Ōtautahi, Summer 2020

Most Mondays, I would go to Te Toka on Peterborough Street to pack condoms. This was the office and testing centre for the New Zealand AIDS Foundation (NZAF) in Ōtautahi. Recently, NZAF changed their name to the Burnett Foundation Aotearoa, and they are now based in Phillipstown. I have only been back once since the move.

Condom packing was never the most exciting of volunteering activities, but I enjoyed the company of the other volunteers and the NZAF always provided snacks. Condoms are still one of the best tools to keep our communities safe from HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases.

I grabbed a cardboard sleeve, one condom, one packet of lubricant that was too big, and pressed them together. Perhaps this was karma for all the condoms I had unpacked over the years.

“Could you please help me organise an event for our Asian communities during Christchurch Pride? We want to increase our engagement with Asians. I’m really struggling to think of something,” Darren asked me one Monday afternoon.

Darren was working at the NZAF at the time. I met him while playing touch rugby with the Christchurch Heroes.

“Do you have any ideas?” I asked Darren to clarify.

“How about something cute? We could use the space at Te Toka,” Darren suggested.

“What event would cater to most of our Asian communities?” I brainstormed quietly as I continued to pack the envelopes. I inspected one of the parcels and then had an idea. “We could wrap dumplings?”

Dumplings exist in different forms across Asia. There are gyoza from Japan, jiaozi from Mainland China, and momo from Nepal and India.

“Sounds great,” Darren replied. “How about a test run next week?”

Darren and I met the next week to go to “Chinatown” –​ a cluster of shops in Church Corner with a high concentration of Chinese supermarkets, restaurants, and takeaways –​ to buy some ingredients to make some dumplings.

“Don’t you think we’ve got a great gay scene?” Darren exclaimed as we headed to his car.

“Well, it can be tough if you’re Asian,” I admitted to Darren.

“What do you mean?” Darren sounded confused.

“You’ve never come across the phrase ‘no fats, femmes, or Asians’ on Grindr?” I asked. I was surprised he had never heard of this.

“Never,” Darren replied rather bluntly. “I guess it’s not a problem that affects me.”

Darren picked up two other volunteers on the way to my inner-​city apartment. They were also happy to show Darren how to make dumplings. Dennis was Chinese from the Central Plains. His friend, Harry, was also Chinese from the Northeast. My family was from the South.

My dumplings were packed to the brim with pork, shrimp, and chives. Dennis was familiar with a filling comprised of port, rice noodles, and scrambled eggs. Harry held a firm stance that the only appropriate filling for dumplings was beef. Each style reflected the diet of our Ancestors.

Darren thought that this was going to be a straightforward exercise. He could not have found three people any more different than us three. How were we meant to organise one event to unify our “Asian” communities?

As the three of us sat there making our own style of dumpling, we started sharing our back stories. We talked about how we came to be in Ōtautahi.

“I’m originally from China,” Dennis told me. “I came here as an international student.”

“Same here,” Harry nodded in agreement.

“I was born in New Zealand,” I told the other two. “Mum came here as a skilled migrant.” We took a moment to reflect on the multitude of fateful coincidences that had had to occur for us to be in that room together.

“I’m married,” Dennis told me. He showed me his wedding band. It was a simple gold ring. “I’ve met his family. They’re really nice people.”

“Has your husband met your family?” I asked Dennis curiously.

“No,” Dennis replied. He let out a sigh and continued wrapping his dumplings. “My family doesn’t know I’m married to a man. At least my family are in China. I can be myself here.”

Despite our differences, Dennis, Harry, and I felt like we shared a common understanding. There is a Confucian saying, 「溫故而知新」 (to recall the past to understand the future). Perhaps if we wanted to know what it meant for us to be Queer, and as we had very distinct expressions of being a Chinese person in Aotearoa, we should look to our past in order to understand our future.

Yellow peril

Eternal migrants

Unlike 老華僑 (lou⁵waa⁴kiu⁴; old Chinese migrants) who arrived during the gold rush era, my parents were part of the second wave of Cantonese migrants to come to Aotearoa. They left Hong Kong in the late 1980s to settle in Te Awakairangi where we already had family. We are a classic example of chain migration. Like the first wave of Cantonese migrants, my recent family history has been intricately linked with colonisation, displacement, and migration.

