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Throughout the 1980s, homosexuality was a topic that divided Hong Kong society; yet in China homosexuality was unknown to the general public. In his Series Editor’s Comment on Ruan’s Sex in China [1991] Richard Green stated that when he taught at the Beijing Union Medical College in 1988 some of the physicians told him that there are no homosexuals in China [Wu 2003]. Such indifference and ignorance marked public attitudes toward homosexuality before the 1990s. The legal codes of Communist China did not address homosexual behavior in a specific way: people who committed homosexual acts could be arrested on the charge of hooliganism.
Sexual norms began to change rapidly in the 1990s after more than ten years of economic reform [Li 2002; Liu 2000]. The Chinese scholar Pan Suiming [1994, 2006; Pan Wang 2004] reported a sexual revolution in the major cities of China. Discussions of nonmarital sex became popular in magazines or radio and television programs in the 1990s, so creating a more open atmosphere for alternative sex stories. Rofel [2007] noted that in China discussions of consciousness (yishi xingtai) were replaced by discussions of feelings and desires in the post-Cold War, post-socialist times. People were encouraged to embrace a broad range of desires––be they sexual, material or affective. Yet rather than simply a result of the permeation of market values into all realms of social life, argued Rofel, the 1990s in China witnessed a self-conscious enthusiasm for the search for a novel cosmopolitan form of humanity.
Farrer’s [2002] ethnographic study showed that people in China often employ the metaphor of ‘‘opening’’ (kaifong) to describe changes in sexual culture, whether they approved of them or not. ‘‘Opening’’ is used to refer to more than sex: it also connotes the official policy of economic, social and cultural liberalization under the policy of reform and opening (gaige kaifong). ‘‘Opening up’’ is an ambivalent narrative of progress. On the one hand, it indicates a sense of being modern, open-minded and receptive to change; on the other, being westernized is associated with being materialistic and morally loose. The ‘‘open’’ West is a key figure in the narrative: the West, after years of propaganda portraying it as sexually deviant, is now refigured as an ambiguous hallmark of progress. People believe that opening up will bring about westernization, modernization, capitalism, materialism, democracy and rule of law [Farrer 2002].
Debates occurred within the mental health professional community with regard to the classification of homosexuality as a mental illness. In the Chinese Classification of Mental Disorders [l989 and 1994], homosexuality was officially defined as a form of sexual disorder. It was stated that Chinese clinicians were not to accept the changing non-pathological view of homosexuality that came from other parts of the world [Wu 2003]. This echoes Farrer’s [2002] analysis of the Chinese understanding of sexual opening (xingkaifang) as not only sexual liberation or revolution but also as the invasion of a decadent foreign culture. The professional community of psychiatry saw itself as standing guard at the door, a gatekeeper to watch over the health of the national body [Farrer 2002: 26]. Although the majority in the field held that homosexuality is ‘‘a strange disease that deserves denunciation,’’ nevertheless, opinions were diverse, ranging from ‘‘crime’’ and ‘‘disorder,’’ to ‘‘unclear’’ and ‘‘natural,’’ and even to ‘‘a matter of minority’s oppression’’ [Wu 2003].
The term ‘‘tongzhi’’ was introduced into China in the mid-1990s by Hong Kong activists and scholars who came to China for short visits or longer stays. With a colonial history, Hong Kong can never be viewed as identical to any cities in China. Mainland Chinese often see Hong Kong both as a very foreign place and yet as connected to China. Chinese-language books and magazines from Hong Kong were circulated in the larger Chinese cities. Those in China who wrote about sensitive issues such as sexuality often published their works in Hong Kong. The First and Second Chinese Tongzhi Conferences disseminated the term through participants who came from different parts of China. Wei [2007] observed that in the early 1990s the tongzhi identity was rarely mentioned. However, within ten years, when he was doing fieldwork in Chengdu in 2004, tongzhi was adopted by almost every gay man that he knew. A white American gay man told Wei that regardless of geographical location, social status, educational level and marital status, all of the Chinese gay men he had met called themselves tongzhi. Wei [2007] attributed the promulgation of the tongzhi identity to the advent of the Internet. Since the mid-1990s gay websites have flourished in China: it is estimated that 300 to 400 gay-themed websites were in operation or still operate. Many of these actually use tongzhi in their names. For example, Gztz.Org (Guangzhou Tongzhi) is a gay website based in Guangzhou; Jrtz.Net (Junren Tongzhi; soldier tongzhi) is a website that serves gay men in the military or those who are attracted to soldiers.
