The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, February 9, 2022 

On Sunday Jan. 26, student 

organizers from the Indian Amer-
ican Student Association and the 
United Asian American Orga-
nizations came together to host 
an intimate dialogue about the 
re-examination of South Asian 
Queerness — a much-needed first 
of its kind. Before the event was 
underway, I sensed something 
irresolute in the air of the dimly 
lit Hussey Room at the Michi-
gan League. Though, more likely 
than not, it was just me and my 
unfamiliarity with safe Queer 
spaces that also reflected my eth-
nic identity. To ease my nerves, 
I channeled my inner reporter 
and quickly introduced myself to 
IASA Social Awareness Co-Chairs 
Meghana Kandiraju and Sahana 
Prabhu and IASA Co-President 
Shaunak Puri, who welcomed me 
and shared their enthusiasm in 
hosting this unique event.

As folks settled down, Kan-

diraju and Prabhu encouraged 
attendees to speak to one another 
about their experiences with the 
LGBTQ+ community — as an ally 
or as a member — in the realms 
of 
mainstream 
media, 
fam-

ily dynamics and cultural values. 
Though the prompt was unmis-
takably catered to a predominant-
ly cishet audience, individuals 
shared their support, their qualms 
and their collective desire, among 
other things, to slowly integrate 
what little media representation 
does exist for Queer South Asian 
people into the purview of their 
most immediate families. Within 
the South Asian culture, especial-
ly within family dynamics, exists 
deeply rooted gender norms and 
general nonacceptance of Queer 
identities. This discourages many 
Queer South Asians from coming 
out, and for the lot that do, there 
often remains the underlying 
familial expectation of eventual 
cisheteronormative 
marriage. 

One individual went on to express 
how she felt it her duty as a cis-
gender, straight woman to talk to 
her family about Queerness under 
her relative privilege of social 
and cultural security. As she and 

other cishet people indulged in 
their well-intentioned sentiments, 
when it came around to the Queer 
attendees, there was a notable 
stoicism among their responses. 
For my half of the table, learning 
about Queerness was a matter of 
personal experience.

The Co-Chairs then delved into 

the forgotten sexual diversity of 
South Asian culture dating back 
to the Kama Sutra and early Tamil 
Sangam literature. The Kama 
Sutra is an ancient Indian Sanskrit 
text full of prose and poetry on 
sexuality, eroticism and emotion-
al fulfillment in life. As Kandi-
raju and Prabhu noted, both these 
precolonial texts had segments 
dedicated to the homosexual rela-
tions of their time, but were often 
overlooked by the enactment of 
restrictions and fines that grew 
more punitive well into the Medi-
eval empire, the Mogul empire 
and the British empire. 

They went on to explain the 

effects of British colonial rule on 
Queer rights, which started with 
the Offenses Against the Per-
son Act in 1861. This act codified 
consensual and nonviolent sod-
omy under physical and sexual 
acts of violence, resulting in a life 
sentence. Further, it begot Sec-
tion 377 of the Indian Penal Code 
which directly criminalized any 
intercourse “against the order 
of nature,” including consensual 
homosexual activity. The law was 
only recently ruled unconstitu-
tional in 2018.

In response to this historical 

context, many attendees started 
to realize much of the current 
anti-Queer sentiment within the 
diaspora stems directly from its 
legal implementation due to Brit-
ish colonialism.

Next, 
Puri 
introduced 
the 

Criminal Tribes Act of 1871 which 
specifically targeted “eunuchs,” 
a stigmatizing colonial term that 
refers to individuals who do not 
conform to British ideas of mascu-
linity and gender. This inherently 
ostracized the Hijra community 
as well, a once venerated, diverse 
community of intersex people, 
asexual people, non-binary peo-
ple and transgender people that 
held important religious and gov-
ernmental authority during the 

Mogul empire. In the late 20th 
century, people across the South 
Asian Diaspora advocated against 
this law and for the recognition 
of the Hijra community. Then, in 
2014, the Indian Supreme Court 
finally 
recognized 
Hijra 
and 

transgender people as a “third 
sex,” or “third gender” as indi-
cated by the language used by the 
court system. This legal recog-
nition served to safeguard their 
rights under the Constitution and 
laws made by Parliament and the 
State Legislature, and it marked 
a huge human rights victory sig-
nifying the expiration of another 
legal British influence. 

