Addendums to the Rainbow
The untold stories of queer students of color at U-M
—By Muskaan Mittal
“We have to be visible. We cannot be ashamed of who we are,” said LGBTQ+ rights activist Marsha P. Johnson. Johnson, who was assigned male at birth, used she/her pronouns and described herself as a gay person, a transvestite, and a drag queen. Per her biography on the National Women’s History Museum website, Johnson was on the front lines of the Stonewall riots of 1969, which are widely considered a foundational moment in the LGBTQ+ rights movement in the United States.
Johnson, who died in 1992, was African American; despite her historic involvement in this movement, the queer narrative in the US has been largely white-dominated. For queer people of color, then, being wholly understood can be a challenging and frustrating task.
According to U-M’s 2021 Student Campus Climate Report, a plurality of students at the University of Michigan identify as white (48.1%) and a majority as heterosexual (76%). What are the experiences of queer students of color at U-M? How do these students conceptualize culture, family, and community amidst stereotypes regarding what queerness does and doesn’t look like? I interviewed 3 LGBTQ+ students of color at the U-M, hoping to share some less-heard stories.
Note: I use the term “person of color” (POC) to describe any person who is not white, which is the widely accepted meaning of the term in the United States and Canada per a 2016 Sapiens article. I use “queer” and “LGBTQ+” interchangeably to refer to people who identify as being under the LGBTQ+ umbrella. A Them article dives further into what the word “queer” means to 9 LGBTQ+ people.
Queer and person of color? Can’t be both!
In today’s society, a cisgender and heterosexual identity is the default. What do I mean by “default”? A gay man may frequently be asked “when he realized he was gay” or what “turned him gay,” while a straight man will seldom be asked “when he turned straight.”
How does this idea of cis-heteronormativity interact with race?
A 2014 article in the Journal of Lesbian Studies explored the relationship between race and sexuality. Interviews with lesbian, bisexual, and queer (LBQ) women of color revealed a shared feeling of invisibility due to “media representations of LGBQ persons as white.” This “normative idea of LBQ women as white” is a symptom of a cultural exclusion that “reinforces ‘white culture’ and subsequently white privilege in LBQ communities.”
Sikandar Pragya Choudhary (he/him) is a U-M junior who identifies as a transgender man. He describes himself as panromantic and gray-asexual but prefers to avoid labeling his sexuality entirely. He is a Bengali Indian from the state of Bihar.
Depending on the clothes Choudhary wears to parties, and especially if he presents androgynously, he is often perceived to be a girl. In part, he says, this is the struggle of many transmasculine people who choose to present androgynously or femininely. “But additionally, being POC means that people aren’t going to jump to androgyny [when they see me]. They’re already thinking, ‘This person is not white.’ So they’re not going to jump to the idea that this person also doesn’t fit into their gender binary.” Put simply, “It’s harder for us to ‘prove’ we are queer.”
Easheta Shah (she/her) graduated from U-M in 2023 with a BS in Public Health. She is Indian and bisexual. A friend of hers once told her, “When people look at brown girls, they’re not going to think you’re gay.” Shah finds this frustrating. “Do I need to go back to my mullet phase?”
Culture, family, and queerness
It can be challenging for queer folks to integrate their queer identity with their cultural roots. Choudhary explains, “I’ve been involved in Hindu organizations on campus. I’ll say my name and that I use he/him pronouns. I’ll turn around and immediately get ‘she/her.’ And I’ll self-combust a little bit.”
Ari (she/her) is a second-generation Korean-American and a junior at U-M. She identifies as bisexual and is referred to by a pseudonym in this article to protect her privacy. She says, “It’s been difficult. I’m South Korean. And we still haven’t legalized gay marriage. I think the Supreme Court made a landmark ruling over the summer to extend certain protections to gay couples that your typical heterosexual married couple would have. But they still don’t acknowledge gay marriage. I’m very confused by this, but it’s progress.”
Additionally, Ari shares that an annual pride parade is hosted in Seoul, but it is always denied a permit to be hosted in city spaces. “And it’s always met with counter protests by Christian protestors or right-leaning people or such.”
Cultural views regarding queerness can greatly impact queer people’s lives—socially, personally, and right down to one’s family life. Ari says, “My parents have made comments that hint as to where they lean on the issue of queerness…and it’s not supportive. So I’m still closeted to my family. But all my friends know. I am a little afraid to be openly queer in the world. I’m afraid it’s going to get back to my family eventually.”
Although these challenges may be more frequently faced by folks from certain countries, they exist worldwide. A 2017 study published by John Hopkins University analyzed discrimination against LGBTQ+ people across nations and calculated intolerance scores reflecting “state and societal intolerance toward LGBTQ people.” Over 70% of the global sample “had intolerance scores at 3 or 4, the highest levels of intolerance shown toward LGBTQ people.” The lowest levels of intolerance were in Oceania, while the highest were in Asia and Latin America.
Homophobia, to varying extents, is present in pretty much every country. Shah expresses frustration with “the first-world, white savior perspective that the US is a safe haven for queer people.” This perspective comes with the unfortunate implication that other countries (especially non-Western countries) are backwards in terms of queerness, or that queerness is a Western phenomenon.
