9: nyshka chandran, china's queer cinema subtitle army, teaching afrofuturism in a pakistani classroom, inventing the rice cooker
The pandemic has been such a time of evaluating. Taking a careful scalpel to things, days feeling alternately crisp and spongy like these images from Nehemiah Grew’s 1680 book Anatomy of Plants. Who I want to be or rather not be, what kind of writer I’d like to be, what the next few years should or even could look like, beyond the nonstop, hurtling hustle of freelancing. I can’t do that forever, not like this. I’ve been moving away from art writing recently, partly because nothing’s been on, but primarily because, well—how can it possibly be sustainable in the long run for anyone not on staff? And then there’s the art world, and all its politics, and all the people that might have once seemed rather louchely appealing but now mostly disgust me. I’d like to engage with art without all that.
Teaching at Momus’ residency last/this week has me especially thinking about the conditions, and barriers to entry. And how, instead of mostly ignoring PR emails I might be able to direct them towards others instead. This open spreadsheet of emerging art writers is a start, I hope—please do circulate it to anyone for whom it might be relevant.
This week’s diary, from another very old friend Nyshka Chandran feels even more like time travel, written as it was during that last week in May when George Floyd was murdered. Next week brings us back to the present; as always, please do get in touch if you’d like to keep one of these diaries?
spiky bois
Immunology is where intuition goes to die. The making of a molotov cocktail. It sounded like the world itself was breaking open. From smaller idols to larger tanks, how Covid-19 is changing Mumbai’s Ganesha festival. “Our role is to reduce their grief.” Last gasp: what tuberculosis can teach India about Covid-19. Occupation hazards. Can loneliness now be cured with a pill? Kashmir, one year on. We are living in fear: Covid-19 further isolates Peru’s Andean women. Ants in my bloodstream. The hidden faces of apartheid. The literature of the pandemic is already here. Living with an eating disorder as America unravels means navigating dual identity crises. The making of a boogaloo boi.
glouglou and snackchat
The battle to invent the automatic rice cooker. The white rabbit and his colourful tricks. Cooking with D.H. Lawrence. The evolution of Palestinian cuisine. How the French make rice. How Native American chefs are working to decolonise Indigenous cuisine. The Japanese tradition of raising and eating wasps. It’s always hotpot season in Taipei. Order the enchilada, remember the bracero. The food of care homes. Italy’s ‘wine windows’ were a product of the plague. Now they’re making. a comeback. The future of food media is in your inbox. Meet the former cook who draws his every meal. Flimsy plastic knives, a single microwave, and empty popcorn bags: how 50 inmates inside a Michigan prison prepared a feast to celebrate the life of George Floyd. The homespun joy of coca-cola chicken wings. The sad, sexist past of Bengali cuisine. Sharing food, building resilience. Stories in the shine.
painting and writing
Transnationally Asian. Plumbing the secrets of the archives of the Museum of Modern art. A journey into the heart of whiteness. William Dalrymple on the forgotten painters of the East India Company. Isabel Wilkerson’s world-historical theory of race and caste. “A planetary expenditure:” an interview with Ensayos on learning across distance. Frank B. Wilderson III in conversation with Aria Dean. Press(ing) business: decoding feminist publishing in India. The many loves of Etel Adnan. Karrabing Film Collective tackles the cultural and environmental devastation of settler colonialism. Anatomy of a sellout. Fear of a gay planet. The battle between W.E.B Dubois and his white editor was an early reckoning over objectivity. The sea lion that jumped across terraced fields. The end of white supremacy, an American romance. All alone in their white girl pain.
watermark
Cyan. Tinder, sailor, hooker, pimp: the US Navy’s sex trafficking scandal in Bahrain. In Ashgabat. A four day, 65-mile walk along the Texas coast. The last lighthouse keeper: why a Nova Scotian couple refused to leave their island paradise. Mauritius declares environmental emergency after oil spill. The ultra mega powerless take on the ultra mega power plants. The woman who changed the way we see the seafloor. The big catch. The secret language of Cairo’s goldsmiths. In the belly of the beast: how the whale encapsulates modern ecology. Seabird poop is worth more than $1 billion annually. The ocean’s 12 megaprovinces. How a long-lost perfume got a second life after 150 years underwater. Oud across borders. The spirits of American beach.
☞\( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ yeehaw
China’s subtitle army. Number fever: the Pepsi contest that became a deadly fiasco. The Baudelarian horsewoman. We quit our jobs to build a cabin—everything went wrong. Pro-Beijing influencers and their rose-tinted view of life in Xinjiang. The Longing Man. They’re really close to my body: a hagiography of Nine Inch Nails and their resident mystic. The war on frats. “It took 32 years, but I finally found my kidnapped son.” TikTok and the evolution of digital blackface. From Bamboo Curtain to Silicon Valley of Hardware. Afghan war rugs and the lossy compression of cultural coding. For domestic workers, apps provide solace—but not justice. Who pays for cheap language instruction? Hunting pythons with the ladies of the glades. Walter Rodney on race and class in Guyanese politics. Teaching Afrofuturism in a Pakistani classroom. Sweatpants forever.
quarantine culture diary: nyshka chandran
monday may 25
I wake up to what feels like a giant drill pummeling into my forehead. there is apparently renovation happening downstairs and I'm stunned by my neighbour's audacity to play home makeover when everyone is working indoors. To escape the drilling, I go for a run in 29 degrees celsius. I must look like I’m in pain because more than one person tells me to “not to overdo it."
