His Experience in LGBTQ+ Activism
On the other end of the energy spectrum stood Frank, my Sephora shopping buddy. At the heart of Beijing’s business center, we stared at a gigantic pair of red lips slightly parting on a poster behind the shop window. He seemed thrilled to tell me about his secret journey practicing make-up in high school. “It was a total mess when I first started,” he smiled. “You know what it’s like—YouTube tutorials, cheapest products… I learned everything behind the closed door of my dorm room.” The hard work paid off, for he had become a proud stylist of his mother, advising on “makeup, skincare, sometimes fashion, everything.” While asked if he had come out, Frank made a Schrödinger's cat metaphor. “I think she knows, or maybe she doesn’t; both states happen simultaneously. We kind of reached a tacit agreement not to discuss it.” He shrugged, admitting the pressure as the only son of a big family. My thoughts trailed to some historical roots for his predicament: China’s one-child policy, patriarchal emphasis on familial lineage, and its long tradition in Confucianism.
I asked if Frank had continued his voluntary work in a non-profit organization called Beijing LGBT Center, a flagship that survived multiple waves of government suppression. He said no, describing his experience as “kind of chaotic.” It surprised me that instead of outrage, his first reaction was a sigh. “Most personnel can only work part-time, so it’s hard for them to function well.” This half-surrendering attitude reminded me of Frank’s high school story battling with the board. In a “very Catholic school,” he found a line in the school code of conduct handbook that “basically forbid students of the same sex holding hands.” Quickly, he got up a petition for change; ignored, he initiated a student protest; repeatedly dodged by the school board, he went straight to their meeting room, seeking a chance to speak. After a year of incessant endeavor, he received a notice saying the code had been removed, “on the most regular morning of school.” Frank’s eyes glistened with tears. Touched by the story, I asked if he was interested in a career in China’s equal rights activism. “After law school? No.” A soft radiance died down in his eyes. “Maybe after establishing a career, I’ll see what I can do.” Words lingered in the air, like a faint hope awaited re-ignition. His Hawaiian shirt blew in the gentle summer breeze, its broccoli prints heaving as we strolled down the bustling street.