I Will March No More

I had made it a personal tradition to update this blog every year around the same time, following the Marche des visibilités in La Réunion—as if to link the renewal of demands from the queer Réunionese community to a key stage in my own personal growth. Fatigue, perhaps, but more so the misalignment I felt with its latest iteration in Saint-Denis, contributed last year to my stepping back from how I express my commitment—if not questioning the very necessity of doing so in an active and visible way.

Having had the opportunity to reflect on that march in comparison with the Pride des Banlieues in Saint-Denis (not the one in La Réunion this time), amid the genocide in Gaza and the snap parliamentary elections in France, reinforced for me the idea that struggles must remain multifaceted, plural, and resist the temptation of rigid anchoring that leads to assimilation. Although they involve constant navigation between the personal, the political, and systemic scales, it seems essential to me that these struggles not overlook individuals, nor their exposure to burnout and to violence—symbolic or otherwise.

Having witnessed activists worn out by loneliness and the lack of means that too often come with organizing public actions, I must show restraint in criticizing the paths chosen by flagship movements in their pursuit of sustainability. Still, I will not stop denouncing the institutionalization of struggles and the consequences it has on how commitments materialize: a flattening of demands—excluding the least consensual subjects and realities—, cheap co-optation by elected officials and political parties, and collusion with police forces and other state institutions.

However, in a global context where the far-right is being normalized, the rights of trans people are being rolled back, and racism is on the rise (among other things…), I believe that completely rejecting reformist and progressive approaches would be counterproductive. I still believe our movements do not always follow a linear path; they adapt to the shifting political context and, above all, to the sensibilities of the people who compose them. Perhaps they can also remain plural, much like how “gay pride,” radical pride, and banlieue pride exist side by side in Paris.

Returning to my own experience, these past two years have also served as a time to explore other aspects of my identity. Although I was born in La Réunion, the family history I’ve inherited is deeply shaped by migrations—within the island, to and from Madagascar, Europe, southern China, and in fragments, the rest of the Indian Ocean. This mosaic has led, throughout my life, to situations common yet deeply specific to La Réunion: growing up in a family environment shaped by unexpected cultural blends; being long assigned to a Chineseness that did not reflect my lived reality; and a complex relationship with mainland France, wavering between aspiration and rejection. To this is added the specific questioning around Réunionese identity itself, which everyone seems simultaneously eager and unable to define. I admit having given up trying to offer a clear and straightforward answer to that complexity.

My recent approach was to begin reconnecting with the Chinese community in La Réunion—one I was constantly assigned to but which had always seemed distant and foreign to me. Even today, people easily mention Chinese restaurants with their characteristic architecture, the boutik sinwa, vestiges of a past we like to consider familiar and comforting. Yet from where I stand, the Chinese community and its practices have always been associated with a kind of exoticism, secrecy, even otherness. My grandfather, who read the newspaper in Chinese, listened to Cantonese radio programs, and initiated us into his rituals, was nevertheless part of a very ordinary daily life—so much so that I realized far too late the uniqueness and richness of his particular customs.

My attempt at reconnection therefore began with reclaiming ritual practices, which were already passed down within the family but in a decontextualized way. I then moved toward cultural-sportive practices such as lion and dragon dancing, as well as dragon boat racing. These allow me to combine intellectual and spiritual exploration with a rediscovery of my own body—one I’ve always felt was too fragile and difficult to move. This journey continues to enrich me while also raising a constant stream of new questions: about the nature of my connection to the Chinese Réunionese community (as my grandfather belonged more to the Chinese diaspora in Madagascar); about the position of this community within Réunionese identity; and about the dynamics within and around it… These lines of inquiry promise a long and winding path that seems bound to intertwine with other facets of my identity construction. So much still left to explore.

I’m writing today from Bangkok, Thailand, in the final days of a stay of just under a month, mostly spent in Việt Nam. I officially present it as part of my research on Chinese diasporas—which it partly is—but truthfully, I mostly needed to decenter my perspectives from Europe and Paris, something particularly difficult when one is both an artist and from La Réunion. This trip, although long desired, was hard to envision at first: it’s no small thing, as a French national, to travel to these Southeast Asian countries—one of which was colonized—and even less so when your artistic work aims to highlight the deep imbalance between tourism and local life.

Regardless of my reflections, strategies, or attempts at virtuous positioning, there remains an impasse—perhaps even a contradiction—in wanting to reconcile my presence in these territories with a purely non-dominant relationship. It would be dangerous to think that racialization (in the context of origin) or shared colonial histories are enough to erase the class, racial, and gender inequalities we are likely to reproduce in our interactions and in how we “consume” both tourist offerings and local life.

I will never fully transcend this reality, but I remain mindful of how to navigate these spaces with respect.
Still, it’s hard not to give in to the temptations offered by the vast disparity in currencies, not to be charmed by the naïve melancholy evoked by the same landscapes of rice paddies, red bricks, and zebu cattle as in Madagascar, or not to overexploit the ambivalent familiarity granted to me by my phenotype.

Recognizing my own shortcomings doesn’t make them harmless, but I’m convinced that these contortions are part of my broader journey toward self-understanding. After all, power relations are not confined to a binary system of domination and subjugation—they can only be addressed through a holistic and intersectional approach.

Translated from French, using ChatGPT 🙈