本地 (bun²dei⁶; Punti (客家(haak³gaa¹; Hakka), 蜑家 (daan⁶gaa¹; Tanka), and 河老(ho⁴lo⁵; Hokkien) have lived side by side in what would be the colony of Hong Kong “since time unknown”. This colonial project occurred in three acts. The Qing Empire first ceded sovereignty of Hong Kong Island to the British Empire following its defeat in the First Opium War in 1841 and 1842. The British colony was extended to the Kowloon Peninsula following the Second Opium War in 1860. Finally, the British Crown obtained a 99-​year lease from the Qing Empire for the New Territories in 1898. My great-​grandparents and grandparents fled to the colony of Hong Kong through the Portuguese colony of Macau to escape famine and political turmoil following the fall of the Qing Dynasty in 1912 and the looming Chinese Civil War.

Dad’s family settled in Kowloon while Mum’s family settled on Hong Kong Island. Not long after they were displaced from their 鄉下 (hoeng¹haa⁶; ancestral village), the Imperial Japanese Army attacked Hong Kong in 1941 and my family lived under Japanese occupation for nearly four years. When my grandfather was still alive, he recalled the atrocities conducted by the Imperial Japanese Army. An estimated 10,000 people in Hong Kong were executed while many more were tortured, raped, or mutilated under Japanese administration. Food was scarce and the only food source available was sweet potatoes. My Grandpa still refused to eat sweet potatoes until the day he died. The Japanese occupation of Hong Kong ended in 1945 when Japan surrendered to Allied Forces and the territory was once again a colony of the British Empire.

Peace was short-​lived when the Chinese Civil War resumed across the region. This conflict was between the Kuomintang-​led government of the Republic of China and the forces of the Chinese Communist Party supported by the Soviet Union. The Chinese Communist Party established the People’s Republic of China (PRC) following their victory in 1949. Many Cantonese communities settled in Hong Kong and Macau were now separated from their ancestral villages across the border. As the communist regime progressed, the Cultural Revolution launched by Mao Zedong 毛澤東 in 1966 saw the destruction of cultural and heritage sites across the Cantonese homeland. This revolution also saw a massive change in the spiritual, political, and linguistic systems of traditional Lingnan society on Mainland China with the promotion of state-​atheism and Putonghua. Cantonese culture and language continued to thrive in Hong Kong under the colonial administration of the British Empire. Both my parents were born in this period of economic and cultural prosperity.

The question of Hong Kong’s sovereignty was raised in the late 1970s when the 99-​year lease for the New Territories was coming to term. Diplomatic negotiations were held between the UK and the PRC without the input of those living in Hong Kong at the time. These negotiations resulted in the 「中英聯合聲明」 (Sino-​British Joint Declaration) which was signed in 1984. The treaty agreed to transfer the sovereignty of Hong Kong to the PRC. It guaranteed that the economic and political systems of Hong Kong would remain unchanged for 50 years. This was known by 「一國兩制」 (one country, two systems).

The student-​led pro-​democracy protests throughout Mainland China in 1989 provided a beacon of hope for many Hongkongers. They believed that life would indeed remain unchanged following the handover of sovereignty in 1997. The subsequent Tiananmen Square massacre was a stark reminder as to why many Cantonese fled their ancestral homes for Hong Kong in the first place. This is now known as 「六四事件」 (the June Fourth Incident). The fate of Hongkongers was sealed decades earlier when both Hong Kong and Macau were removed from the United Nations’ list of non-​self-​governing territories in 1972 at the request of the PRC. It is unlikely that Hong Kong will ever experience full sovereignty.

Everyday Hongkongers, like my parents, had the choice to either stay and experience their rights and freedoms being eroded over time or leave. It was under these uncertain conditions that Mum took the opportunity to leave Hong Kong and migrate to Aotearoa as a skilled migrant. We grew up in a working-​class household. When my parents left Hong Kong, they left their family, friends, and culture. The only remnants of our heritage were our Cantonese language and belief system.

「你係廣東人你一定要識講廣東話 (You are Cantonese, you must know how to speak Cantonese.) Mum would often remind my brother and me. My parents were adamant that they wanted us to know our language and heritage.

In my Plunket book, which is a guidebook given to parents produced by Aotearoa’s largest support service for children under five and their families, they explicitly warned my parents that if they wanted their children to be successful in this new country, they must only speak to their children in English. The prevailing advice at the time was that children of non-​English-​speaking migrants must speak English and only English at home. This was reiterated by my primary school teachers who believed that acquiring Cantonese would be a disadvantage to my English-​speaking abilities. Neither our healthcare providers nor educators believed there was any value in speaking a non-​English minority language in Aotearoa.

My parents, with their strong sense of Cantonese heritage, ignored this official advice. They instilled strict language policies at home like an English jar to make sure we only spoke Cantonese at home. This was not the case for many Cantonese from my generation who could no longer speak our shared heritage language because of this unofficial “Speak English” policy. My parents’ tenacity enabled my brother and me to continue to speak the language of our Ancestors.

