Risque Diversity Statement - Second draft!
Posted: Wed Oct 30, 2013 6:34 pm
The extent of most Pakistanis’ encounters with drag culture is shooing away a hijra (“eunuch” – a colloquialism that includes all members of the LGBT community) as she raps on their car window at a traffic light. Mine occurred a fortnight into my freshman year of college. A friend insisted I accompany her to [Name] College’s rendition of the “Rocky Horror Picture Show”. Some heavy coaxing also managed to convince me to dress the part, after all, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Three wardrobe changes and one botched make-up session later, I teetered towards the auditorium in unnecessarily dangerous stilettos, armed with a newfound respect for women who wear eight-inch heels. Intrigue evolved into fascination and for the next three years running, I hosted the show as “Ferocia Elegante.”
Initially I struggled with identity crises; my mind awash with concerns regarding what this meant for my sexuality, how it would affect my marriage prospects, and whether I would become the black sheep of my family – the questions any Frontier-bred, heteronormative South Asian male with a drag alter ego would ask. Pakistani men, especially those from the Frontier Province, are groomed to exhibit a certain degree of masculinity, tempered with homophobia. The notion of experimenting with one’s sexuality is considered sacrilege. As a result of this polarity, I struggled to reconcile an alpha-male persona with my penchant for snake-prints and fishnets. My immediate reaction was to stow these concerns away in the same dark corner I intended to keep those eight-inch stilettos, never to be revisited.
My parents were inadvertently introduced to Ferocia as a result of [Name’s] annual “Gender Blender.” The men’s [sports] team had been asked to perform as backup dancers for the show’s host. The video was on YouTube within hours and I received a call from my family the next day. “So… you’re a Hijra?” Being forced to defend drag before my parents also exemplified the need to desegregate these two disparate facets of my life. Rather than bifurcating my personality, I had to find a balance between the two cultural extremes. Dressing in drag willy-nilly was socially unacceptable, but simply accepting the heteronormative expectations placed on me would compromise my integrity. My decision to return to Pakistan and approach our own hijra culture with a more discerning eye was influenced by this desire.
Upon returning to Islamabad, I befriended a local hijra. “Bijli”, whose name means “electricity” in Urdu, is our equivalent of RuPaul. When I expressed my desire to experience drag culture in Pakistan, Bijli was thrilled at the prospect of an English speaking addition to her “flock.” I quickly learnt that drag queens in the United States and hijras in Pakistan are worlds apart. In stark juxtaposition to the glamour that divas enjoy abroad, dancing in the streets and begging is the only respectable way for hijras to earn a living here. My first experience in drag was humbling as I was exposed to more catcalls, groping (rather violently, on one occasion), and solicitations for prostitution than I would care to make a record of.
Driving home, I was stopped at a police checkpoint and asked for identification. The constable sneered that hijras were not permitted to own a driver’s licenses and threatened to confiscate mine. Breaking character, I informed him that the Pakistani Supreme Court recently issued a decision granting hijras the rights to national identification cards and subsequently, driver’s licenses. A fact he completely disregarded while pocketing my license and issuing me a ticket for driving without a valid license. The next morning, I arrived at the police station in a three piece suit, and the disparity in my treatment the previous night was farcical. The very same constable sheepishly returned my license and apologetically offered “I thought you were a gay.” I cannot claim that a legal degree will ensure that I earn hijras the identities they deserve. It will however, allow me contribute in a more meaningful manner than dancing with a begging bowl or rattling off landmark precedents to bigoted law enforcement personnel.
Initially I struggled with identity crises; my mind awash with concerns regarding what this meant for my sexuality, how it would affect my marriage prospects, and whether I would become the black sheep of my family – the questions any Frontier-bred, heteronormative South Asian male with a drag alter ego would ask. Pakistani men, especially those from the Frontier Province, are groomed to exhibit a certain degree of masculinity, tempered with homophobia. The notion of experimenting with one’s sexuality is considered sacrilege. As a result of this polarity, I struggled to reconcile an alpha-male persona with my penchant for snake-prints and fishnets. My immediate reaction was to stow these concerns away in the same dark corner I intended to keep those eight-inch stilettos, never to be revisited.
My parents were inadvertently introduced to Ferocia as a result of [Name’s] annual “Gender Blender.” The men’s [sports] team had been asked to perform as backup dancers for the show’s host. The video was on YouTube within hours and I received a call from my family the next day. “So… you’re a Hijra?” Being forced to defend drag before my parents also exemplified the need to desegregate these two disparate facets of my life. Rather than bifurcating my personality, I had to find a balance between the two cultural extremes. Dressing in drag willy-nilly was socially unacceptable, but simply accepting the heteronormative expectations placed on me would compromise my integrity. My decision to return to Pakistan and approach our own hijra culture with a more discerning eye was influenced by this desire.
Upon returning to Islamabad, I befriended a local hijra. “Bijli”, whose name means “electricity” in Urdu, is our equivalent of RuPaul. When I expressed my desire to experience drag culture in Pakistan, Bijli was thrilled at the prospect of an English speaking addition to her “flock.” I quickly learnt that drag queens in the United States and hijras in Pakistan are worlds apart. In stark juxtaposition to the glamour that divas enjoy abroad, dancing in the streets and begging is the only respectable way for hijras to earn a living here. My first experience in drag was humbling as I was exposed to more catcalls, groping (rather violently, on one occasion), and solicitations for prostitution than I would care to make a record of.
Driving home, I was stopped at a police checkpoint and asked for identification. The constable sneered that hijras were not permitted to own a driver’s licenses and threatened to confiscate mine. Breaking character, I informed him that the Pakistani Supreme Court recently issued a decision granting hijras the rights to national identification cards and subsequently, driver’s licenses. A fact he completely disregarded while pocketing my license and issuing me a ticket for driving without a valid license. The next morning, I arrived at the police station in a three piece suit, and the disparity in my treatment the previous night was farcical. The very same constable sheepishly returned my license and apologetically offered “I thought you were a gay.” I cannot claim that a legal degree will ensure that I earn hijras the identities they deserve. It will however, allow me contribute in a more meaningful manner than dancing with a begging bowl or rattling off landmark precedents to bigoted law enforcement personnel.