Chinatown Stories Vol.4: HEAT by Chinatown Today

热

Heat

Chinatown Stories | Volume 4 1

Acknowledgements 感謝

Editors

Contributors Brandon Leung Christine Wei Emerald Repard-Denniston Grace Lau Jason Yu Leanne Dunic Liu Ai Hua Mebrat Beyene Nicholas Tay Sunnie Sanaz Taitania Calarca-Higuchi Thanh Nguyen Tray Ma Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo Vy Le WISH Drop-In Centre Society Yarrow Intergenerational Society for Justice 世代同行會

Special thanks to Mebrat Beyene, Estefania Duran, Rach Lau and Beverly Ho

Rebecca Peng Phebe M. Ferrer

Cover, Design, Typeset Jenn Xu

Board Brooke Xiang Kelsey Lee Phebe M. Ferrer Jenn Xu Russell Chiong

Chinese Translations Brooke Xiang

Contact Us Instagram: @chinatown.today Twitter: @chinatown_today Facebook: Chinatown Today Stockist Contact: info@chinatown.today

Funding for this project was provided by Metro Vancouver

Chinatown Today is based in Vancouver’s Chinatown, which sits on the unceded, ancestral, occupied territories of the Coast Salish peoples—specifically, the x m k y m (Musqueam), S w wú7mesh (Squamish), and selílwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) First Nations. Unceded means this land was never given up through treaty, surrender, or war. As uninvited guests and settlers working, creating, and playing in the neighbourhood and community that we call Chinatown, we recognize that we are part of the ongoing dispossession of Indigenous peoples, lands, and resources. We hope that as we reflect on Chinatown’s past, present, and future, we can also continue conversations needed to understand the stories of the spaces we occupy.

Chinatown Today 的總部設立在溫哥華的唐人街，屬於沿岸賽里希族 (Coast Salish) 的領地，又稱為所謂的 Unceded Territories (不放棄的領土)。沿岸賽里希族是 x m k y m (Musqueam)，S w wú7mesh (Squamish)、和 selílwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) 原住民 (First Nations) 的統稱，而 Unceded (不放棄) 是指從未透過條約、投降、或因戰爭而放棄主權。當年華人在這塊土地上定居、工作、創業、育樂、並劃地為「唐人街」至今，也間接的剝奪了當地原住民族的土地和資源。Chinatown Today 深信，在分享唐人街的背景時，我們也必須持續探索這些故事背後的歷j史意義。希望在省思唐人街的過去、現在、和未來時，我們可以更加的了解這塊土地背後的點點滴滴。

Table of Contents 篇目

7 Editorial Statement

8 FORreLEASEplease U\\\ZiS* Photography Sunnie Sannaz

9 Self-Portrait as Money Food’s Soy Sauce Chicken Poetry Grace Lau

11 Lunar Niu Year Mixed-Media Illustration Christine Wei

13 Past and Present Tense Mixed-Media Art Nicholas Tay

19 Earth is in Us Poetry Taitania Calarco-Higuchi

21 Heat Wave Fiction Leanne Dunic

23 Hotpot Makeouts Comic Tray Ma

25 Cool Down Digital Performance Art Emerald Repard-Denniston

29 Interview with a Chinatown Senior: Liu Ai Hua of Yarrow Intergenerational Society for Justice 世代同行會 Interview Brooke Xiang

33 Hide and Seek: Karaoke at the China Cloud Creative Non-Fiction Thanh Nguyen

37 Qingming Photography Brandon Leung

43 Campfire Smell Soundwork Jason Yu

45 Tangerine Sky Creative Non-Fiction Vy Le

47 WISH Drop-In Centre Society: Interview with Mebrat Beyene Interview Rebecca Peng

56 Communicating Resistance With A Broken Tongue: 120 Prints in Five Hour Print + Performance Art Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo

64 About the Contributors + Organizations

Editorial Statement 编辑声明 Heat as crisis. Heat as danger. Heat as a burning question, a boiling point. Heat as a galvanizing moment, an explosive difference, a situation that demands action. Heat as a synonym to friction, conflict, or pressure. What happens when our relationships are put to the fire? What questions do we need to confront collectively? Individually? Heat may signal crisis, but it is also integral to innovation, life. Heat can be spice, ardour, comfort, transformation, rebirth. Stories of renewed purpose, fresh starts, reconnection. For this issue of Chinatown Stories, we asked our contributors to hold their hand to the flame, to explore solidarities and tensions, conflict and compassion, through the lens of “heat.” The editorial team hoped this expansive prompt would allow for equally expansive works of creativity and free our contributors to interrogate their connection to the networks of people, business, and histories known as “Chinatown” on their own terms. We were not disappointed. Volume 4 features Chinatown Stories’ most dynamic range of mediums yet, an invigorating collection of art, poetry, prose, video, and soundwork. From the martian skies and simmering desires in Leanne Dunic’s short story, Heat Wave, to the vibrant, textural expression of resilience in Nicholas Tay’s mixed media series Past and Present Tense ; from Jason Yu’s meditations on cultural estrangement by a Pacific Northwest campfire to Thanh Nguyen’s anxiousyet-exuberant celebration of local karaoke; these creative works transform moments of tension into fuel for connection, self-reflection, and, often, joy. Heat also evoked multiple unavoidable realities. For this issue, Chinatown Stories spoke with Chinatown senior Liu Ai Hua on her experiences in the historic 2021 heatwave. We also interviewed Mebrat Beyene, the executive director of WISH Drop-In Centre Society, a frontline social service organization supporting street-based sex workers in the Downtown Eastside. These conversations complement our contributors’ creative work, inviting us to think with our neighbours and better understand the fires at the forefront of their minds. The Chinatown Stories team would like to thank Metro Vancouver for funding the production of Volume 4. Most of all, we would like to (warmly!) thank our contributors, our interviewees, and you, for continuing to engage, creatively and critically, with intensity and passion. — Editors, Rebecca Peng and Phebe M. Ferrer

FORreLEASEplease U\\\ZiS* PHOTOGRAPHY BY SUNNIE SANAZ

FORreLEASEplease

U\\\ZiS*

Self-Portrait as Money Food’s Soy Sauce Chicken POETRY BY GRACE LAU

I hang perfectly still, my frame a window. These signs have always been here. Last names. Nourishment. A simmering honey. I am drenched, sticky with soy, basking in the glow of my little sun. This is the closest I have ever been to home. Here I shine, always. People are greedy for me. Tomorrow, another chicken. I hang a god. There is nothing new under the sun.

When heat is experienced in its tender presence, it can be a gentle embrace of the heart with care and joy; a sense of warmth as opposed to the intensified forms of heat that are often manifested as passion, excitement, or even agitation at times. Warmth to me is often rather a pleasant sense that I normally associate with comfortable temperatures to the touch, as well as comforting memories, especially memories that capture unforgettable moments created or shared between me and my loved ones.

Lunar Niu Year MIXED MEDIA ILLUSTRATION + WORDS BY CHRISTINE WEI Being one of the most significant celebrations of tradition back home, Lunar New Year is definitely the best embodiment of joy, festivity, and warmth. A glorious and unforgettable gathering with moderate chaos derived from witty banter, bad jokes, and the exchange of New Year’s wishes between family and friends. Lunar Niu Year is illustrated with the hope to recreate a glimpse into the heart-warming and wholesome moment during the preparation for a dinner party for the year of the Ox (as ox is also known as Niu in mandarin), when family members collaboratively attempt to rush all the delicious dishes onto the table before the countdown to the new year. Lunar Niu Year endeavours to retain not only the heat radiated from the steam of the appetizing dishes, but also the warmth that hugged the hearts of the family because they got to welcome the arrival of a new year and new beginnings with loved ones by their sides. sides.