Model minorities

Mum was fortunate enough to immigrate to Aotearoa as a skilled migrant working in manufacturing. This was following the immigration reforms of 1987 due to the exodus of skilled workers from Aotearoa for Australia (Henderson, 2003). She was an experienced tailor in Hong Kong and these skills were well sought after by the local manufacturing industry. After gaining residency, she met Dad in Hong Kong and they have been settled in Te Awakairangi ever since.

The 1990s were a tough period for the Cantonese communities in Aotearoa. Even though the discriminatory policies targeting Asians and specifically Chinese peoples were now removed, racism persisted in the form of discrimination and microaggressions. Anti-​Asian and anti-​Chinese sentiment in Aotearoa worsened through political discourse mediated by the media. The former leader of the New Zealand First Party, Winston Peters, first coined the “Asian invasion” and continued to preach “New Zealand for New Zealanders”. In this case, racialised Asians were not considered real New Zealanders despite citizenship or visa status. Once again, the visible otherness from people from Asian countries were perceived as a threat. Coming to Aotearoa was both a blessing and a curse for my family. On the one hand, my parents were able to escape the political uncertainties of Hong Kong following the handover, but on the other hand, they arrived penniless and relied on the few connections they had in Te Awakairangi.

In order to avoid unwanted attention, my parents’ generation were taught not to be tall poppies and to fly under the radar. The tall poppy syndrome is where Pākehā society supports collective mediocrity and opposes individual exceptionalism. It wouldn’t be wise to tarnish our reputation as a model minority. When Mum started her first manufacturing job in Te Awakairangi, her line manager would constantly remind her to slow down and to be conscious of her colleagues around her who might feel bad about their productivity.

「你要勤力，但係唔好太勤力.」(You need to be hardworking, but don’t be too hard working.) Mum told us as children.

My early childhood was full of happy memories. Our house was always full of food and laughter. Mum was a skilled tailor and made a lot of clothes for me and my brother. On rare occasions, we would go to the tourist hot spots of Taupo and Rotorua when we had family or friends visiting from Hong Kong. Occasionally, we would drive out to Rangiwhakaoma (Castle Point) in the Wairarapa. Nevertheless, Mum’s manufacturing career did not last long after she gave birth to me. Our fortunes took a turn for the worse when Mum got sick. This was a pivotal moment in my childhood. At the time, Dad worked as a kitchen hand at the Chinese takeaway owned by our extended family. This was hardly enough for us to support the growing needs of our small family. We also relied heavily on government benefits and money we borrowed from family and friends.

Both my parents struggled to find a sense of community in Te Awakairangi. Mum found it especially difficult to find a sense of belonging outside the Cantonese community. She was used to having all her family and friends around her back in Hong Kong. Dad was a quiet man, while Mum was extremely outgoing. For a while, we were heavily involved with the Taoist temple in Te Awakairangi. The Taoist temple was located in a repurposed four-​bedroom house. Even though it was not extravagant, it gave my parents a sense of community.

It did not take long before the demands outweighed the benefits of being part of the temple community. Mum’s mental health began to deteriorate because of social isolation and pre-​existing health issues. Our local-​born Cantonese-​speaking family doctor diagnosed Mum with depression and anxiety. I did not understand what that meant, but I just knew that Mum was unwell. My brother and I were now responsible for looking after the house while Dad worked.

For a period in high school, we hand-​washed our clothes because we could not afford a new washing machine when ours broke. We survived a decade on Dad’s meagre pay before he was offered a job at our local supermarket. Both my brother and I were put to work as soon as we could, especially if we wanted to afford luxuries like school uniforms and class trips. Outside of Mandarin language classes every Sunday, extracurricular activities were out of the question. At first, my brother and I helped out at our extended family-​owned Asian supermarket. We would go there every day after school. I was later offered a paid job at a family friend’s Asian takeaway. I was not particularly good at either job –​ I was told I lacked the work ethic –​ but I was grateful I could contribute to the household. My first legitimate job was at McDonald’s. I started on the counter. I was eventually offered a role as a barista in the cafe.

This is what I remember most about my later childhood. I often reflect on my humble beginnings to where I am now as a PhD student surrounded by luxuries. My family lived pay cheque to pay cheque. In hindsight, this worked to my advantage as I always had t excuse. I did not have time to explore relationships and my parents were quite happy with that as well as wanting us to focus on ourselves and our family before divesting our time on other people. We were either working or studying. Perhaps it was a blessing that I did not have time to think about my Queer identity.