Raised in Inner Mongolia, Dr. Hongwei Bao is now a Director of Research at the University of Nottingham and the industrious community organiser of events like the Queer Chinese Arts Festival, Poetics of Migration, Ode to Notts, plus many more. He’s also one of our most exciting creative writers, so we decided to invite him for a coffee…
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When did you realise you might not fit into a heteronormative role - were you quite young?
It was a bit older. When I was a school child there was a deep sense of discomfort, but more because of my personality; I was extremely introverted! I couldn't carry on a decent conversation, so I buried myself in reading. People considered me to be a nerdy, nerdy pupil - I would also consider myself to be so. It was the bigger city, Beijing, of course, that opened my eyes. You have more information, meet more people - especially when I discovered gay websites, things changed. I started to actually reflect upon my own identity. And of course, in China, it was not possible for me to write anything queer, simply because there was no place to publish them. It wasn't until I went to Australia, when I did my PhD, that I decided that I want to do a queer topic for my thesis. And there, everything started.
One might say that it's a constraint that makes for more interesting writing, because if a piece of writing is too straightforward, then probably it loses some of the tension and dynamism. But of course, that is different from living a life. When one lives one's life, one hopes to be as free as possible.
In your poem Leather Man you talk about fabulous, fierce drag queens. Do you think there’s a place in gay culture for your introversion, as well?
I think there is space for both. Now I'm envious of the younger generation of LGBTQ+ people - they are extremely bold in expressing themselves. I admire them, but of course for me, growing up in a kind of environment where you have to suppress yourself; where you have to live a double or closeted life, it was never possible for me actually to be so straightforward. And growing up, reading the kind of queer literature from before the Stonewall era - there was always a kind of hidden sentiment, which I find beautiful, and I'm actually attracted to, the kind of constraints that are put on one's writing and on one's sexuality. Although I hope I will never go back to the closet again.
Do you think that transfers itself to learning how to use metaphors, because you need to be more clandestine?
Yeah, definitely, it's a good training device. One might say that it's a constraint that makes for more interesting writing, because if a piece of writing is too straightforward, then probably it loses some of the tension and dynamism. But of course, that is different from living a life. When one lives one's life, one hopes to be as free as possible.
Do you ever have a case where you can think of the perfect way to express something in Mandarin and it's just not quite happening in English, or vice versa?
Yeah, all the time, because English is not my first language. So I constantly feel that I can't express myself in English completely. But this is not to say that I can express myself in Chinese completely. I actually think that this is not necessarily a bad thing, constantly feeling and working through the limits of language. I think that sometimes the expressions of ideas are more important than their form. For minority writers, such as queer, Asian writers, etc. I would say, don't be too daunted by the perfection of language. The first thing is to have your own voice, and to speak it out.
Your first collection, The Passion of the Rabbit God, has a unique voice to it. You go from listening to Ed Sheeran on a train, deep into mythological ancient China. What was the thread that carried you through it?
All those poems were written separately within the three or four years - mostly during the pandemic. They are all about queer Asian experience; the Rabbit God is probably the kind of best visualization of that kind of identity and that spirit. But also it shows that kind of the act of defiance despite adversity. The gist of the Rabbit story is: however harsh the environment is, to stick to whatever belief or whatever love. Many of the poems are about contemporary political issues, whether it's about women's rights or queer rights of self-expression. I think that this thread, the pursuit of one’s authentic self, is still relevant.
And where should a beginner start if they want to learn about your academic work?
I have been writing about Chinese queer history for about fifteen to twenty years. The newly published book Queering the Asian Diaspora, published by Sage in December, is a pocket-sized book, and you can get it at Five Leaves bookshop or the Nottingham City Centre’s Pride shop. The purpose was to translate academic knowledge to a general readership - what I'm most proud of is the topic. In the past few years, we’ve seen the intensification of xenophobia and anti-Asian racism, especially during the pandemic. My focus is also on the other side - how Asian communities responded - artists, activists and writers have produced fantastic work. That book is a survey of Asian community activism. I try my best to make the language and style very accessible, so I hope people will read that book.
Alan Kurdi (2012-2015)
like a sea lion, stranded on a sandy beach
like a seabird, wings broken after a heavy storm
like a sailor, falling asleep after a long voyage
he lies there still
facing the ocean, limbs stretched
wet shirt and shorts glued to the body
in colours of red, white and blue
his ears erect, listening
to booming sounds of the bombs falling on his home city
waves of the Mediterranean Sea
screams of men, women and children on the raft
singing of the mermaid deep under the sea
newsreaders repeatedly reporting
yet another tragedy
on yet another day
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