Still, conscious perpetuation of 

social harm against the Hijra com-
munity and South Asian Queer 
people continues today. Historical 
legal progress only goes so far to 
protect individuals from rampant 
hate crimes, damaging stigma and 
forced invisibility within and out-
side the diaspora.

There’s 
something 
really 

cathartic in learning about the 
gradual Queer liberation in South 
Asia through the renunciation of 
colonial legislation, and Kandi-
raju explained it perfectly when I 
came up to her later: 

“There is such a rich and deep 

history with regards to South 
Asians and Queerness. However, 
when these two identities are 
brought up, they are often seen 
as mutually exclusive — but this 
clearly isn’t the case,” Kandiraju 
said.

Clearly. And clearly, there’s a 

long way to go, but maybe Queer-
ness was never meant to feel so 
alienating within South Asian 
existence. Queerness is a multi-
tude of things that transcends any 
single identity or experience, just 
like the diaspora itself. The South 
Asian experience is inherently 
polylithic among its eight differ-
ent countries, but ethnic assimila-
tion to the model minority myth, 
a white supremacist ideology that 
upholds 
cisheteronormativity, 

diminishes this diversity. It leaves 
little to no room for intersectional 
identities, let alone Queerness. 
South Asian cishet individuals 
who implicitly subscribe to the 
model minority myth thus use 
this idea in order to perpetuate 

Queerphobia within the diaspora. 
Even so, recognizing the impor-
tant roots of Queerphobia within 
our culture does not absolve us of 
the responsibility to actively fight 
against it today.

For the second segment of the 

presentation, 
UAAO 
President 

Gina Liu delved into the redefi-
nition of Queerness and Queer 
activism within the diaspora. She 

started off by recognizing the his-
torically derogatory definition of 
the word Queer as well as its rec-
lamation in Queer liberation. She 
then explained how non-western 
countries are othered for their 
lack of conformity to western ide-
als, and in turn, homosexuality 
has now been duped into white 
progressiveness and ulterior pink-
washing under what is refered to 
as “homonationalism.” 

Through 
homonationalism, 

nationalist regimes operate under 
the guise of progressiveness by 
associating homosexuality with 
their ideals. In their ostentatious 
performance of Queer liberation, 
they distract attention from their 
more oppressive policies. Israel’s 
campaign as the “gay mecca” of 
the Middle East is an extreme 
example of how pinkwashing is 
used to violently advance Zion-
ist, anti-Muslim rhetoric. This 

ongoing campaign is a direct PR 
attempt to overshadow violence 
against Palestinians as a whole 
while aggrandizing Israel’s Queer 
rights agenda as the ultimate lib-
erator of Palestinian and Arab 
Queer people.

Similar strategies are utilized 

by the radical right in the United 
States to push across conserva-
tive agendas while remaining 
palatable to woke America. Queer 

liberation in America is thus pos-
ited as the savior of young Queer 
immigrants, and being Queer as a 
member of a non-white diaspora 
is erroneously propogated as a 
privilege of white progressiveness 
unattainable in the homeland.

This 
perception 
of 
mutual 

exclusivity between being a Queer 
person and South Asian, to many 
families, means that the adoption 
of such “western ideals” takes 
away from traditional culture. 
When South Asian immigrant 
parents say, “We’re not American 
in that way,” they are telling us 
that Queerness is contradictory to 
our heritage — yet precolonial his-
tory teaches us that we are inher-
ently South Asian in that way. 

After introducing the facade 

of western Queer politics, Liu 
importantly made note of the oft-
invisible histories of South Asian 
Queer people and Queer activism 

in the United States. She indicated 
the presence of same-sex relations 
as early as the first wave of Indian 
immigration in the 1880s particu-
larly among Punjabi men, while 
explaining how, as mentioned 
in Nayan Shah’s book “Stranger 
Intimacy: Contesting Race, Sexu-
ality and the Law in the North 
American West,” they were often 
accused of crossdressing by white 
men because they did not conform 

to expressions of European man-
hood. Additionally, she mentioned 
the role of publications such as 
Trikone Magazine and Anamika 
Magazine in celebrating Queer 
identities across the diasapora 
and aiding the decriminalization 
of sodomy in many countries. 

All this to say that seeing our-

selves in history is important, and 
in some ways, validating, but his-
tory itself is seldom exhaustive. 
Liu wrapped up by reminding 
audience members that there is 
inherent value in our own expe-
riences as we navigate very cis-
heteronormative and colonized 
spheres, saying, “Even if none of 
this existed, even if (this was) the 
first generation of Queer Asian 
people, that doesn’t make (your) 
experiences any less impactful or 
relevant.” 

