The Politics of Queerness in an Ethnic Conflict Zone: Part 2

As the years progressed (I lived in the same neighborhood from 2014-2017), I built closer and closer friendships. Women talked with me openly about their romantic lives. Perhaps because of their stereotyped image of a “liberated” American woman that they had gained from television and movies, they seemed to feel comfortable with me. Finding me an understanding and accepting confidante, they divulged secrets to me—about cheating, about having sex before marriage, and about rebellious taboos (like dating Han men). The community had created a conservative, heteronormative façade just like I had. Underneath was the humanity that we all share.

I soon found out that others craved a taste of rebellious freedom and desire to be themselves that I shared. With sly smiles and eyes dancing naughtily, people pulled out cigarettes and alcohol at a party one night. We sat on the balcony at my apartment and breathed in the intoxicating calm of cigarette smoke and nicotine, while the alcohol warmed our stomachs and chests. We gazed at the moon low and large in the sky. Whispered secrets passed from their lips and hung into the air before floating away: 

“Nobody will marry me because I’m not a virgin.”

“I cheated on my husband.” 

“I slept with my best friend’s boyfriend.”    

We ended that night our hearts a little raw from opening up with the help of drugged intoxication. But we continued to build our friendships on vulnerability.

Another summer night in 2015, the air warm and the breeze cool, three Uyghur friends and I climbed up onto the roof of my apartment complex. We looked out at the twinkling lights of the skyline and pretended we were in New York City. We sat on a blanket and passed around plastic cups filled with tart red wine. The happy tunes of a trumpet blasted from my phone’s speakers playing Uyghur pop songs. We swayed to the music and giggled with inebriation.

“Have you ever slept with a girl?” one friend asked me directly. The others looked at me expectantly, giggling softly. Perhaps my masculine-of-center appearance meant that they suspected this about me already.

Despite being with close friends, I pretended that I didn’t understand the question and changed the subject. I was still in the closet. My fear of being ostracized from my only source of support while abroad kept me silent. 

Religion and ethnicity were a staple of everyday life for Uyghurs as an ethnic minority group in China. Eating Halal and wearing the headscarf—or, at least covering arms and legs—was considered foundational social etiquette. Uyghur men and women insisted that the appropriate modest customs protected their chastity until marriage, a key part of the moral foundations of the community. 

As their community was under threat of cultural genocide, holding onto whatever traditions they could was important for them. Controlling women’s bodies became the focal point of cultural preservation because women’s bodies were one of the last tangible realities that they could still hold on to and control. Many in the community--men and women alike--grasped and held on as hard and as tight as they could.