Prancing in the Streets as a Queer POC By Kwai Lam
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wice Blessed; twice cursed” was the title of a dance performance piece I did years ago. As a Mutt of half-Chinese and half -northern European ancestry, and a queer of indeterminate gender, my experience has always been that of an outsider welcomed in. On the one hand growing up there was never anyone like dad (Cantonese, intellectual, never worked for anyone else in his life, pioneer in a field) portrayed in the media. “We” were either the exotic sexualized Geisha, Chan the Chinese Chauffeur, or Bruce Lee. And there were certainly no families on TV where one parent came from Asian ancestry and the other from white-bread land (Mom grew up in Providence, Rhode Island, and her family had been in Iowa, of Scottish etc. descent). We were, simply, invisible. I always felt a bit like an ambassador from another planet, an alien. In school there were never kids who looked like me. They tended to be more white, more Christian (my families’ churches were the land: wild crafting, gardening, skinny dipping; the kitchen and the concert hall) and comfortably unquestioning in what in today’s fashion would be labeled as the “dominant” culture. But there was always a freedom in this; I enjoyed it. The “dominant rules” had no sway over me: I have fond memories of turning my head to watch the soccer ball go by during sports—then to return to my examination of the buttercups, or wander off again into the woods. One could try to “uncouple” this vignette: was this from my Taoist detachment from the physical, or my pagan focus on my green friends around, or the sissy who simply wouldn’t be bothered by the group’s sportiness? But why uncouple? On the other hand normalities of gender and sexuality always felt external to me, they never had much import. I recall realizing at some early point, definitely well before puberty, that my gaze at the boys was similar to how most of them would check out the girls. I don’t remember being perturbed by this, just bemused. In retrospect my foundational sense of otherness that came out of being a Mutt made this part of my journey easier. Once one sees oneself as an outsider, finding another aspect that “outs” one (pun intended) can be an easy reinforcement rather than traumatic unravelling.
Looking back now I realize that three things came together to make this much easier: the strong love from Mom and Dad, our sense of togetherness in a strange land, and the ways in which they modeled joyfully blazing their own paths. These gave (and still give) me a sense of safety, family within, and possibility. And as a Mass-hole (someone from Massachusetts) a bit of armor. Whence the “curse?” There was loneliness here too: I recall Mom saying that “we’re the only interracial couple in our part of Cambridge” (that being around Harvard/academia). I’ve often described myself as a fringe of a fringe of a fringe: half Asian Mutt, midst the Radical Faeries, midst the “gays,” dangling off of modern America. Or maybe there’s a fourth: as one of the hippy persuasion, with a taste for hippy lovers as well— even among Radical Faeries we are a rare breed! Or as the queer in the room of media activists, or Contact Improv dancers…
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here can be a desire for more dimensions of overlap too. I came out into the Radical Faeries in the early eighties, back when reading Feminist and Left critiques was part of our education: I remember thinking it would be great if there were more folks of similar background there, or others reflecting the diversity of the Boston area. And in my involvement in the anti-nuclear power movement then, wondering where all the queers were… Sometimes it’s simply a matter of looking around and wondering where the people that look like oneself are. The most diverse Radical Faerie gathering I recall was one in Malibu, outside of Los Angeles, in the eighties. We had a People of Color caucus and big tent of around fifty people. We offered a ritual to the gathering: which I recall was driven by drumming and singing and delightfully non-expository, nonlinear, and powerful. For many it was the high point of that gathering. (Note to organizers: We were near Los Angeles, it was a ten-day gathering, and folks were welcome to come for the time they could, be it an afternoon or a day. This helped a lot!) In my forty years of Radical Faerydom (how has it been that long??) I’ve had my own journey around this. Moments of feeling so held, so RFD 182 Summer 2020 23