Past and Present Tense MIXED MEDIA ART + WORDS BY NICHOLAS TAY

Past and Present Tense is a multi-disciplinary, mixed media series about surviving trauma, healing, and nurturing the beauty that remains. The visual narrative originates from my personal experience of coming to Canada from Singapore as a young child and going through a traumatic event of abuse. These works move to address the legacy of this trauma and the process of recovery and healing.

and the role it has played in my relationships, mental health, and approach to life. A key idea in this narrative is that each step on this journey, no matter how dark, is still filled with meaningful beauty and glimpses of joy. Though the photos themselves are charred by fire, each work is painted on with vibrant abstraction symbolizing the durability of self.

This series logs the narrative of my personal journey through a visual language that will find resonance with many, particularly those within and across diasporic communities. The core works in this series being figurative photography, where bodies are used as abstract symbols for the lingering effects of trauma trauma

It is my hope that the visualization of my trauma and the subsequent dialogue will connect with others whose mental health is also suffering due to trauma, and to provide empathy that they are seen and that there is always beauty in them worth preserving.

I’m Not Like That

Let’s Just Stay Here

It’s Fine

I Didn’t Mean To

Go Easy on Me

Earth is in Us POETRY BY TAITANIA CALARCO-HIGUCHI

everything I came from has been ignited by her my obaachan never burnt out, despite the overworking, despite the four children she lives in summer heat, waiting to eat her mikan ripe and suppai with just the right amount of juice i slip through my mother’s fingers like stream from the river that’s always dried out in ehime i burn out, i overwork, i carry no child and so i’m not like her or my aunts, who are fiery entities not obliging to the male gaze or my mom, whose anger means hanging up her phone on me or my sister, who boils from the inside and flushes her cheeks like she stands in heat when I tell her she’s wrong i’m not like them i take water soluble vitamins, and drink my tea warm, not hot like a cat’s tongue i’m water and cry tsunami tears a fire extinguisher to the family name my bloodstream consists of contamination and i wish i were more like them then i wouldn’t be burning out their heat like i do, like i always do i’m water and they can’t burn me anymore.

ARTWORK BY JENN XU

Heat Wave FICTION BY LEANNE DUNIC

The marigolds took an

All the windows were open because of the heat, but now our house smelled of smoke, and the windowsills were covered in a scrim of ash. Forest fires had flared across the province. Lawns were crisp, save for a few spindly dandelions. “Scary, isn’t it?” my husband asked. “Martian skies.” “The end is near,” I whispered. In the garden below, the marigolds took on an atomic hue. My husband took his phone from his back pocket and held it up to the window. He snapped a shot of where yesterday there were mountains. Life burned while we admired the amber glow of particulate from our living room. Were there enough resources to get the fires under control? What would happen after? I asked my husband, “Is it fair to bring a child into this ill-fated world?” He shook his head. “Are we still thinking of having a kid?” I turned away. He didn’t know that I hadn’t gone back on the pill as we had discussed. The possibility of being pregnant ignited a light inside me, but it was quickly overshadowed by the fear that having a baby here, now, like this, would cause me insurmountable sadness. Out the window, I watched smoke billow over the city. An air-quality warning had been issued. Still, the dog had to be walked. Once outside, I covered my mouth with my hand as if it could filter the smoke. Grass crunched under the dog’s paws. Across the street, the man who surreptitiously washed his truck under moonlight headed off for work. Further down the block, a house was being torn down. The front third of the bungalow stood like a skeleton. Windows had been removed, revealing the bare wood frame underneath. The claw of an excavator descended on the roof. The bungalow wavered, its walls pitching this way and that as if searching for a handhold. The concrete foundation crumbled. A spout of water gushed onto the rubble. Did drought restrictions not apply to construction sites? When I returned from the walk, I told my husband about the demolition. He said he’d recently seen the asbestos removal team at the site. He slipped his laptop into his carrier and grabbed the paper bag that held the egg sandwich I had made him. A bead of sweat crept from under my arm.

atomic hue.

His hand a hot stone on the small of my back. I called a cab to take me to the airport. I mentioned to my husband that the coconut oil had gone bad. “You told me that twice already,” he said. He kissed me on the forehead. “Have a good trip.” Broken light shines from under the door of my hotel room. A shadow hesitates. Traffic below casts an autumnal blush on the wall. I lift my hair off my shoulders, step softly across the carpet. The metal handle is cold. A shiver dances on my skin. I reach for the handle. Eight years. He’s here because I am. We smile and reach for each other, exhaling as if we’ve held our breath all these years. He starts to say something about the message I left at his office and I tell him I don’t want to talk—there’s too much to say. I close my eyes and we kiss, his hand a hot stone on the small of my back. Against the wall, we entangle. The faint scent of eucalyptus on his skin is different from the soap he used before. His breath traces the perimeter of my ear, slides down the length of my neck. Already, we are falling into old habits. I take his hand and guide him to the bed. I straddle his torso and hold his head in my hands. Wrinkles have deepened, but his skin is still smooth. He must’ve shaved before coming here. His hairline has receded further and he’s buzzed the rest to lessen the impact of the loss. I bend my face to his. The hairless part of his skull smells greasy, natural, human. It reminds me of the odour of the rancid coconut oil at home. I press my eyelashes to his and we gaze at each other, trying to convey with our bodies what the last eight years have been like. My nails hard-pinch the skin of his inner wrist. I know it hurts. His mouth twists and his eyelids close most of the way, but he says nothing. We are able to bear more than we think. We want to take our time with each other, but we’re desperate. I don’t know how long he can be here with me. There is no wedding ring on his finger. There isn’t one on mine, either. Goosebumps rise on the back of my arms. His lips part. I kiss them to close the gap. He enters me and a wave of warmth rolls to my temple. The feeling is familiar, severe, elated, full. As he reaches the deepest part of me, the hotel fire alarm sounds. He laughs first. The bell peals aggressively in our ears, vibrates through our bodies. I know we both wonder whether we should evacuate, but neither of us says anything. Maybe it was a prank. A false alarm. We continue to fuck. The alarm becomes white noise. His thrusts are contemptuous. Punishment. For not choosing him. For being here now. For what I will take away. Tears trickle from his eye. I imagine being scorched to death. At what point does the soul leave the body? After skin has melted? When flame reaches bone? Or does asphyxiation happen first? My palm cradles the side of his face. “It’s okay,” I want to tell him. I bend down and take his lips in mine. This will be the last time. I know it. I can already feel the sadness growing inside of me.

Hotpot Makeouts COMIC BY TRAY MA

DIGITAL PERFORMANCE ART + WORDS BY EMERALD REPARD-DENNISTON

scan code to access video

“White Washed”: A derogatory term used to describe a minority who has assimilated with ‘Western society.’

