The Politics of Queerness in an Ethnic Conflict Zone: Part 3

One day, several months after the wine night on the rooftop, a female Uyghur friend Merhaba and I went to a public gathering held in a park near downtown. We approached the large cement square, which was enclosed on all ends with a metal fence. The gated entrances were guarded and patrolled by security officers with helmets and anti-riot gear. Inside the wire fence enclosure, Uyghur music blasted on the speakers. Uyghur and Han people danced Uyghur dance inside the fence. 

Merhaba whispered in my ear before we entered the gates.

“I should first tell you that a lot of the people who come to places like this to dance are girls who have been broken* if you know what I mean,” she said giggling. The term “broken” was often used to describe unmarried girls who were not virgins. The word used in this context was a euphemism for promiscuous or divorced women. 

When we entered the gates, a Uyghur male dancer immediately caught my eye. The dancer was performing the part traditionally reserved for women in Uyghur dance. The person was leading a dance troop of Han women. 

“You see that man,” she said. “The one dancing like a woman? He is both a man and a woman at the same time. We call that hem jinisy. That’s what I meant when I told you that the people who come here are not good people. They are like that.” 

But I couldn’t take my eyes off of them** because I was intrigued. There were Uyghurs in the city who were non-conforming in their gender, like me. 

If they can do it, I can do it, I thought to myself. But comments about homosexuality continued in my daily conversations. 

*buzulghan qiz bala, sometimes also said as “buzulup qalghan” to indicate something accidental or unwanted.

**I'm using "them" in this context as a non-binary or gender-neutral third person pronoun, not as the plural third person.