It was 8 p.m. on the Saturday 

before Winter term began, and I 
was sitting on my bed at home in 
Chicago unraveling my box braids 
— the most recent hairstyle I had 
that soon grew outdated for me 
after a few weeks. I was planning 
on having a peaceful night filled 
with self-care practices and HBO 
movies, but as soon as I finished 
undoing my braids, I got a text 
from the hairstylist who was sup-
posed to do my hair: “Sorry, I have 
to cancel tomorrow, something 
came up.” While it may seem 
inconsequential for her to cancel 
on me, reading this text made my 
stomach drop. Usually, I prefer to 
wear protective hairstyles when-
ever I can because they require 
less maintenance, which is per-
fect considering how busy my 
day-to-day schedule is. I wanted 
to do this before coming back to 
campus because I knew I would 
quickly become busy as soon as I 
got to Ann Arbor. But having my 

stylist cancel on me completely 
threw a wrench in my plan. 

Before panicking, I immediate-

ly texted my usual go-to stylist, 
and she regrettably informed me 
that she was on vacation. Next, I 
called a friend, asking if she could 
do my hair, and she apologetically 

told me that she wouldn’t have the 
time to do so before classes start-
ed. Lastly, I even tried booking a 
hairstylist that I’d found on Insta-
gram, with whom I immediately 
made an appointment when I saw 
an opening … just for her to can-
cel on me within the hour. I soon 

became fed up with trying to find 
a new stylist to do my hair — I was 
leaving at 6 a.m. the next morn-
ing for Ann Arbor, and my options 
were slim. I was left with only one 
choice: I had to get it done myself. 

I immediately went to my bath-

room and started brainstorming 

what to do with my hair. I knew 
I couldn’t attempt a style that 
was too complex considering the 
limited time that I had. Every 
time the frustration with my hair 
reaches a new peak, I always grab 
my scissors, only half-jokingly 
thinking about shaving my head 

entirely. It would surely be a lot 
less work to deal with. I’ve expe-
rienced this moment too many 
times before — getting frustrated 
with my hair to the point where I 
just don’t want to deal with it any-
more. 

During my sophomore year of 

high school, I was invited to an 
extravagant 16th birthday party 
at a bowling alley for one of my 
friends. On the morning of the 
party, I woke up and instantly 
knew I was going to have a bad 
hair day. With every style I tried, 
I grew increasingly annoyed with 
my hair, and finally, I texted my 
friend that I woke up with a sore 
throat and that I wouldn’t be able 
to make it to the party. In hind-
sight, my hair didn’t look that bad, 
but I was so bogged down by the 
idea that I had “difficult” hair 
that I had just given up complete-
ly for the day.

When I was a junior, I did in 

fact take a pair of scissors to my 
hair, cutting nearly all of it off and 
forcibly beginning my natural 
hair journey. At the time, I got so 
fed up I felt it would be simpler to 

start all over from scratch. This 
moment served as a catalyst for 
a transformational hair journey 
in which I had to learn how to do 
my own hair, rather than relying 
on my mom to take care of it for 
me. Since then, I’ve slowly been 
on the path to becoming better 
at styling my hair by myself. For 
the first year, doing my own hair 
felt incredibly tedious. I endured 
many long nights and sore arms 
from just washing, conditioning 
and trying to style my hair into 
two-strand twists. Now, I can tell 
when it’s time to give my hair a 
detox, I always know when I’m in 
need of a trim and I have my wash 
day routine down to an exact sci-
ence. 

However, I’m still a novice at 

braiding my own hair, so when 
all of my stylists canceled on me, 
I was forced to enlist some help. 
I came knocking at the doors of 
my two older sisters’ bedrooms 
and to my relief, they came to the 
rescue. Around 9 p.m., my sisters 
began to help me part my hair 
and braid it down. For over six 
hours, we watched movies, lis-

tened to music and had amusing, 
yet heartfelt, conversations about 
relationships and our love lives. 
We got the chance to spend qual-
ity time together, which doesn’t 
happen as often now that we’re 
all so busy with our academic and 
professional lives. I’m not sure if 
I had ever been more grateful to 
have two older sisters. By 3 a.m., 
we were exhausted, and our fin-
gers were beginning to cramp, but 
finally, my hair was done. Even 
though I knew I’d be running on 
three hours of sleep, I was filled 
with the immense relief of not 
having to worry about my hair for 
the next few weeks. At the end of 
it all, my eldest sister turned to me 
and said, “This was cute and all, 
but don’t ever let it happen again,” 
and we laughed. While she didn’t 
show it on her face, I knew she 
was glad that she got to spend the 
time with us as well. A situation 
that started off as stressful and 
anxiety-inducing ended in a tir-
ing, yet heartwarming, moment 
between my sisters and me. 

