Since my freshman year, I have been an active member of both the queer and Asian-American communities. Like many other people of color, I feel comfortable identifying as both "queer" and "Asian-American" here at Stanford. However, my Stanford experience has taught me that the racism and homophobia in American society at large still operate on our campus to make many queer people of color uncomfortable with their sexuality or racial identity. These perceptions of exclusion and marginalization are not shared equally by all queer people of color. In fact, many people in Q&A experience the queer community as welcoming, and are more concerned about the homophobia of our ethnic community. However, that fact does not erase the need to address the reality of racism and homophobia as overlapping systems of discrimination. That process begins with our dis-orientation.
Dis-orientation is a common experience for queer people of color here at Stanford. When ethnic groups "orient" us, we often feel like the only non-heterosexual in the community. At their conferences, dinners, and parties, compulsory heterosexuality erases our identities and ignores our issues. When queer groups "orient" us, we often feel like the only non-white person in the community. At their workshops, socials, and dances, whiteness marks us as "Other", renders us invisible, and commodifies us as exotic. Two communities claim us and reject us simultaneously because of racism and homophobia. The gay community and the ethnic communities welcome you on paper, but exclude you in person - that is the ultimate dis-orientation.
The silence of the closet and the history of racial oppression both bear heavily on the shoulders of queer people of color. Our very existence forces dominant culture to reconsider how community is defined. Definitions that include some will also exclude others through the sin of omission. These unspoken words reserve queerness for the "white middle-class" and equate ethnicity with "heterosexual Christian men." Orientation reinforces divisions within the Stanford community and reinscribes new students into systems of oppression and marginalization. Stanford University assigns its students a label, an identity, and an occupation, but dominant discourses lack the vocabulary to discuss queer people of color. Unlike straight people of color and white queers, we do not have the "privilege" of making opposition to racism or homophobia the center of our political, social, and cultural identities. We view racism and homophobia as different sides of the same struggle, our lifelong struggle to recognize and end all forms of discrimination.
We refuse to choose our cause, accept our label, compromise our values, rank our priorities, or quantify our multiple identities. Marginalization is a qualitative experience, one that cannot be measured, homogenized, diluted, packaged, or explained. We inhabit hostile borderlands at the intersection of race, sexuality, class, gender, disability, and nationality. We demand a space that crosses boundaries, that defies categorization, destroys stereotypes, and celebrates diversity.
Diversity at Stanford is not about dividing the Stanford community any further. Instead, the goal of diversity is to make all student comfortable with themselves and welcome in any community with which they choose to identify. As queer people of color we are not helpless victims - we have agency and bear some responsibility for the state of our marginalization. Actively crossing boundaries and forcing the LGBCC and ethnic community centers to accept us in their midst is part of our ongoing struggle to make Stanford safe for queer people of color.
Chester Day
Class of 2000