As a result of the growing exposure to the transnational gay scene via the Internet, sexual minorities in China are increasingly familiar with the notions of gay rights, coming out, and same-sex marriage. The import of ‘‘gay’’ as an identity label has followed that of ‘‘tongzhi.’’ The westernized identities of gay and lesbian are adopted for self-identification. Rofel [1999] found that those who describe themselves as gay in Beijing are predominantly people under the age of thirty. They came of age after China embarked on her ‘‘open door’’ policy. Their selfidentification is tied to the transnational terrain of gay networks that came into existence in the mid-1990s. Agents of such transnational networks include foreign and diasporic lesbians and gay men who come for business, as students, or representatives of international nongovernmental organizations. Wei’s [2007] informant, Ian, linked the performance of gayness to transnational connections. He talked passionately about the role that international gay organizations play in the integration of tongzhi cultures from different regions, and the facilitation of connections between Chinese tongzhi and their counterparts in the rest of the world. His view reflects a longing for and a sense of belonging in a gay globality.
Ho’s [2005] study found that in Beijing an increasing number of people with same-sex desire refer to themselves as gay or lesbian rather than tongzhi or tongxinglian (‘‘homosexual’’). A hybridized discourse is witnessed when they identify themselves in this way: ‘‘wo shi ge gay,’’ which means, ‘‘I am a gay man’’; or ‘‘wo shi ge lesbian,’’ ‘‘I am a lesbian’’ Capable of using a mix of Mandarin and English, they are usually university-educated, financially stable, middle-class, and Internet users.
Xiao-han, a 24-year-old student who is in her fourth year at Beijing University, has never felt troubled by her homosexuality. In an account of her adoption of a gay identity she shows a sense of humor and cheerfulness that is typical of a Chinese Northeasterner. When Xiao-han was a 12-year-old adolescent she already felt attracted to girls. ‘‘At the time, I did not understand the concept of homosexuality,’’ said Xiao-han. She had wanted to find a word that best expressed the way that she felt and discovered ‘‘gay’’ in an English dictionary. She wrote down the information and shared it with the object of her affection, and waited to see her reaction. In the end, the girl delightedly told her that ‘‘gay’’ meant happiness and fortune. After that they were together.
A media report of the gay community in Changchun revealed that nowadays individuals are more than willing to be called ‘‘gay’’ rather than ‘‘tongzhi.’’ A respondent said that ‘‘gay’’ is a one-syllable English word denoting a feeling of being happy, and also happiness itself. ‘‘We are no different from heterosexuals except for our sexual orientation. We pursue our own happiness. Gay men can converse as close friends, and have relationships that lead to marriage.’’ The use of ‘‘gay’’ invokes a merry and lively mood that points toward a quality of life, including a marital life, that they are entitled to have.
If the invention of tongzhi marked a localized appropriation of the Western gay identity in Hong Kong, the adoption of ‘‘gay’’ as a self-identification in China indicates a more clearly hybridized form of sexual identification. The AngloAmerican Stonewall model of gayness emphasizes the values of pride and coming out. In China some lesbians and gay men choose to come out on the Internet. In 2008, an article entitled ‘‘Jiaru ni zhidao wo shi gay’’ (‘‘If you know that I am gay’’) was posted in a forum on Phoenix. Phoenix is a Hong Kong-based television broadcaster that seeks to promote a free flow of information and entertainment between China, Hong Kong and Taiwan. It broadcasts internationally but its largest audience is in Mainland China. The Phoenix news service commands a wide audience interested in world trends. Xiao-long chose to reveal himself in a forum that is concerned with global trends. His article begins as follows: ‘‘If you know that I am gay, please do not make a fuss over it. This is not something strange; I am ordinary and real, just like those who are heterosexual.’’ Xiao-long continued to describe both the sufferings and happiness of being gay. ‘‘Being gay is not acceptable in China. They are a despised group in society.’’ Yet being gay makes him more meticulous: he finds happiness and bliss in being gay. He has been struggling with the issue of coming out: ‘‘If you know that I am gay, and I have not outright told you, it is because in principle there are reasons that I cannot tell you. It is not because I do not want to come out of the closet, but if anyone finds out, I will not treat it as taboo.’’