The “White Washed” person does not necessarily abandon his/her own culture but rather embrace others beside their own. Some people take it as a compliment while others take it as an insult. Emerald has grown up in North Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada for most of her life. She explores her own cultural identiy and reflects on her relationship with the space she grew up in. She is interested in the concept of whitewashing. When she thinks about the term she imagines cow’s milk being poured over her head and rubbed into her skin. She uses this symbolism with her experience growing up in a predominantly white area. She layers videos from her old camera roll from her adolescence, as she sits there with milk substance being poured over her, embracing and rejecting her assimilation to whiteness. Milk cools down the mouth when one consumes spicy food, milk is used during protests to protect the eyes of protestors from pepper or mace spray, milk is white and contrasts with the Chinese colour red. Heat is red, heat is passion, heat is heated arguments. Heat is rebellion and resentment. Heat is fire and food, heat lights up and ignites Emerald’s creative growth. Within this growth she tries to re-connect to Vancouver’s Chinatown; trying to be more connected to her cultural roots, she finds hope.

Interview with a Chinatown Senior: Liu Ai Hua of Yarrow Intergenerational Society for Justice 世代同行會 INTERVIEW + TRANSLATIONS BY BROOKE XIANG

Liu Ai Hua has lived near Chinatown for almost ten years. Originally from Shandong province in mainland China, Liu Po-po moved to so-called Vancouver to be closer to her daughter. Liu Po-po is very easy to talk to; so easy to talk to, in fact, that the interviewer couldn’t help but share some details about their life, too. Seniors are the heart of Chinatown, and supporting their well-being is the key to the prosperity of our community. In this short interview, Liu Po-po teaches us a tried and true recipe for a cooling mung bean soup to tame the summer heat. Her story also reminds us that even the smallest acts of everyday kindness, like giving up your seat on the bus, can warm the hearts of our elders for a long time. *Po-po is a term of endearment and respect for women of one’s grandparents’ age.

刘爱华婆婆在唐人街附近住了快十年。刘婆婆是山东人，她搬来温哥华是为了跟女儿住的近一点。刘婆婆非常健谈，让访谈者也忍不住说起自己的故事。长辈们是唐人街的核心，他们的健康与幸福跟唐人街的繁荣息息相关。在这篇访谈里，刘婆婆跟我们分享了一道清凉解暑的绿豆汤的食谱。她的故事也提醒我们日行一善的举手之劳，不管多渺小，都会在长辈的心上留下深深的暖意

L: 在唐人街就像中国似的，人多一些，尤其是华人。我们有时候到妇女中心，基本上是华人很多。让我感觉好像还在中国似的。看病很方便。 Being in Chinatown is like being back home. There are more people here, especially Chinese people. Sometimes when I go to the Women’s Centre, most of the visitors are Chinese. This makes me feel at home. It’s easier to get medical service.

Chinatown Today: 您叫什么名字，在唐人街住多久了？ Please tell us your name, and how long you’ve lived in Chinatown. Liu Ai Hua: 我叫刘爱华，在唐人家附近租的房子住近十年了。 My name is Liu Ai Hua. I’ve been renting the same apartment near Chinatown for almost 10 years.

CT: 您老家在哪里？ Which part of China are you from?

CT: 对您来说唐人街意味着什么？ What do you think about when you hear the term Chinatown?

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L: 我在中国的时候住在山东青岛。我听你口音也像是山东人。你是山东人吗？ When I lived in China, I lived in Qingdao, Shandong. Your accent sounds like it’s from Shandong, too. Are you from Shandong?

CT: 快了！您在唐人街最深刻的印象是什么？ Soon, hopefully. What is your most memorable time in Chinatown?

L: 我在唐人街最深刻的印象就是唐人街有很多超市，买来的东西品种很多。店铺很多货物都摆在街头，给我感觉就像自己家乡似的。有华人买菜也能碰到。打票的都是华人，有事儿都可以问。华人街给我像家的感觉。 My most memorable time in Chinatown is shopping at the grocery stores. There’s great variety, and the shop displays and items are wheeled out into the street, just like in my memories of home. You can run into a lot of Chinese people, too. The cashiers all speak Chinese, and I can ask them if I have questions. Chinatown feels like home.

CT:【笑】我不是山东人。我算是杭州人。 [Laugh] I’m not from Shandong. I’m from Hangzhou. L: 杭州是好地方。 Hangzhou is a great place.

CT: 但是我十岁就来了，所以印象没有特别深。 But I moved to Canada when I was ten. I don’t have very many memories of Hangzhou.

CT: 我们下一刊唐人街故事以热来做主题。在英文里，我们用的是“heat heat” ，而在中文里，这个单词可以理解成热量，热气，热闹，等等。对您来说，热这个词代表了什么？ The theme of this issue of Chinatown Stories is heat. In English, heat is a very versatile word that can mean so many different things. It doesn’t translate as well in Chinese, though. What do you think of when you hear the word heat (热)?

L: 那你来了多少年了？ How many years have you been here?

CT: 我今年二十九，差不多二十年了。 I’m 29 this year, so almost 20 years.

L: 和我女儿一样。我女儿来了十九年了。十九年变化很大。你还有回家乡看看吗？ The same as my daughter. My daughter has been here for 19 years. Lots have changed in 19 years. Have you visited your hometown recently?

L: 说起热让我想起来在温哥华天热起来特别热。我生长在青岛。这里的天热跟青岛不一样。尤其是去年，有两天热得很厉害。可是温哥华最大的好处是到了树荫底下马上就凉快。这一点和我家乡不一样。青岛一年四季分的很清楚，一般是立秋时候会热，但是青岛的立秋很短。 It reminds me of the weather. I grew up in Qingdao. It’s very different here, especially last summer, when there were two very hot days. The best thing about Vancouver heat is that it’s immediately cooler if you’re in the shade of a tree. This is not the same as my hometown in Qingdao. The four seasons feel very distinct in Qingdao. It’s only hot at the beginning of autumn, which only lasts a few days.

CT: 机会不太多，特别是因为现在疫情。我有个外婆，今年88岁了。她年纪比较大，身体有一些不便，所以没能打疫苗。我回去也是给他们添麻烦，所以好久没回去了。 There haven’t been many opportunities, especially with the pandemic. My maternal grandmother is 88 this year. She’s older and has some health problems, so she couldn’t get vaccinated. Even if I go visit, I’ll just be adding to their troubles. I haven’t been back for a long time. L: 现在这个疫情也不知道什么时候结束。两年了，差不多了吧？我也近三年没回家了。想回家看看，但现在也走不了。 Who knows when the pandemic will end? It’s been two years. It’s been almost three years since I’ve been home. I want to visit, but now is not the time.

CT: 去年暑假非常的炎热。这对您有没有什么影响？ This past summer, there was a very intense heatwave. How did that affect you?

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L: 有几天我记得，就是在家开了风扇，没出门。我来到温哥华以后，去年是第一次碰到这么炎热的天。 I remember a few very hot days. I stayed at home, turned on the fan, and didn’t go out. After moving to Vancouver, last year was the first time for the weather to be so hot. CT: 您是怎么解暑的？ What do you do to beat the heat?

L: 我有做绿豆水。我听老人说天热要喝绿豆水。我在里面加了红枣，沙红糖。我一般当天煮了当天放凉了喝下去。 I make mung bean soup. I learned from elders that when it’s hot, you should make mung bean soup. I add dried dates and brown sugar. Usually I make it on the day-of, wait for it to cool, then drink it.

