identities weren't barriers but lenses through which they viewed the world.
What These Thinkers Taught Me
It was like finding these voices, a secret treasure trove. Their work didn't just expand my understanding of philosophy; it expanded my understanding of myself. They showed me that the queer, brown, marginalized experience isn't a footnote in the philosophical narrative-it's a chapter. A damn good one.
Why Inclusion Matters in Philosophy
Here is the thing with philosophy: it really thinks it's this big search for truth. You know, Big Ideas™ about life, existence, and morality. What happens when the people who shape those truths are fairly homogeneous? You get one version of reality that suspiciously resembles the inside of a Eurocentric, cis-heteronormative bubble. Philosophy's Diversity Problem Let's start with the obvious: philosophy has a diversity problem.
It's not just that the canon has excluded LGBTQ+ voices and people of color; it's that today, many philosophy departments look like a country club that accidentally left the "diversity initiative" email in drafts.
There are numerous studies showing that Black and Indigenous philosophers, not to mention women and queer folks, are substantially underrepresented in academia and published philosophical works.
When the demographics of your discipline resemble an ad for beige khakis, you have a problem.
But it's not a question of numbers, but of perspective: which questions are being asked, what answers can be found, and how frameworks are developed to understand them. What can we understand if the people asking the questions all come from the same demographic? A canon dominated by one demographic creates a narrow lens through which to view the world. It's like trying to describe a rainbow but using shades of gray.
Why the Marginalised Matter
Philosophy is about universals, except here's the thing: you don't get to universals without embracing particularities in human experience. Marginalized voices bring perspectives that challenge dominant narratives and expose blind spots in supposedly "objective" frameworks. They ask questions the canon often avoids, such as:
What does justice look like in the world produced by colonialism and systemic inequality?
In what ways does queerness erupt and disturb traditional notions of identity, desire, and morality?
Can the lived experience of oppression reveal truths about power and agency that abstract theories miss?
Inclusion of LGBTQ+ voices and people of color isn't about being fair, even though that's important too. It is an intellectual issue. Such voices don't dilute philosophy; they make philosophy richer. They force us to rethink our assumptions, expand our horizons, and confront some very uncomfortable truths that we would rather not know.
The Personal Connection
For me, finding philosophers that reflected my identity was nothing short of transformative. Without their presence, I had internalized that philosophy was a space for people like me to visit, not reside in. The canon made me feel like a guest at someone else's dinner party-welcome to eat but not to cook.
But then I read thinkers like Audre Lorde and Dr. Ambedkar, and that was a revelation to tell me not only did I belong in the kitchen, but that I had my own recipe book. All of a sudden, philosophy wasn't about abstract questions; it was about my questions: questions of race, queerness, belonging, and resistance-questions that were not just intellectual but deeply personal.
Inclusion matters because it changes the stakes. It ceases to be merely an academic exercise when philosophy allows room for LGBTQ+ and people of color. The discipline becomes one way we understand the world, and ourselves in all our messy and complicated glory.
A More Inclusive Philosophy
So what does an inclusive philosophy look like, then? It looks like a discipline that values lived experience as much as abstract theory. It looks like syllabi that include Black feminist thought, Indigenous epistemologies, and queer theory alongside the usual suspects. It looks like philosophy departments where students and professors from marginalized backgrounds don't feel like anomalies. Inclusion isn't about charity or tokenism; it's about survival. A philosophy that refuses to engage with the full spectrum of human experience isn't just incomplete-it's irrelevant. And honestly? It's boring. Because let's face it, the world is so much more interesting when everyone gets a seat at the table.
The Ultimate Homage
For all its faults, philosophy did leave me with a very great gift: the ability to critically look at the world and my place therein.
But for much of my life, it felt like I was learning to build bridges to places I didn't belong.
The canon was akin to a country club, peopled by thinkers who looked, lived, and loved nothing like me.
It wasn't until I found those voices that were suffocated, ignored, or completely erased that philosophy really came alive for me.
To the Thinkers Who Refused to Be Silenced
This is for Sor Juana, who showed the world intellectual rebellion is never limited to any gender and that the acquiring of knowledge is a most holy act of defiance.
This is for Alain Locke, who reminded me that identity is not necessarily limitation but more like a lens: one way among many to see the world more thoroughly and clearly.
This is for Audre Lorde, whose writing made me not feel so solitary and whose spirit gives me the courage to continue battling for space in this world.