“White saviors” are not the only ones to hold this view. Chaudhary says, “Especially in Desi and modern-day Hindu communities, there’s this idea that queerness is a white construct. However, [in reality,] we [South Asians] have a rich history of queerness, including examples of queerness in Hindu scriptures. The Kamasutra has descriptions of queer sex and queer love.”
Still, people from certain cultures and geographies may encounter unique struggles in finding acceptance. Shah says, “Being able to come to terms with my sexuality in my late teens…. I see that as a privilege. My parents didn’t have the opportunity to intellectualize [and analyze] everything they’ve gone through. I can’t imagine being married and having kids at this age. Not everyone has the privilege to self-actualize and self-realize.”
Race-based stereotypes of queerness
Representation is central to how we understand ourselves and how others understand us.
In a 2023 OutWrite Newsmagazine article, Sabrina Ellis sarcastically states that [stereotypical] “nonbinary people love mushrooms, frogs, assigned female at birth (AFAB) thin white bodies in masculine clothing, short hair and they/them pronouns.”
I asked U-M GPT’s DALL-E 3 model to generate an image of a nonbinary person, and it generated an image of a person who matches Ellis’ description pretty well.
Per Ellis, the implicit bias present in Internet algorithms “upholds the current systems of power and oppression in our society and dictates what the ‘default’ nonbinary person should look and act like.” Such defaults can render those who don’t fit them—including queer people of color—invisible.
Shah agrees. “It’s weird what the Internet does with self-expression. It’s like, ‘Oh, you kind of have to look like this if you want to be this.’ Self-expression is meant to be fluid.”
Ari wonders, “What do queer Asian women look like? The more I watch queer Asian content creators on TikTok, the more it seems that there is a standard, and at the same time there is no [one] standard.” Clearly, there are stereotypes on the Internet, but not everyone fits them.
In addition to stereotypes about what queer people look and act like, stereotypes associated with race can affect queer people of color. For example, per a 2011 study in the Cultural Diversity & Ethnic Minority Psychology Journal, both Asian men and women are stereotyped to be more feminine and less masculine than other racial groups.
For Choudhary, such racial stereotypes make it harder to be correctly identified. He explains how Asians, including Indians, are often perceived as more feminine due to their smaller build, thinner face, and bigger eyes. “Which means I have to try doubly hard to show people that I am a man.”
Finding community
It can be healing and empowering to find people who share our experiences. Queer people of color may feel a sense of dissonance with the ethos of predominantly white queer spaces.
Choudhary loves his culture and his religion. But “that’s not something that [many] white people understand.” Instead of seeing the devotion and beauty in Hindu festivals like Karva Chauth, says Choudhary, white people may view them as old-fashioned and sexist—even if correctly so.
“I also think there’s an idea in Western queer culture where everything is about found family. Your blood family and original culture mean next to nothing.” Choudhary understands the reasons for this, noting that “the queer community has found a lot of harm from people who practice Christianity.” Still, he says, “As a person of color, a person of [Hindu and Bengali] culture, I want to stay connected to that.”
Beyond religious and cultural traditions, there are many aspects of white queer spaces that people of color may not relate to.
Ari expresses frustration with the way some of her queer friends constantly talk about singer-songwriter Chappell Roan. She clarifies, “Don’t get me wrong, I love Chappell Roan. But I’ve talked with other queer POC friends of mine and many of us consider her to be a white queer icon, not just a queer icon. Besides, I’ve got other musical interests.” Meanwhile, in queer POC spaces, Ari has found a greater diversity of artists and a collective focus on ethnic backgrounds.
She says, “I have a few South Korean friends and they are very accepting [of my sexuality]. All of them identify as straight or questioning. Around them, I don’t feel the need to be very queer. Whereas among my queer friends, I sometimes feel a pressure to amp up my queerness, to engage in queer media, and to start saying ‘slay, queen, werk’ all the time.”
Ari concludes, “Being bisexual is just who I am. Sometimes I feel more comfortable among my South Korean friends because I’m just being more me.”
Perhaps supportive communities need not consist of people whose identities match ours. Still, for those of us who crave being in a room where we are the norm rather than the exception, how can we find such a space?
During her time at U-M, Shah found community in both the South Asian Awareness Network (SAAN) and Michigan in Color (MiC), which is a section of The Michigan Daily. She and several other members of SAAN’s community relations committee organized a queer liberation event.
During this event, the team gave a presentation on the history of queerness in South Asian culture. Shah says, “Precedent matters. Seeing yourself historical events and movements is really impactful because it shows you what you can do. And that your overall struggles are never alone—they’re supported by generations of people.”
After the presentation, attendees broke off into dialogues, workshops, and craft sessions. Shah enjoyed conversations about “the supposed mutual exclusivity of being brown and being gay…and the [false] idea that being gay is American, and that it’s not a brown thing.”
The wide turnout for this event filled Shah with warmth and support. “If you seek out community, it’s there.”
Visibility and power
It is a fundamental human need to be seen and understood for who you are. This can be harder to achieve when your story has not, historically, been prioritized.
But queer people of color exist everywhere. Look at us. We have diverse stories. Look at us. We have fought endlessly for liberation. We are strong. We are loved. We are brilliant. Look at us.
Feature photo: Positive Black Same-Sex Couple Embracing Gently Against Colorful Wall, by Uriel Mont on Pexels