CT: 疫情和更严峻的天气给大家带来的很多不便。我们年轻人如何来帮助唐人街的老人家生活的更舒适呢？ The pandemic and this new, extreme weather has caused a lot of inconvenience for lots of people. How can we help you and other elders live more comfortably? L: 已经够好了。在这儿的年轻人，我坐车碰到了，他们马上给我让座。有一次我去买菜我腰痛商品拿不到，有个年轻人来帮我拿，让我很感动。 It’s already great. When I get on the bus here, the young people will immediately give me their seats. One time I hurt my back and couldn’t reach the items on the shelf while out shopping. A young person came to help me, and I was very touched. CT: 您还有什么想跟我们的读者说的嘛？ Do you have anything else you’d like to share with our readers?

L: 我来到加拿大，我觉得政府把我们老年人照顾的很好。我亲身感觉到，给我们带来了温暖。我陪我老公去医院，被护士们照顾得比亲人都好。 Since coming to Canada, I feel the government has really taken care of us seniors. Speaking from personal experience, it’s brought me warmth. When I accompany my partner to the hospital, the nurses take care of him even better than family.

CREATIVE NON-FICTION BY THANH NGUYEN

Hide and Seek: Karaoke at the China Cloud

You would have never known it if you passed by the graffitied and gated door sandwiched between two gift shops on the night of July 23, 2021. Behind it: a black flight of stairs ascending towards a light-filled doorway that beckons you into a short hallway. Then, turning to your very right, a sweeping, spacious room where some of the greatest unknown singers in the city have gathered to belt out a list of lost and timeless hits. “What is this place?” I wondered when I was invited to a private get-together somewhere called the China Cloud the week before. A quick search online revealed it as “a multifunctional space, housing a diverse collective of artists and musicians,” which was a vague and abstract enough description to mean anything and nothing all at once. But having never been there since it opened in 2010, I was overdue for a visit. The real draw for me was the karaoke. That four-syllable word that lilts off the tongue like the refrain of a nursery rhyme. For some, hearing it brings total ecstatic joy, while for others, much horror. Consider karaoke the cilantro of entertainment. But I love it. At every karaoke party I’ve ever attended, it was hard not to single myself out as the overzealous singer. You know the one. The person who always performs power ballads with a cringeworthy earnestness or makes a meal out of drawn-out classics like Bohemian Rhapsody? As netizens would say, “It me.” The vaccines and lifted restrictions had granted us all a moment of reprieve and I was going to revel in it. Two years of being hidden by screens, both big and small, made me long to be seen and heard by others. Karaoke felt like that rare opportunity to express myself in the most audacious way I know.

Consider karaoke the cilantro of entertainment. But I love it.

The only reservation I had was performing in front of strangers who I was told either had a professional background in singing or were just “really fucking good.” I like to think that karaoke is a layman sport, an equalizer of sorts that does not require technical proficiency. “It’s all about the showmanship,” is what I would say to people with the grating optimism of an overly-assured life coach. Yet faced with the prospect of being the worst-sounding person among a group of vocal veterans, I felt the need to prepare.

And so I underwent a rigorous, three-fold process of getting ready for the hangout. What this entailed was:

1) Practicing on my karaoke machine called

the Party Rocker (essentially a glorified speaker that has the ability to light up and turn any environment into a poor man’s rave). 2) Recording myself singing so I could assess the quality of my voice and fine tune it. 3) Curating a list of pre-approved songs on my phone, which I would discreetly refer to through out the night. Treating a casual hangout like I was auditioning for The Voice proved to be counterintuitive because I ended up psyching myself out. Leading up to the night, I was so riddled with anxiety that I couldn’t stop peeing; I counted thirteen trips to the bathroom that day. With a nervous bladder, I left my place uncertain whether I would even have the gall to get up in front of everyone. Little did I know that coming to the China Cloud would mean being able to leave my worries behind. Imagine entering a quaint, dimly-lit space that upon first glance could be mistaken for someone’s living room, save for the bar on one end and the stage on the other. The modest furniture makes you feel at home, invites you to relax, settle down.

Sparks fly through hands and wires. 35 35

And you do, right next to the host who asks you to sit with him as he busies himself with cables and cords, suspending you in the chaos of mic checks and computing connections while affirming your sense of belonging with gentle touches. Sparks fly through hands and wires. Slowly, people funnel in. Awkward introductions and small chat abound before the night begins with everyone choosing their songs. You look around and you are surprised to see others who have also armed themselves with a personal setlist on their phone, including the host who likes to organize his choices by “temperature.” It comforts you to know that you are not the only dork in the room.

The first song to set the mood for the evening is “I’m on Fire’’ by Bruce Springsteen. You can’t believe it, it’s one of your favourites, and it stokes that familiar flame inside of you. You recall those nights when you would sit alone in your bedroom, cooing along to lyrics that spoke of a burning anguish. It hurts, but you are not alone this time.

it stokes that familiar flame inside of you.

With every new performance, you feel the warm charge of bodies and breath. An electric energy that is stimulating and infectious. You decide to sing. Your choice is “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.’’ Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you fumble to find your footing. You hit your stride and belt the lyrics, emboldened by the brazen spirit of Nancy Sinatra. You strut across the stage, owning those expensive leather boots you have on. You relish in the line “I just found me a brand new box of matches” as you make playful vengeance with your eyes to the audience. It feels amazing .

The magic comes at the end of the night with Imogen Heap’s “Hide and Seek” and everyone is asked to join in. You initially hesitate because you don’t know how to sing that song; you’re not prepared. But then you hear it: separate voices coming together, commingling in unison, carrying yours in an acoustic current that eradicates borders and differences. And then you realize in that instance that the friction sparked from spontaneity, that hot, hot heat of the moment, is worthy of being felt.

36 36

Qingming PHOTOGRAPHY + WORDS BY BRANDON LEUNG

This series of photographs comes from my investigation of the landscape of graveyards made under my ongoing project Qingming (Ancestor’s Day), named after the Chinese tradition of grave grave sweeping. My visit to Victoria’s Chinese Cemetery at Harling Point was precipitated by my recent research into the Vancouver Chinatown photographs and poems of activist and artist Jim Wong-Chu. In one poem titled “fourth uncle,” he describes a man he met and photographed in Victoria’s Chinatown who happened to be a distant relative. The poem references the feeling of dislocation felt by early Chinese immigrants (and still by many present day immigrants), being buried far away from home. Historically, such Chinese graveyards acted as initial burial spots for Chinese immigrants. After a few years, their remains would be exhumed and sent back to China; only after death were they able to go home. Visiting the Victoria Chinese Cemetery was a reminder of the realness of this history.

I have realized how strange of a landscape graveyards are with their rows of tombstones, manicured lawns, monuments, and memorials. People leave behind an assortment of flowers, bouquets, wreaths, and food to memorialize the dead. No two stones are quite exactly the same. And just beyond the graveyard walls, beyond the houses of the dead, are the houses of the living. Graveyards are enclaves for the dead in the cities of the living. Graveyards such as the Victoria Chinese Cemetery have also acted as a way for me to connect with my background as a Chinese Canadian and with my other ancestors, the many generations of Chinese people in Canada before me. A Chinese tradition brought me to graveyards in the first place.

