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In our 2019 film, “Yellow Peril: Queer Destiny”, we had the privilege of working with Dora and Vicky, lion dancers in Vancouver who are breaking through barriers in the lion dance community, by challenging assumptions that ‘only men can lion dance’. Check out Dora’s story below!

For tickets to the August 20th, 2019 premiere of Yellow Peril: Queer Destiny, please visit this link.

Queer And…

By: Dora Ng

After every performance, someone would always ask me how much Fluffy (the lion costume) weighed. 

Women and nonbinary people who ask this often wants to hear it is REALLY heavy, so they can be impressed and inspired. 

Some men will ask only to tell me about how much heavier the lion heads were “back in the day,” unlike now when the lions are so much lighter and “anyone” can wield them. 

Most people are just innocently curious. 

I had no idea how much my lion actually weighed. Some days it feels almost weightless, and on other days it feels heavy, and just wiggling it leaves me short on breath. 

On all days when I hold a lion head I also carry the additional weight of the patriarchy. From the moment someone who is not a boy pick picks up a lion, they are closely scrutinized. If a boy finds the lion head heavy, he is expected to be able to develop the strength he needs eventually. If girl shows any sign of struggling, she is immediately told that “see, you (and all girls) are not strong enough after all.” 

I’ve faced this many times over the years. The moment I pick up a lion head someone will step in and tell me that I will never be able to wield it. I was not allowed to struggle and I was not given room to fail or experiment. One mistake or a bead of sweat and the lion was taken from me. This experience was on infinity loop until I met my lion dance partner, Vicky, who shared the same experience and we decided to try again, together this time. 

When we started performing together and started getting decent, people would “compliment” us by telling us that we were “almost as good” as men” or “like men.” They meant well, so we took it.

A couple of months ago I watched a lion dance competition at CanAm, a multi-discipline martial arts competition. There was only one girl lion dancer in the competition. She was very young, and paired with a much older and experienced dancer. Her stage was set up with props that suggested that her lion will attempt multiple jumps and stunts. 

The moment she lifted the lion head, I knew that she was not very experienced. I worried about the tricks she was going to perform, but hoped for the best. Not surprisingly, she was not able to land some of the jumps and stunts. She looked so bummed in the end, and I knew that part of the disappointment was that as the only girl lion dancer in the competition, she had not represented as well as she had hoped she would. 

I wanted so much to say to her that it was fine, that this was part of a process and that she is allowed to fail and that I know she will grow and that I see her and I too, understand what it feels like to carry the weight of representation, that as minorities in the sport, how our performance will shape people’s opinions of the abilities and potential of all performers who are not men. 

The more diverse lion dancers are, the less of this extra weight we will individually carry. With every woman and nonbinary lion dancer I see, I feel some of the weight lift. 

But I do not want to give this long and bummer answer after every performance so last night I finally weighed the lion.

Fluffy is 10 lbs.

We have some exciting news!

Love Intersections has been invited to be the Local Artists in Residence at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival for its 30th Anniversary year!

For us, it is the hard work and fearlessness of those in community over the past 30 years and beyond, that have given us the freedom and courage to create and take risks in our own self-expression as Queers of Colour.

“History has a pattern of writing out queer people of colour – and we want to rewrite that history,” says Co-Artistic Director David Ng, “we started Love Intersections because we were tired of just talking about the lack of representation, so we decided to share our own stories, and other stories from the margins.”

Love Intersections was founded in 2014 to explore ways of challenging underrepresentation, through sharing stories of queer people of colour. As part of their residency as local Artists in Residence at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival this year, Love Intersections will showcase a selection of their original works, as well as the world premiere of their series “FINDING UNTOLD QUEER STORIES”. The 6 part STORYHIVE series illuminates stories of underrepresented queer people of colour who live in Vancouver, in an anthology that visits different corners of the queer community, outside of mainstream representation. The 6 episodes include the following:

#1. Finding the Origin Story (QUEER ORIGINS)
The introductory film of a six-part episodic series tells the story of how Love Intersections began with Jen Sungshine and David Ng, as they embark on a queer and questioning journey together in search of local, untold stories.

