By Purple Romero

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“I JUST WANT to be with someone who can make me forget.”

This line from one of the characters in the film We Don’t Dance for Nothing, which tackles the dilemma faced by Filipino domestic helpers in Hong Kong, encapsulates the additional layer of complexity in terms of sexuality for migrant workers.

For some, ascertaining one’s gender identity and sexual orientation could mean confronting dogmatic religious beliefs, facing possible rejection from families, suffering from social stigma, and even defying legal boundaries.

For some migrant workers, however, the process could be highly buttressed by existential reasons, as entering a same-sex relationship could be about having a necessary support system in a foreign land.

It doesn’t mean the love is not real – it just means the purpose of being with someone, whether it’s through a heteronormative relationship or a homosexual one, goes beyond the romantic.

“It doesn’t mean the love is not real – it just means the purpose of being with someone, whether it’s through a heteronormative relationship or a homosexual one, goes beyond the romantic”

In the documentaries Lesbian Factory and Rainbow Popcorn, the journey of coming to terms with one’s sexuality also enters various milestones as the women, who worked in factories in Taipei a decade ago, found comfort and refuge with other women at a time when they were being treated unfairly in their workplaces in Taipei.

When they got back to the Philippines, however, most of the relationships between these women have since ended. Some, including those referred to as “butch” lesbians due to having a more traditional masculine appearance when they were still in Taipei, eventually chose to settle down with cisgender men. On the other hand, there were female migrant workers in Taipei who, while not involved in same-sex relationships while still in Taiwan, came out as lesbians upon returning to their Motherland.

There is nothing wrong with this. Sexuality is, after all, fluid. What it tells us however is that one’s circumstances and reality, influenced by the conditions one is in during that time, all the more vivify the value of different kinds of relationships.

Being with someone takes on a different meaning and purpose and just becomes all the more personal for a migrant worker. There is the element of being far away from the familiar, with the notion of home being challenged ever so often. But more than this, we see the dominance of class differences and power dynamics inevitably defining who loves who and why. Love and labour are inextricably, invariably, intertwined.

This is precisely the reason why, aside from the Pride Month, we also have Migrants’ Pride.

“The Migrants’ Pride mainly aims to highlight the particular issues of LGBTQI migrants that are usually beyond discrimination and acceptance. LGBTQI in general are discriminated against because of homophobia, but there is double discrimination when you’re already a migrant worker, then also part of the LGBTQI community,” says Shiela Tebia Bonifacio, chairwoman of the Gabriela chapter in Hong Kong, an organisation advocating for human rights.

“LGBTQI in general are discriminated against because of homophobia, but there is double discrimination when you’re already a migrant worker, then also part of the LGBTQI community” - Shiela Tebia Bonifacio, Chairwoman of the Gabriela Hong Kong

Previous Migrants’ Pride celebrations in Hong Kong have not only called for equality but have also illumined the fight for better wages and working conditions. This delineates the clear distinction that migrant workers are not expats – hence love, romance, all of these, are seen through very, very different lenses.

Films that do dare capture the unique precarity and passion of being a queer migrant worker are few and far between, however. This is regretful, because in a globalised world, migrant workers are everywhere and so are their stories of searching and finding love. It’s an interesting tale to tell as it already is; complex and definitely not one-dimensional, sexual as well as political.

Just imagine: films like these have the potential to show queer love beyond the usual tropes and outside the same storytelling shticks. Beyond the issues of coming out and identity crisis, films like these could ground a person to the very visceral necessities of finding ways to put food on the table, fulfilling filial responsibilities and wrestling with the dilemma to bite the hand that feeds you, or to just go with the flow because of very limited economic agency.

In the age of Netflix, where queer love has often been portrayed between people from the middle class, there is a glut of films that capture the realities of those that are often victims of structural poverty. Class affects everything. Class hierarchy and economic boundaries could lead to one’s predisposition to be romantically involved with someone with the same economic background and may arguably be much more pronounced for migrant workers, even those of the same race or ethnicity, because again, class affects everything.

Even love. Even queerness. So yes, when it comes to migrant workers, same-sex relationships could be about affection, romance, and sometimes, just being with someone who can make them forget.