Campfire Smell SOUNDWORK BY JASON YU

Someone once told me campfires are a great way to connect with people. We were out, under the stars, disconnected, staring into some flickering coals. His theory was that people can watch a fire in silence. Fires take the place of conversation. Thoughts can end gracefully, and pauses are without anxiety. For this reason, people only speak when they have something meaningful to say. The quiet, by itself, is enough. I’ve made a lot of my best friends around fires. In high school, I’d go to my friend’s house by the river after class. We’d hop a fence, climb trees, and dig holes. I learned how to start fires. A pit for wind protection. A cabin for air flow. Twigs for kindling. If it’s been raining, the underside of logs will have dry wood. Strong, even breaths towards the base of the flame. Concentrate the heat. Why is it that I know these things, but not how to order dim sum? While I connect with people over fires, I hear others connect through food. Why do I have a list of hikes to do, but no interest in keeping a list of restaurants to try? I didn’t grow up in Chinatown. In fact, I avoided it. I grew up in a place where my heritage made me stand out and all I wanted was to fit in. I’m used to being the only person of colour in a space, and for longer than I care to admit, this attempted upward assimilation gave me a twisted sense of self-satisfaction. I looked down on Asians who only hung out with other Asians. I was frustrated by them. I’m playing my part; you should play yours! Get with the program! And I did. But for what? This? I said pauses by a fire are without anxiety, but that excludes the deeper, older anxiety that’s been burning in the background. I’ve been digging pits, snapping twigs, stoking flames for a long time, but will I, by myself, ever be enough? Sitting in the smoke for too long makes me lightheaded. The smell of it will linger on my clothes for days. Do I even want the smell? And if I don’t, could I even get it out or is it too late? This is something I wonder about silently, as I watch the embers fly into the night.

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Tangerine

Sky

COLLAGE BY J ENN XU

CREATIVE NON-FICTION BY VY LE

There was this intersection that my father, on his then twelve-yearold scooter with me on the back seat, would pass by whenever he drove me home from school. The air was always dusty and humid, the people were always busy and hurried, the afternoon sky was always painted with a mellow yet so fragile tangerine shade. Seven years he drove me home from school. In that space, in those specks of time when the tangerine sun rays started bleeding, I had always seen only my father’s back. He would often wear an old chemise or a second-hand polo shirt that was so ever slightly worn out that the vertebrae on his spine were almost visible. It was fun to look at when I was a kid fascinated with the beautiful grotesque of human bodies, but the more I grew up, the more agonized his backbone became. One day when I was thirteen, at the red light on the busy street, my father suddenly seemed so thin. He was so small and fragile that even the most vulnerable ray of sunlight I had ever seen could have devoured him with ease. Under the tangerine sun, I learned that I had not done enough to protect my father. There was this under-construction building at one of the corners of the intersection that had been sitting there for years. Always me on the back seat, always that same heated air, always that same tangerine sky. Through the empty windows on the top stories of that building, the last sun rays always pierced most painfully. But then they slipped away and dried out like spilled water on a sidewalk, just vanished as if they had never managed to drown the space. The sun was dying, everyday, but the majority of us, in the majority of time, would blindfold ourselves to not see its perpetual cries for help. One day when I was fifteen, at the red light in the busy street, the sun suddenly seemed so small. It is now that I recall memories of when in grade eleven, I got back home from school to know that my bunnies had been taken away. Memories of when I understood that I had killed my first love at seventeen. Memories of when I had to accept the fact that my grandmother had passed away right after I graduated from high school and my mother could not shed a tear. They all tie back to that moment when I was fifteen, under the tangerine sun, I learned that nothing ever mattered. Nothing, even the tangerine sun. Vancouver, an early morning in June 2020

WISH Drop-In Centre Society:

INTERVIEW BY REBECCA PENG PHOTOS BY WENDY D. PHOTOGRAPHY

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Interview with Mebrat Beyene

Mebrat Beyene is the executive director of WISH Drop-In Centre Society and co-chair of Living in Community, where she supports women and initiatives related to the health and safety of women and gender-diverse people engaged in street-based sex work. Chinatown Today spoke with Mebrat to engage a deeper understanding of WISH, specifically as a neighbouring organization to Chinatown, located in the Downtown Eastside.

Chinatown Today:

For any of our readers who may not be familiar, how would you describe what WISH is? What are its programs?

Mebrat Beyene:

WISH is a Downtown Eastside-based frontline social service, providing essential services in the neighbourhood. It has been in the Downtown Eastside the last 36 years now. The mandate of WISH is specifically to support street-based sex workers, women and gender diverse folks who are engaged in street-based sex work. The focus on street-based sex work is significant because of all the forms of sex work, street-based is the form that’s the most dangerous, and that has the least amount of choice. In the context of the Downtown Eastside, it’s also very deeply intertwined with issues of poverty, homelessness and housing, mental health issues, substance use issues, trauma. And we’re not talking about, you know, one incident of trauma in someone’s past, but ongoing trauma and targeted violence because of who folks are and what they do. There’s a deep over-representation of Indigenous women and folks living with disabilities as well. So we’re very deeply tied into all of the issues that everyone in the Downtown Eastside is seeing and facing. But when it comes to street-based sex work, a lot of that is amplified because of how much stigma there is around sex work and sex workers. As to what WISH does, the model of WISH is that there’s a variety of frontline programs that are then supported by capacity building programs. In terms of those frontline programs, the biggest one of course is the drop-in, which is where WISH’s name comes from. The Drop-In is open 365 nights a year. It’s a low barrier Drop-In for street-based sex workers, women and gender diverse folks, where there are hot meals, showers, clothing, makeup and toiletry donations. It’s a space where basic needs are met. Same thing with the shelter, which is sort of co-located to the Drop-In – they’re just next door to each other. The shelter is 24/7. And it’s the first of its kind in Canada. And in that case, it’s because it’s the first of its kind as a 24/7 shelter explicitly for sex workers and delivered by a sex worker support organization at that. And then the third frontline service is the MAP, the Mobile Access Project Van, which is literally a van that is meeting sex workers throughout the entire city, not just in the Downtown Eastside, and is meeting the basic needs, harm reduction needs, information and referral, whatever the van can supply. Sometimes it’s food, but it’s also clothing donations and peer support as well.

CT:

Has COVID impacted or changed any of your frontline services?

MB:

During COVID, there’s a whole host of frontline programs that we’ve introduced in direct response to the pandemic, but also indirect responses to the unintended consequences of COVID, largely around lockdown and the closing or scaling back of services. In that vein, we were able to create a 24/7 outdoor safe respite area in the backlot behind WISH, which included 24/7 peer witnessing for overdose prevention, as well as a way to expand our space, since everyone had to limit the number of people that could be inside. We moved as many things outside, so we didn’t have to turn anyone away. Those are all the frontline programs, but then supporting that for folks, once they’re ready to explore some of the longer-term changes that they might want to make in their lives, there’s a whole host of programs like supportive employment, Indigenous health and safety, music therapy, and the learning centre.

All of those types of programs exist as continuous wraparound supports for the participants that come through WISH. So the goal of WISH is always to provide those supports to participants coming through our door. And to do our best to advocate for, or at least highlight and flag, those issues, policies, and legislations that are having impact on the population that we see. CT:

It’s a very ambitious and incredible scope.

MB:

I know! It’s a lot going on. I think a lot of people know about the Drop-In, but don’t quite realize there’s all these other moving pieces as well.