This is for Kahlil Gibran, whose poetic wisdom taught us that philosophy doesn’t always need to be written in dense prose—it can sing through poetry, celebrate individuality, and remind us of our shared humanity. His work bridged cultures and faiths, leaving a legacy of interconnectedness and compassion.
This is in memory of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, whose philosophy wasn't written on an ivory tower but forged within the furnace of resistance to prove that ideas only make full sense when embedded within life experience.
This is for Vine Deloria Jr., who reminded us that philosophy is not confined to the ivory towers of academia but is rooted in land, community, and resistance, and that Indigenous worldviews, far from being relics of the past, offer profound insights into humanity’s relationship with the environment and each other.
And for Michel Foucault, who taught me that personal is political and dismantling systems of oppression requires a lot of courage and intellect-and sometimes an awful amount of dense, jargon-filled texts.
These thinkers didn't just contribute to philosophy; they changed the face of it. What they showed me was that philosophy doesn't need to be abstract, doesn't have to be impersonal, and shouldn't be urgency-free. Instead, it is messy, personal, and urgent: a tool of liberation, survivability, a method by which to dream the better life.
To the Philosophers of the Future
This is for the queer kids and the kids of color who might be reading this article, who may currently be sitting in classrooms and wondering whether they belong. Let me save you the suspense: you do. Your voice matters, your perspective matters, and your questions matter. Philosophy isn't something you read; philosophy is something you shape. The canon is not set in stone; it's a living, breathing thing, and you are a part of that.
You don't have to fit into some mold of what a philosopher is supposed to look like. You don't have to write like Kant, think like Hegel, or mimic anyone else in the so-called canon. The world doesn't need another Nietzsche-it had quite enough with one, thank you very much. It needs you-your experiences, your questions, your brilliance.
Challenge to the Canon
And finally, a word to the canon itself: it is time to make room. It is time to stop stifling voices that simply would not be stifled. Philosophy does not have to be an exercise in gatekeeping, and the canon does not have to be a mausoleum for dead white men. It can be a conversation-a loud, messy, beautiful conversation that includes everyone. But that means moving from old hierarchies, rethinking old assumptions, and embracing all of human diversity in thought.
What I Am Taking With Me
When first starting to learn philosophy, I thought it was about finding answers. But the more I read, the more I realized that philosophy is about asking the right questions. And some of the best questions come from the margins-from the voices that have been silenced, ignored, or overlooked.
Those voices have taught me that philosophy isn't about logic or argumentation; it's about connection, seeing the world from the perspective of another, knowing that the other's struggles and joys and take on life aren't separate from yours but part of the same story.
So here's to the smothered voices: the ones who wouldn't stay silenced, the ones who cut paths for the rest of us, and the ones who are still waiting to have their voices heard. What you do is not just necessary, it's crucial. Philosophy wouldn't be philosophy without you.
Final Reflections
Wisdom is often described as "the love of wisdom". But I have learned that wisdom is not of a group. It is not confined nor limited to a particular perspective. Wisdom is everywhere. In Audre Lorde's essays, in the speeches of Dr. Ambedkar, in the poetry of Sor Juana, and within the lives of people living themselves into truth within a world that tries to erase them. So let's keep honoring these voices. Let's keep amplifying them.
Let's keep making philosophy a space to which everyone belongs. After all, the best ideas don't come from strangling voices-they come from setting them free.
References
Lorde, Audre. Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Crossing Press, 1984.
Ambedkar, B.R. The Annihilation of Caste. Navayana Publishing, 1936 (reprinted 2014).
Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. Random House, 1978.
Locke, Alain. The New Negro: An Interpretation. Albert and Charles Boni, 1925.
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Respuesta a Sor Filotea de la Cruz. 1691.
Deloria, Vine Jr. God Is Red: A Native View of Religion. Fulcrum Publishing, 1973.
Young, Barbara. This Man from Lebanon: A Study of Kahlil Gibran. Alfred A. Knopf, 1945.
Ahmed, Sara. Living a Feminist Life. Duke University Press, 2017.
Collins, Patricia Hill. Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment. Routledge, 1990.
Lugones, María. “Heterosexualism and the Colonial/Modern Gender System.” Hypatia, vol. 22, no. 1, 2007, pp. 186–209.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. Can the Subaltern Speak? Reflections on the History of an Idea. Columbia University Press, 2010.
Mignolo, Walter D. The Darker Side of Western Modernity: Global Futures, Decolonial Options. Duke University Press, 2011.
Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. Grove Press, 1961.
Anzaldúa, Gloria. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. Aunt Lute Books, 1987.
hooks, bell. Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. Routledge, 1994.
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