Prancing in the Streets as a Queer POC Kwai Lam

Prancing in the Streets as a Queer POC By Kwai Lam

“T 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…

There 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

loved, so seen; others where the preponderance of thought, approach and language from faeries of particular backgrounds seemed rich, and at others, limiting. Many in this community see themselves as color-blind (and for that matter gender-blind): approaching each and everyone for who they are rather than via a box. But sometimes it’s not so easy, oft times confusing. I’ve been “triggered” and

seen others as well; only to ponder later was “it” really there, what was their intent?

It’s been rare to see another Asian American (AA) in RadFae space. But aside from some parts of a few metro areas in the US, it’s pretty rare in the wider GLBT community. At times I’ve crossed paths with other AAs and started to tell them about Faeries, to have their eyes immediately glaze over. We are not for everyone. How many are called to be a fringe of a fringe? And why should they care? And when we (and hence I) offer up a desire for more inclusion, what are we offering, and what are we seeking, aside from assuaging liberal guilt?

We’ve had more discussions around “diversity,” or “lack thereof” than I can remember, including at the FaePosiums we organized back when. Who are we to presume that people of other backgrounds are interested in how we are with each other, in what we do, in Radical Faery culture in general?

Looking at how POC have influenced Radical Faerie culture I’d start with the foundation rarely mentioned these days: the Black Power Movement. For this was one of the inspirations for the modern LGBT movement, us included. Ditto Feminism. Both inspired us to take power, and oft the steps of stepping outside and creating our own space to do so. We stand on their shoulders. I hope we never forget this debt.

More recently I invoke Gryphon Blackswan, long an ancestor, whose fierce fabulousness inspired me and many others. Gryphon spoke eloquently about how he wondered who would have his back: being so queer that the Afro American community was challenged by him, and so Black that he made many faeries uncomfortable. I’ve heard this conundrum from other Radical Faerie of Color. And yet many of us persist.

As a community and culture, we are also strongly influenced by First Nations folks. For more than twenty years the Dance for All People (DFAP), aka Naraya, has been danced at the Wolf Creek sanctuary. Led by Two Spirit Clyde Hall (Shoshone Bannock and French), a number of elders from other tribes including long time Radical Faerie ThunderCloud. This on top of the influences that Harry Hay had from Wovoka and others. Interestingly, Wolf Creek is the biggest of the eight dances, and another is based around Short Mountain, TN.

The DFAP has been a fertile learning ground for myself and many, many other Radical Faeries. We have learned so much about ritual: the importance of ritual container and how to move energy. As Radical Faeries we come into the Dance, individually and as a community, with a good facility at raising energy—but much less so directing it once its around. This has enriched my ritual practice and that of many others. And many of us have brought this home to the Radical Faerie communities.

“Elders:” seeing them, caring for them, valuing them and seeing how human they are has been another rich area where the Dance has helped the faery community grow. Some have found this challenging: particularly given the weakness of this concept in many of our upbringing, combined with the obstacles we’ve overcome with authority figures as queer freaks. Throw a little anarchist anti-authoritarianism, with a dash of personal damage, and it can be fun mixture. But I’ve found these lessons around elder-hood well worth it: and these days very timely, as many of us are getting on. Radical Faerie culture has always had a good mixture of ages—that’s been one of our strong points for me—the Dance has provided us good modes for how to relate.

“Rooting our Wild:” So much of our Radical Faerie culture is about uncoupling from our Judeo-Christian world view and separation from nature. Nature is seen as “wild;” we are “cultured.” We are pretty good at co-creating ecstatic states where this happens. But we have a long road back to this place. As ThunderCloud observed once, the Dance comes from continuous traditions, and is rooted in ways that were not lost. As such it offers us a way to root ourselves in an unbroken stream. ThunderCloud also observed that it won’t “make us Indians,” but does provide a way for us to connect and feel magic in that way, and it’s then up to us to take that forward, with our own roots, our own traditions, our own lost indigenousness. This is a rich side of teachings about how to be in ritual, how to live life.

“Laughing at adversity:” Writing this at the time of the Covid pandemic, I’m struck with how valuable humor is in survival. How much humor there is on Clyde’s reservation and others, in the Dance. How important that is in persevering…and knowing when not to laugh because one is uncomfortable, and sit with it.

The call for this issue asks what we want to pass along to the younger among us.

My first wish would be, as Clyde Hall says, “Don’t throw anyone away.” Clyde talks about how in his tribe everyone is valued, everyone is seen as being their own gift from Spirit. We may not understand it, we may not like it: but don’t throw yourself, or anyone else, away. As those who bob at the intersection of the waves of gender, the waves of ethnicity, and the waves of sexuality there are few of us as it is. Let’s welcome each other, nurture each other, and, yes, laugh at and with each other.

My second wish is to listen, embrace, celebrate, comfort and let go. This applies to each other, to our friends, to our lovers and to our emotions and thoughts.

My third wish is enjoy what you find rich and nurturing in any relationship, situation, or community. As a gift. As a lesson. As something to resonate with, but not to expect.

My fourth wish is that when you see an area that is weak, or could be enrichened, you work to grow it. Whether it’s you, or you recruit…don’t complain; invoke! (And if someone “pushes your buttons” perhaps there’s a gift, a lesson there—for YOU. To rephrase an ACT UP axiom: “Buttons = Growth.”)

My fifth wish: realize that all we can do is our best. Our best may not look like much to someone else—or theirs may look totally inadequate to us. Nurture, sure; challenge, perhaps; criticize not so fast (what does it gain, anyhow?).

My sixth wish: to take responsibility for our own safety. While we do the best to do what we can to take care of each other, we may have different notions of safety. And maybe this responsibility leads you to the street, the fire circle, or the ballot box.

My Seventh wish: relationships. Nurture, savor, balance and when needed work to repair them. The webs that hold us, that we weave together, are key to our health, happiness and that of our communities.

My final and main wish: realize how precious life is, act accordingly to yourself and others. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Laugh. Find your fears and dance with them. Dance joyfully, even when you’re sad. Dance full on. Dance for your life! Dance for All life.

When you march to the beat of a different drummer (yourself), don’t expect lots of company on the way. But you may be delightfully surprised who joins you for a bit as you pass by.

All our Relations My Kwai Speedy Eye Mum Outs

Prancing in the street