The post was copied by other gays to other forums. It was used as a blueprint for declaration of the gay identity. Responses echoed the post by revealing their gay identity too. Coming out on the Internet in China resembles the act of mask-donning in the coming-out parade of sexual minorities in Taiwan [Martin 2003] and Hong Kong [Wong 2007]. On the one hand, they self-proclaim as gay; on the other the use of pseudonyms, like the use of a mask, enables them to maintain anonymity. The act of coming out anonymously contravenes the requirement that coming out is an act of disclosure. The act of coming out becomes an announcement that ‘‘I am gay’’ while at the same time making the ‘‘I’’ unreadable. However, in a public forum anonymity is not absolute. A display of photos or a link of messages under the same pseudonym may reveal personal information for identification. As Goffman [1963] pointed out, gay people always face the problem of ways to manage information so that the difference, being a discreditable stigma, remains unknown, partially known or known in an informed manner.
In the article Xiao-long used ‘‘gay’’ and ‘‘tongzhi’’ interchangeably for selfidentification. A study of men having sex with men in Shanghai compares their use of tongzhi and gay [Sun, Farrer and Choi 2006]. Some respondents prefer the term tongzhi because it does not contain an explicit sexual connotation nor does it sound foreign, like the term ‘‘gay.’’ Others on the contrary prefer the English term ‘‘gay,’’ which is also a less sexualized identity, and yet not as crude as the Chinese term tongzhi. A respondent said: ‘‘I like to use the term gay. Online I will say that I am ‘g.’ Everyone will understand. These other terms, tongzhi and tongxinglian, are too crude.’’ Those who adopt the term ‘‘gay’’ are actually not part of the international gay scene and have no contact with foreigners. Rather than a practical use in communication with foreigners, the use of a foreign term ‘‘gay’’ is associated with a more oblique and stylish presentation of the self. In contrast, the term ‘‘tongzhi’’ is seen as related to a more politicized and blunt presentation of same-sex orientation.
When ‘‘If you know that I am gay’’ was posted on Yoka.com, a website that features new trends in fashion and beauty, being gay signified even more clearly a stylish way of life. The forum on Yoka, which is called ‘‘Vogue,’’ contained a series of articles entitled ‘‘Nine out of ten men are gay in vogue circle.’’ Citing an endless list of examples, these articles noted that ‘‘gay’’ has become a code word for taste and talent, for all the renowned fashion designers are gay. The forum has a thread named ‘‘a man of taste.’’ ‘‘If you know that I am gay,’’ as it appears on this forum, becomes the thoughts of a man of taste: it alludes to the aspirations and heartfelt wishes shared by men of taste. One response asserted the value of equality: ‘‘We are all equal. There’s nothing special, only a matter of taste.’’ Another response highlighted the importance to live for oneself: ‘‘Stand firm in one’s belief, and one will live happily.’’ As Rofel [2007] argued, lesbians and gays can view themselves as at the forefront of a universal humanity in the expression of desires. While some condemn homosexuality as being against Chinese morality, others think anyone should be free to express their desires. They defend the right of homosexuality to exist along with the rights of all desires to flourish in these neo-liberal, post-socialist times.
In the era of ‘‘opening up’’ there is the emergence of an educated middle-class youth whose quest to mark their distinctiveness involves the cultivation of bodies, tastes, desires, rights and freedom. The rise of individualism and consumerism, tied to the desire for a post-socialist humanity, complicates the hybridized mode of sexual identification. The meanings of the gay identity reflect the tension between the longing of Chinese people for freedom to express themselves stylistically and the strain which arises from heterosexist institutions and values that regulate their desires. The opening-up of China enables them to experiment with sex, love and cosmopolitanism, without ever forgetting their family, culture and nation:
We all live a hard life in this world because China does not accept us. As tongzhi, we have our own ways of thinking and lifestyle. Tongzhi is not the same as AIDS or being promiscuous, and it is not the same as pervert or immoral. I clearly understand who I am, what I am doing and I take care of myself . . .Regardless that I have always thought that I can live the way that I want, but in China where continuation of the family line is valued, it is true that I am at fault . . .I will try my best to do well in what I should do. What I need is, personal space. [Lonely and helpless Xiao-long]
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