#2. Finding Queer History (QUEER HISTORY)
In search of their queer and political ancestry, Jen and David look for the missing and hidden stories of queer activism and organizing in Vancouver. Speaking to queer ‘elders’ Ron Dutton and Fatima Jaffer, with special appearances by Symone Says and Maiden China, they uncover the powerful and fascinating contributions that queer/trans people of colour have made on our city’s cultural landscape.

#3. Finding Queer Dance (QUEER DANCE)
Changes in the city, gentrification, and a rising cost of living are affecting the access to social spaces for many of us in Vancouver. Historically underground dance parties and clubs have provided essential refuge and sanctuary for queer people seeking community and belonging. Talking to queer organizers in Vancouver, Jen and David explore current challenges and barriers to creating inclusive queer dances amidst a hostile world.

#4. Finding Queer Sports (QUEER SPORTS)
Why is it important to have a queer gathering space for playing sports? David and Jen visit the queer dodgeball league (Double Rainbow Dodgeball) on Halloween night, featuring several teams dodging foam balls in full costume. They find a dynamic community of queer people of colour who gather over sports, and learn how to play and create meaningful connections through physical activity.

#5. Finding Queer Disability Language (QUEER DISABILITY)
David and Jen connect with Amar Mangat and Vivian Ly, who are part of the Deaf, and Neurodiverse, communities, respectively. Parallels between Deaf identity, Deaf Culture, and Autistic identity and Autistic Culture are drawn as both individuals challenge neurotypical and hearing-privileged ways of understanding disability, language and access within queer culture.

#6. Finding Family & Hope (QUEER FAMILIES)
How is ‘family’ defined in queer culture? How does the notion of family relate to or exist in cultural traditions and intergenerational living? In this film, Jen and David meet with two couples at different stages of defining queer family: Alex & Sian Hoe, a gay couple who is ready for children, and Hayfa & Liza, who just brought a baby (Mio) into this world, whose very presence strengthens the multigenerational bond alongside Hayfa’s mom, Carla, in this life-affirming story.

The ”FINDING UNTOLD QUEER STORIES” world premiere is at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival, August 18th, 2018, at 2pm at the SFUGoldcorp Centre for the Arts. This film series is funded through Telus STORYHIVE program.

I recently watched the new Star Wars film (The Last Jedi).

While my partner was far more excited than I was to line up an hour early to get our prime seats (honestly, I was just excited to see Kylo Ren, on whom I have a huge crush :P)…the first 10 minutes got me hooked.  Not because of the dramatic opening battle, or the CGI, but because immediately in the first few minutes of the film, I started noticing the Asian characters in the film.

As a Chinese person who rarely gets to see someone like me on screen, I can tell you the feeling the exact moment I saw the first Asian character in Star Wars – the officer on the bridge of the First Order’s ship that had about 2 seconds of screen time in the first 15 minutes of the film – I saw him.   The central character, Rose, (who is played Kelly Marie Tran, a Vietnamese-American actor), of course really stole the show.  But I can tell you that even with her and Finn taking up most of the POC spotlight, I noticed all three of the other Asian characters in the film as well.  The dude on the bridge, Rose’s sister, and a gambler in Canto Bight.

Somewhere in my brain, I’ve parked those memories of representation on screen, from a Hollywood film I watched 2 weeks ago.  If something as simple as Star Wars can imprint a memory of seeing someone that looks like me in on screen/in media, how could more frequent, more visible, more empowered images of people of colour – let alone queer people of colour – make me feel?

In August last year, I got a message from Jen (Co-Artistic Director of Love Intersections), that we got a grant from Telus’ Storyhive program, to fund a 6 episode series on “Untold Queer Stories”.  This exciting opportunity will allow us to use this platform to share more untold queer stories…including our own, and why we formed Love Intersections – a group of queer people of colour who use the arts to make visible the invisible.  We don’t want to just be “represented” on screen: we want to tell our own stories, in a way that WE want them told.

The Storyhive series marks a big milestone for us, as a group of queer artists who started this thing because we were frustrated at the way that we were being represented in media. It marks an opportunity to bring our stories from the fringes into the mainstream, and to seize the means of storytelling into our own hands: to tell stories that could (and should) also be told.

Maybe one day I won’t have to explain why seeing 3 Asian people in Star Wars did something to me.  Maybe one day, fighting for visibility will be a thing in the past.  Maybe one day, the simple act of sharing queer, untold stories, won’t need to be this groundbreaking, controversial, revolutionary act….but for now it is, and we are looking forward to sharing these stories with you, through a lens of love.