CT:

How many people are involved with WISH on a regular basis, including volunteers? How big is your team?

MB:

It’s quite a big team. There’s over nine programs at this point, and there are about 150 volunteers and about 200 staff. And that includes full-time, part-time, casual and peer staff.

CT:

Can you tell us a little bit about how you specifically got involved with WISH and your journey within this organization?

MB:

I’ve now been in Vancouver for 21 years and, very soon after arriving in Vancouver, started working within women’s communities. One of my early roles was working with Status of Women Canada. That’s when I really started to work very closely with women’s organizations throughout the province, which was also a great way for me to just learn about this province and the city. And a lot of my files at the time included – I had all the French files, because as a Quebecer I was the only one who was bilingual!

CT:

It’s a rare skill out here!

MB:

I know! So I had all the French files and I shared the Downtown Eastside files with a couple of colleagues and then a few women’s organizations on the islands. And that’s when I started to get to know the Downtown Eastside and the different players. It was also the first time I learned about WISH. Roughly around that time was when the funding for the MAP Van project was coming together, so it was a nice sort of full circle that I, you know, was involved as a funder and then, years later, able to come back to WISH on the other side. Basically I’ve been doing this type of work for over 25 years. The work that I’ve done in the Downtown Eastside has been both voluntary and paid. And before WISH, I was also on the board of the Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre as treasurer for a number of terms. So once Kate Gibson, the former long-time executive director, was retiring, members of the hiring committee were reaching out to me, sort of encouraging me to apply. And I remember going, “Oh, heck no! That’s a crazy job. I don’t know who’s going to take that job!” I say it lovingly because you know, these are really difficult jobs. Any executive director job in any non-profit is challenging. And then the Downtown Eastside adds a whole other layer of complexity and uniqueness. So I say that lovingly.

CT:

It reads as loving. Speaking to your long involvement with WISH, but also with the Downtown Eastside more broadly, what sort of changes have you seen when you think about these communities?

MB:

That’s such an interesting and challenging question, because I think any of us who work in the Downtown Eastside endeavor not to further stigmatize an already deeply stigmatized, criminalized and over-surveilled community. So there’s caution that I offer there in terms of not pathologizing the community and also not adding to the stereotypes of a neighbourhood like the Downtown Eastside, and definitely not to add to the already overwhelming stigma that faces the neighbourhood. So that being said, I answer with sort of a deep sadness that I’ve never seen the neighbourhood so dramatic and so bad, honestly and frankly, as it’s been these last few years. The pieces that for me are most overwhelming and discouraging is just how deep and ongoing gender-based and sexualized violence is in the neighbourhood and that it often continues with impunity. And those of us that are working on issues of gender, race, and sexualized violence, I think find deep frustration about a lack of focus on the issue, sometimes even of acceptance of the issue, and also a lack of willingness to tackle it together and collectively. I’m frustrated at what feels like everyone assuming that the gendered and women’s organizations should be addressing gender-based violence, as opposed to, you know, the men’s organizations, the all-gender spaces, and all stakeholders coming together to really address it. The other thing is just despite all of our work, it’s so saddening, but we’ve never seen poverty this dramatic, homelessness this dramatic, and an opioid crisis this deadly. And to see it contrasted against how our societies are responding to COVID, you know, it is this frustrating thing of, okay, well, we can see what it looks like when different levels of government, different jurisdictions and different stakeholders pull out all the stops to collectively address a crisis. So if the crisis in this case is COVID, and if the concern is about avoiding deaths related to COVID, why don’t we have the same level of focus, alarm, and attention on the deaths from a poisoned drug supply and a worsening opioid crisis? Daily, for the last two and a half years, all of us have been dealing with dashboards of COVID numbers. Why aren’t we doing that for overdoses and overdose deaths? Why aren’t we tracking it? Why aren’t we tackling it in the same “all stops removed” type of approach? And so these things combined are really wearisome and worrisome that we’re not collectively making what feels like a marked difference on the basic issues of poverty reduction, housing, mental health, and substance use issues.

CT:

The ongoing pandemic has been a challenging time in so many material ways, but also challenging, as you point out, for seeing what sort of resources can be made available very quickly when prioritized.

MB:

Exactly. The other thing I would highlight just in terms of since I’ve been at WISH are a number of really positive things. Things like the language around sex work among people who are not already in the sex work advocacy or sex worker rights community. I think there’s been an increased knowledge, understanding, and appreciation of different forms of sex work and impact on those who are in that line of work. I think what we’ve also been seeing at WISH is more of a readiness to include sex work issues, sex workers themselves, and organizations that support sex workers, and actively involving them and us in dialogues and multi-stakeholder conversation. Whereas when I first started at WISH, I remember we had to constantly fight either to be at the table or for issues relating to sex workers to be on the agenda. And now I

think what you’ve seen instead is a shift. And a more proactive, “We should definitely also consider the sex worker lens. We should bring in WISH, bring in PACE, et cetera.” And that’s really encouraging to see. CT:

Do you attribute that shift in awareness to anything in particular?

MB:

I think it’s all of it, and I would never ever say that was a direct result of just WISH’s work, but I would say all of us working on these issues together. And then those folks who are not immediately in the community, there’s real, important work to do of working in solidarity with the sex worker rights movement. For example, the labour movement is much more vocal and progressive about recognizing sex work as work and therefore seeing it as a legitimate part of the labour movement. And if we’re really saying that sex work is work and all workers deserve protections and safe work environments, it really does make sense to involve the labour movements. it’s been so encouraging to see different unions at different levels adopt statements of unity or solidarity around sex work, recognizing sex work as work, and therefore also starting to join the call for things like decriminalizing the trade, reviews of the legislation at the federal level, and that others who are not sex workers, and not in the sex worker rights community are amplifying what sex workers themselves are calling for. That’s been encouraging.

CT:

Building from your previous, thoughtful caveat on how we talk about the Downtown Eastside, as well as this attention potential solidarities, I wanted to ask what or how you would describe WISH’s relationship to Chinatown, as a neighbour to the Downtown Eastside?

MB:

Yeah, and this was a great question. I’m glad you’ve brought it up because I would say we’re all in this neighbourhood together, but I think there’s a lot of room for WISH itself, the sex worker rights community and the Chinatown community to learn more about each other. I would say that there hasn’t really been an overt opportunity for us to either establish or re-establish that relationship. There’s an interesting dynamic where we actually don’t have a population of Chinese folks accessing WISH the way you may see in other Downtown Eastside organizations. For example, our sister organizations like the Women’s Centre serve a number of Chinese seniors, but we don’t have this. We don’t have the same population coming through WISH, and there hasn’t been a sort of explicit opportunity to really explore the relationship between WISH’s street-based sex workers and Chinatown itself. I don’t know if that makes sense!

CT:

No, I think it does. There are many organizations with many different areas of focus and I don’t think anyone expects all organizations to do everything and be everything to everyone all the time. It’s interesting to frame it as room for further connection and what that could possibly look like. I’m glad that it’s an interesting question to think about.

MB:

Exactly. And for me, the piece about areas of opportunity are, as you’ve already heard me talk about, doing as much within our resources and capacity to raise awareness of the issues that we see at WISH. And also to do anything that we can do to humanize street-based sex workers, and to dispel myths and stigma and stereotypes. I would say that there’s probably an opportunity there for us to explore mutually what that looks like, because we are in fact neighbours.

