The invisibility of queer South Asian-Canadians

What does queerness look like for South Asian women in Canada? I never knew. 

I grew up in suburban Toronto thinking I was the only gay Brown woman ever because I had never seen a queer person that looks like me. LGBTQ+ representation was—and still is—heavily Western-normative and perpetuates a stereotype that only white people can be queer. This made me feel completely alone in navigating my sexual orientation at a young age. I was reluctant to talk to anyone about my attraction to women because I was afraid of the violence that would ensue if my parents found out about me. I repressed my queerness by age fourteen to protect my safety as a minor with no resources.

At university, I began venturing into LGBTQ+ spaces as it became possible then to “live a double life.” I expected to feel a strong sense of belonging, love, and acceptance for who I am in the queer community—these hopes and expectations were quickly shattered. I was—and still am—constantly perceived as heterosexual in queer spaces due to my Brown skin and South Asian features (i.e. long hair), which are incongruent with colonial understandings of what a lesbian looks like.

For years, this had turned my pride for my South Asian roots into shame and pressured me into assimilating. Despite my best efforts to hide my South Asian identity, I continued to experience racially-charged microaggressions from white queer people, as I was unable to fully disassociate from my South Asianness without being exiled from the Brown community. The inability to be queer in culturally conducive ways is extremely invalidating, invisibilizing, and infuriating. 

As a South Asian-Canadian, I have additional battles in my fight for sexual liberation. As a queer person, I need to fight for acceptance in heterosexual society. As a queer woman-presenting individual, I need to fight for space in the male-dominant LGBTQ+ community. But as queer South Asian woman, as with our fellow queer East Asian, Southeast…