Trigger warning: this article 

contains descriptions of murder 
and gun violence, mentions of 
gender-based harassment, race-
based harassment and sexual 
harassment.

The Asian woman-white man 

coupling has been a long-run-
ning joke and stereotype that 
is still cycling through the col-
lective consciousness of Ameri-
can popular culture and online 
platforms. As much as I hate 
to admit, there is some truth 
to the stereotype. Indeed, an 
Asian woman-white man cou-
ple can be spotted frequently on 
city streets and university cam-
puses as well as in other left-
leaning spaces in recent years. 
However, I was not aware of the 
terrifying existence of a violent 
incel community online com-

posed of East Asian men until 
fairly recently. This community 
assembled in response to Asian 
women dating out of their race 
at a higher rate than any other 
gendered racial groups, and 
perhaps to a lesser extent, their 

emasculation at the hands of 
popular culture.

Incel is short for “invol-

untarily celibate,” a term co-
opted by straight, cisgendered 
right-leaning young men who, 
due to one reason or another, 
find themselves deprived of 
sex 
and 
relationships 
with 

women. 
Upon 
first 
glance, 

their strange philosophy and 
vendetta against women may 
appear pathetic, but the extent 
to which they have taken their 

misogyny is beyond extreme. 
In several subreddits which 
are now banned, these men 
discussed violent revenge plots 
and fantasies they would insti-
gate against “Chads” and “Sta-
cies,” which are incel slang 
for attractive young men and 
women. “Chads” and “Stacies” 
are almost certainly racialized, 
as they are common names for 
young, white people, and with 
that whiteness comes implied 
attractiveness as well as tra-
ditional masculinity and femi-
ninity, accordingly. Aside from 
the fact that incels in general 
are 
overwhelmingly 
white, 

East Asian incels are in a league 
of their own, as they focus 
more on their own racial iden-
tity. They also especially focus 
on their female counterparts, 
blaming their interracial mar-
riages as the source of the East 
Asian incel’s personal misery.

One of the most infamous 

incels was the lone gunman of 
the heinous 2014 San Diego Isla 
Vista killing who was of mixed 
white and East Asian descent. 
He had released a 140-page 
manifesto detailing his life 
and citing his hatred toward 
his circumstances, such as his 
mixed heritage and parents’ 
divorce, as contributors toward 
his perceived social rejection 
and misogyny. He then went on 
to murder his housemates and 
seven sorority girls at the Uni-
versity of California, Santa Bar-
bara, whom he considered to 
be the physical manifestation 
of “Stacies” and the embodi-
ment of the women who reject-
ed him. He then went on to 
murder 2 of his housemates, 1 
other man, and 3 sorority girls, 
before committing suicide. The 
gunman perceived his Chinese 
heritage as a deciding factor in 
his attractiveness, and conse-
quently, as the reason for his 

failure with women. 

The manifesto was fueled by 

self-hatred 
and 
internalized 

white supremacy. The gunman 
attributed his “dorkiness” to his 
Chinese identity and cited his 
jealousy towards another fully 
Asian man receiving attention 
from a white woman, who was 
the only type of woman he was 
attracted to. Him being only 
attracted to white women, of 
course, echoed his own inter-
nalized racism, as further evi-
denced by his resentment for 
his Chinese mother for her 
interracial 
marriage 
to 
his 

father. His self-hatred, mixed 
with an inferiority complex 
over full-blooded Asian people, 
had perhaps manifested in his 
brutal murder of his house-
mates, who too were young 
East Asian men, as well as the 
sorority girls.

Reexamining South Asian Queerness

Embracing my hair with open arms

The ricecel phenomenon

Design by Reid Graham

Design by Janice Lin

Design by Zoe Zhang

EASHETA SHAH

MiC Columnist

UDOKA NWANSI

MiC Columnist

ZOE ZHANG
MiC Columnist

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