CT:

There are often discussions about making neighbourhoods like Chinatown and the Downtown Eastside “safer,” usually as a pretense for increased police involvement. (A stance we’re personally deeply critical of!) How does WISH define safety? What does safety look like at WISH?

MB:

I love this question. I was also really glad to see that deep criticism of the safety equals more policing. I think the definitions of safety within WISH can look like so many things. At WISH, sometimes it’s the safety to just be. There’s so much around people’s gender identity, sexual orientation, ethnicity and race, and especially the intersection of all those things, that quite dramatically puts them in harm’s way and makes them unsafe because of targeted violence due to stigma. I feel like we can never fully underscore the significance of stigma and the harm of stigma. We often say that stigma can literally kill. For us safety includes everything from being able to work safely to being able to turn down unsafe work. The ability to live peacefully, wherever you would like to live, and within neighbourhoods like the Downtown Eastside, to literally be able to exist in safety. Nobody can ever guarantee a hundred percent safety and whatever we might deem a safe space, but there are some pretty basic human civil rights that are often simply not enjoyed by those who live at the intersection of race and gender. And this is something that, you know, as we see the ongoing rise in Asian hate, violence, and targeting there’s parallels, right? It’s what the Indigenous community constantly faces; what two-spirit, trans, and gender non-conforming people face. And then if you also add sex work to that, you’ve got a target on your back.

I think there’s so much opportunity for us to understand each other’s struggles and join forces in terms of redefining what we mean by safety as safety led and driven by community. And to really push back against the idea that policing automatically includes and means safety. What we see in the Downtown Eastside, and I would imagine that many folks in Chinatown would agree, is we’re not going to police our way out of poverty. You know what I mean? We’re not going to police our way out of gender-based violence and the relationship between law enforcement and the populations WISH serves is really, deeply fraught. Trust has been broken a long time ago. Feelings of safety are not increased by police presence. In fact, in practice it’s usually the opposite. I think individual officers may be frustrated at hearing that because I think they may say, well, we’re here to catch the bad guys. They may not fully appreciate what the impacts are on individuals and communities who are, generation after generation, over-policed, over-surveilled, over-criminalized, and targeted. What does that do to people? What does that do to people’s relationship to law enforcement versus community defined definitions of safety? For us, as an operator of a frontline social services, a lot of times when we’re calling 911, it’s under duress and after having exhausted as many options as possible. But honestly if there was an opportunity to call for emergency mental health support, maybe support that comes with an elder, someone helping with de-escalation because of critical mental health issues, that’s who we would call 9/10 times instead of calling the police. For those folks whose inclination is to call the police for everything, we would love to be able to share, in a frank and honest and respectful way, what that actually does to people and what are the alternatives. I completely sympathize with business owners who might be dealing with graffiti or maybe property damage or violence or intimidation. But to hear from community members about what the impact of policing is on those community members, and what are some of the pretty devastating cascading impacts of calling 911. We just have this sort of perpetuating cycle of “There’s so much violence, we’ve got to call the police” and then the violence gets worse, so you’ve got to call the police. It self perpetuates itself and you get stuck in the cycle when there’s some underlying issues here that we’re not addressing. You’ve completely bypassed the opportunity to address how many of the things are related to mental health issues. And the police, I think, would readily admit that’s not their expertise. But if so much of it is coming from a combination of mental health issues, substance use issues, and poverty, why are we not focusing more on those things, as opposed to trying to police our way through those things? CT:

Our theme this issue is “heat.” What’s the first thing that comes to mind when we give you that prompt?

MB:

Oh my gosh. You know, what was interesting? The first thing that came to my mind was not actually climate change. It was actually the idea of this feeling of a pressure cooker in the Downtown Eastside. And so that feeling of, you know, the fire’s on, the heat is on and there are just so many fires within the Downtown Eastside. So many complex, intersecting issues, but that was the word heat evoked for me.

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CT:

I’m really glad that that came to mind. That more metaphorical line of thinking was something we hoped the prompt would encompass for folks. Those boiling points, metaphorical or literal. However, in light of the fact that we’re also submerged in the large fire, metaphorical and often literal, of climate change, I wanted to ask if or how climate change has affected WISH, particularly with attention to the previous summer heatwave?

MB:

This is a fantastic line of questioning because I think when it comes to environmental issues, it’s always kind of staggering that there’s a lot of environmental racism and so we’re not always thinking about the impacts of things like climate change and dramatic weather patterns on poor neighbourhoods or on those who might be unhoused or under-housed or, as in the Downtown Eastside, very poorly housed. That’s the one I think of, the age of a lot of the buildings throughout the Downtown Eastside. The age and condition of SROs, or those who are either couch surfing or sleeping in shelters or exchanging sex for places to stay, there’s all these pieces around that. I think we’re still stuck thinking about air conditioning as a luxury, as opposed to understanding that you can die in heat as much as you can die in cold. I feel like we’re always behind in understanding the impact of all of those issues on communities that are dealing with poverty and sort of chronic homelessness, et cetera, in facilities that are just aging beyond repair. You know, we’ve got infrastructure challenges and there isn’t usually enough funding or capital to sustain and make the repairs necessary. It’s always this triaging of repairs. Repairs that are actually pretty critical but that need to be triaged because of funding. And what do you prioritize? Well, the delivery of the services and keeping the doors open, versus full for rescaling or rejigging of the HVAC system. It’s so hard to prioritize that when you’re constantly fundraising or grant writing or defending budgets and defending expenses on what’s already shoestring. So there are pieces around infrastructure, but it feels like it never gets tackled. Or if it does, it’s really patchwork, temporary, and makeshift, right? And what we saw during the entire COVID period was all of us doing the best we could to pull together temporary measures, to respond to COVID, to respond to heat, to respond to cold – there was so much snow this year as well! And we’re not equipped for either in this lower mainland climate. It is frustrating that those end up feeling like luxuries on the budget line item when they’re actually pretty critical to safety.

CT:

What would you like people to know about what they can do to support WISH in the upcoming year and beyond?

MB:

I would say the biggest one, because we’re always trying chip away at stereotypes and stigma, is to take some time to learn a little bit more about sex work, sex workers, and the reality related to those who either are choosing or resorting to sex work. To reach out to organizations like WISH or PACE and other sex worker support organizations to understand the issues a little bit better. Try to humanize sex workers. And I don’t mean, you know, go and start to just talk to sex workers on the street! But, through the organization, start to understand what the issues are.

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And then when it comes to supporting WISH, there are so many different ways to do it. Everything from volunteering to becoming a monthly or one-time donor to learning about all the different physical items that can be donated to WISH through what we call our WISH list. Those are things like clothing, hygiene products, makeup products, sometimes food, especially pre-packaged items that are easily handed out. We see so many people coming through our doors and there’s lots of ways to make a big and small impact. And I would add the last thing is to reach in terms of finding out a little bit more about us and each other. Including to look at, for example, the social media of an organization like WISH and the different calls to action, usually related to policy implications and legislation implications, and to help amplify the messages around sex work as work. And to learn about the different policies or measures, funding decisions and how they’re impacting this community. Learning about that in and of itself is really valuable, and then trying to help more people find our messages. We’re always trying to do a mix of sharing what’s happening for the participants that we see at WISH, and then also for other street-based sex workers, locally, municipally, provincially, and even nationally.