Stay tuned for more about our 6 part series, airing in June/July 2018.

I remember being accosted by two security guards in an open parking lot on Burnaby Mountain. My girlfriend and I were young, and, like many young couples in parking lots, we were doing what was only natural for young lovers to express. Deep into the night, the winter air kept at bay while our body heat steamed up the car windows. Then, without warning, flashlights shone into our car, turning our intimacy into a nightmare we wish to forget.

We immediately panic and pull our clothes together, frozen in fear, shame, and terror.

One man says, “we get couples up here all the time, but we’ve never seen lesbians before.”

He wants us to continue. He wants to watch. He made sure we knew that what we were doing is illegal. He will give us a ticket if we don’t let him watch.

It became a standstill. We were trapped, trapped on top of this secluded mountain, trapped inside this car, trapped inside the fucked up imagination of this man. We were fully clothed and still, we had no choice but feel naked.

For the next 20 minutes I did most of the talking. I made sure to smile and fake my comfort. I made conversation with him while he towered over us, leaning on the car door, using his body to keep it open. I talk about how my girlfriend and I met. I tell stories to entertain him, to stall time. I have to keep stalling. I have to humanize the situation. I have to humanize our bodies. Our bodies have to be humanized. I have to protect my girlfriend. I have to protect myself. No one was going to protect us in that secluded empty parking lot, dead in the soulless night.

He asks fucked up questions about lesbians. He says we just need a man. He asks fucked up questions about how lesbians have sex. He says we just need a man. He asks fucked up questions about how my girlfriend and I have sex. He says we just need a man.

I continue to smile and fake my comfort. I continue to make conversation with him. I continue to stall. I have to keep stalling. I have to humanize our bodies.

He finally grew tired and let us go.

This whole time, the other man never talked, never intervened, just stood by while his partner accosted us in our car. reinforcing, complicit, and just as guilty. His inaction brought power to another. His silence is loud in authority. In my head, I wonder if he felt powerless to do anything, against the presence of a more powerful man. But he could have prevented it. One word, just one word from him, could have influenced another fellow man. Instead he let it happen. Rape culture and toxic masculinity hurt men too, but silence and inaction is inexcusable. The harm is done.

We never reported them.

I remember this memory only in the form of a nightmare that I wish to forget, when it should be a sweet memory of young love. Instead, rape culture implants this tape, playing and rewinding deep inside my body. The algorithm of that tape changes over time but it still plays, over and over again, and men let it happen every single day.

One part of my culture that I love has to do with is family. I once got a fortune cookie that said “Cherish your family.” and I thought yeah, you know what, I really do and I want to work on it more. My family is very much about everybody supporting and being there for everybody regardless of what’s happening. If one person is fighting with someone else, it doesn’t matter, we’re family and it will get worked out because we’re all on the same team. I really like that and I aim to share it with the chosen family in my life as well.

What really bothers me about cultural appropriation is that it’s a continuation of everything that colonization was and is. It’s about taking the pretty things that are nice to look at or wear -like a bindi or Black hairstyles – but the whole underlying reason behind their existence is not even considered, much less the discrimination people from those cultures experience when they wear the same things. I think there needs to be much more thought and dialogue in terms of how we can do cultural exchange.

I am mixed race; my Dad’s family was from Goa, he was born in Malawi, in Africa, and my Mom is Zimbabwean. I was also born in Zimbabwe and the world reads me as Black so I identify as African/Black. My parents met in Apartheid-era Southern Africa, and so that was very interesting… them getting married as two people whose skin colours “didn’t match”. Being their first-born child has been a unique experience in cultural exchange and belonging to two very different cultures, but at the same time being read as a Black woman and identifying very strongly as a Black woman, especially in present-day North America. I remember food as always being a key element of learning about each of my parents’ families growing up, whether that was watching my aunt make a curry from scratch or my grandmother cook real sadza.

What is challenging as somebody who has moved from Zimbabwe to Vancouver is almost having to take on a North-American history that isn’t my personal family’s history in addition to my narrative as an African immigrant…and feeling that I want and need to address that additional history now that I live here because I totally experience what it is to be black in North America. That’s a very interesting thing to have had to learn.