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Communicating Resistance With A Broken Tongue: 120 Prints in Five Hours

PRINT + PERFORMANCE ART BY VICKY CHIA WEI 嘉維 MO COVER DESIGN BY JENN XU ORIGINAL COVER: KELSEY LEE’S YEH YEH’S (爺爺) BOOKLET

Communicating Resistance With A Broken Tongue: 120 Prints in Five Hours

Print + Performance Art by Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo

Communicating Resistance With A Broken Tongue: 120 Prints in Five Hours

Print + Performance Art by Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo

Communicating Resistance With A Broken Tongue: 120 Prints in Five Hours

Print + Performance Art by Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo

About the Contributors

Brandon Leung Brandon Leung is a writer and photographer whose chosen medium is film photography. He photographs the everyday world around him. Though many of his photographs depict candid events and the urban environment, they express an interest beyond “street photography,” namely in public space, history, and identity.

Christine Wei Christine Wei is a Taiwanese illustrator based in Canada. Her work often draws inspiration from sentiment, life stories, and nature-inspired mark-makings. She loves creating art with a variety of mediums to convey relatable narratives in dynamic perspectives.

Emerald Repard-Denniston Emerald Repard-Denniston is a Canadian-grown visual artist based in Squamish, Tsleil-waututh, and Musqueam territories/Vancouver, and Tkaronto/Toronto. Her practice focuses on the diasporic-Canadian experience through drawing, painting, photography, performance art, and digital media. She is an emerging artist acquiring a Bachelor of Fine Arts in the Drawing and Painting Program from OCAD University and a Minor in Art and Social Change.

Grace Lau Grace Lau (@thrillandgrace) is a Hong-Kong-born settler who grew up on the unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations. She spent her childhood Sundays in Chinatown and misses it very much. Her debut poetry collection, The Language We Were Never Taught to Speak (2021),, is published by Guernica Editions.

Jason Yu Jason Yu is a second generation Chinese-Canadian living in Vancouver. He cohosts Fidget, a podcast about BFRBs (body-focused repetitive behviours) like his dermatillomania, and facilities mental health support. Recently, he’s been exploring identity and isolation, camping in the backcountry, and playing guitar.

Leanne Dunic Leanne Dunic is the author of the transmedia projects To Love the Coming End, The Gift, and One and Half of You. She is the Fiction and Hybrid-forms mentor at Simon Fraser University’s The Writer’s Studio, and the fiction editor at Tahoma Literary Review. She is also the leader of the band The Deep Cove, and lives on the unceded and occupied traditional territories of the S w wú7mesh (Squamish), x m k m (Musqueam), selílwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) First Nations.

Nicholas Tay Nicholas Tay received his formal art training from Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California. He lives and works in Vancouver on the unceded and traditional territory of the x m k m (Musqueam), selílwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh), and S w wú7mesh (Squamish), peoples. Nicholas’ art practice is defined by a visual dialogue between abstraction and representation, and revolves around his personal experience as a Chinese immigrant to Canada.

Sunnie Sanaz { “dark; but lit!”, i am a performance artist all else, my entire existence is resistance towards, within this patriarchal system. all i do, call it art or not, {this submission} is intentional, i am claiming the mostly miss, pronounced, space of my persian name, sunnie sanaz. }

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Taitania Calarca-Higuchi Taitania (She/They) primarily writes screenplays and so is thrilled to have a poem in this collection. In her work, she likes to describe nostalgia and memories. Speaking about their own experiences in this world through writing helps them understand their place in it a little better. The complicated and complex relationship that my family has with one another is the backbone to this particular poem and she hopes that it reaches readers who share a similar relation with their families.

Thanh Nguyen Thanh Nguyen is a Vietnamese settler gratefully living on the traditional and unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh peoples. She uses writing to reconcile the emotional hurdles of her everyday experience, mining the political from the personal. When she’s not ruining her posture in front of her computer, she can be found basking in the glow of a movie screen or scavenging for discounted snacks at a drugstore.

Tray Ma Tray Ma is a queer Chinese comic creator and sticker enthusiast. They make what makes them happy, even if it’s a little sad.

Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo

Vicky Chia Wei 嘉維 Mo is a living presence, navigating a society built on different modes of oppression. Mo’s individual growth and development are parallel to her artistic practice. Mo’s hands are tools used to communicate the feelings behind labour: love, strength, resolution, despair…inherited from her ancestors. The wielding of Mo’s hands carries out her art-making process and mirrors this familiar labour and aids in the act of inner healing. Ultimately, my practice explores themes surrounding how a wounded individual’s psyche is formed, informed, and reformed, and in return, attracts and sustains collective healing. I am a first generation Chinese/Taiwanese settler currently residing, working and playing on the unceded lands of the S w wú7mesh (Squamish), x m k y m (Musqueam), selílwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) First Nations.

Vy Le Born and raised in Southern Vietnam, Vy Lê is now currently living and studying 3D Animation in Vancouver, Canada. Although their art practices are now geared towards digital content creation, it was the tactile experiences of traditional art that inspired them to delve into and explore a wide range of visual art making processes, from drawing and sculpting to pixel art. Growing up seeing their parents weathered by the burdens of life they have carried, Vy has learned to appreciate the beauty of the miniscule and insignificant. Focusing on utilizing uplifting colour palettes, Vy aims to re-visualize the beauty of the world as seen through their microscopic lens.

About the Organizations Yarrow Intergenerational Society for Justice 世代同行會

Yarrow Intergenerational Society for Justice 世代同行會 supports youth and low-income immigrant seniors in Chinatown and the Downtown Eastside. We build power in our community through intergenerational relationship building, and by helping seniors overcome language and cultural barriers to services that meet their basic needs. We combine service provision and grassroots organizing, with a core belief that service work is political and that as a community, we have the tools we need to take care of one another. We empower seniors and youth to work together to improve their communities and tackle the difficult problems of oppression and violence. Our vision is of a Chinatown that is intergenerational and thriving, with accessible and culturally relevant services and an environment that cherishes our seniors and youth. Yarrow recognizes and values the diversity of everyone in our community. As an organization we are committed to welcoming and affirming the human rights of all people, including people of colour, Black and Indigenous peoples, LGBTQ people, sex workers, and people with disabilities.

WISH Drop-In Centre Society WISH’s mission is to improve the health, safety, and well-being of women who are involved in Vancouver’s streetbased sex trade. Our vision is for every woman to have access to opportunities to make free, healthy and positive choices. Based in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, WISH is on the unceded, stolen lands of the s w wú7mesh (Squamish), x m k m (Musqueam), selílwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) First Nations. For almost 40 years, WISH has been a refuge and an essential point of contact for street-based sex workers who have been made vulnerable due to poverty, homelessness, trauma, violence, stigma, and a lack of access to supports and opportunities. 80% of WISH participants are homeless, half of them are Indigenous. All live in poverty.

Chinatown Today 今日唐人街

Chinatown Today is a non-profit organization based in Vancouver’s Chinatown that sits at the intersection between art and community. Our mission is to share stories from Chinatown’s past and present, so that they continue to be part of Chinatown’s future. Chinatown Today aims to create spaces where community knowledge holders and stakeholders feel comfortable and empowered to share their stories with a wider audience.