The magical Canadian summer is here but I wish it was still chilly out because that feels more appropriate for a lockdown. I arrived in Toronto from Kuala Lumpur before the virus hit for what was meant to be a routine parental visit but it now looks like I’ll be spending the year here. My timing was auspicious and I'm grateful to be spending the pandemic in a country where I have rights.
When Toronto went into lockdown in mid-March, I consumed news on the hour but a month later, I mostly tuned out and attempted to perfect a daily routine instead. Timing my activities around the clock felt robotic at first but I've come to enjoy it. My schedule is essentially: quiet morning time > cooking > work > exercise > work > leisure. Perhaps it's a placebo effect but this flow has done wonders for me in terms of emotional control.
Layers of financial, economic and social distress are bubbling up all around us—some quieter than others—and managing this frustration is essential, hence the routine. I’m lucky to still have some work as a freelance journalist but recent media layoffs and slashed budgets have me extremely worried. There is much talk about digital media diversifying from ad-based revenue to worker-owned cooperatives and I wonder what it will take for this concept to truly take off.
In a move that surprises myself, I join Instagram despite always having said that I was too lazy for a third social media account. I miss my friends and they know what a big step this is for me. I consider it my way of showing them love. It's also part of my experiment to try out things I dislike. So far, I've used dating apps, read arrogant authors like Nassim Taleb and now post on the gram. Will I turn into a basic bitch? stay tuned...
tuesday may 26
The days go by quickly enough. I work on my bed and frequently get stuck staring out of the window with a mind so blank that it would make a zen master proud. I'm slowly beginning to re-enter the news cycle and read about Malaysia threatening to deport undocumented migrant workers who test positive for the virus and the death of George Floyd. Clearly, the human capacity to inflict pain on others continues to thrive even in a pandemic.
Discrimination towards minorities, whether it’s in Malaysia or America, is pervasive across legal, security, financial and cultural systems. It happens in nightlife all the time: bouncers at popular clubs in Dubai, Singapore and countless other cities turn groups of black/brown men away because they immediately associate their skin colour with problems. Changing social attitudes is a long term process and it can only be done through dialogue.
For lunch, I concoct Mexican-inspired fried rice. Proper cooking is somewhat new to me. I never fully threw myself into it but I now realise that it's all about pairing textures. My parents say they've never eaten this many vegetables. Whilst chopping, I think of this cartoon from Russian animator Ivan Maximov who makes shapes seamlessly morph into each other in the most satisfyingly visceral way.
After what feels like a futile round of firing off pitches to editors, the sunshine gets aggressive and taunts me into optimism. I head to high park, determined to get a second sighting of a mysterious long-tailed turtle i saw last week. It's apparently a snapping turtle (who I later name Myrtle) and is an acquaintance of the alligator family. I've been exploring hidden forest trails in the neighborhood and constantly marvel at Canadian wilderness. so different from tropical ecosystems yet as lush and dense. I love catching squirrels, beavers, woodpeckers and raccoons in action, hope to run into another deer sometime.
Family arguments erupt as I prepare garlic butter potatoes, broccoli and shrimp for dinner. it feels like a game of whack-a-mole. Our oven decides to join the hostilities and starts smoking furiously, apparently incensed that I should open its door without knocking first. Using pans, we fan the fumes away from the bleeping smoke detector and it feels like a peace signal to the gods. Afterwards, everyone's still pissy so the potatoes are abandoned and I retreat to my room feeling 15 years old again. A friend once told me “almost every thing in the world is sharp if you get in close enough, and there's no sharp thing with just a single edge.” The idea of everyone consisting of protruding angles is very reassuring.
wednesday may 27
The sun is blazing down and the plants in one corner of our small living room (a nook that my mother calls "the summer palace") are happy but I remain suspicious of this brazen light. After lurking in my room for most of the morning, I make chickpea, sweet potato and spinach curry for lunch, fuel for what turns out to be a solid writing session. I've been hustling for work nonstop this past month and figure it's time to treat myself by visiting the dispensary. The nearest one is 4km away and so I head out for a leisurely walk. The vast body of water that is Lake Ontario is just minutes away from our apartment so I stroll along the waterfront, taking in the smell of burnt wood from past bonfires and the lurid green shit of ducks and geese who waddle cutely from the water to graze on shore.
Families are out and rollerbladers are cruising, it's a nice scene that feels almost normal. Reality quickly hits once I enter Parkdale, a neighborhood that's transformed from working-class district to hipster paradise to condo central thanks to an influx of international real estate capital. The sight of barricaded storefronts and posters calling for rent strikes is just but a glimpse of the deep economic pain felt by low income households. Nothing about this virus is equalising, social inequalities are only getting deeper. Some homeless dudes I pass out cigarettes to say they'd rather be outside than in shelters. Tent cities are slowly popping up across the downtown core and I pass by one that's not too far from luxury apartments.
I’m hoping this epidemic will make the world lean towards democratic socialism. What exactly is there not to like about universal healthcare and affordable education! Canada isn’t paradise but at least its foundation is solid. But authoritarian governments in developing and developed countries are already using this situation to implement unfair laws and silence critics. It’s been encouraging to see more talk of social finance and mutual aid but for large-scale impact to happen, these programs have to enter the mainstream conversation. I found this short history of mutual aid from Texan activist Scott Crow helpful.
Later, my parents and i head down to the waterfront with beers and burgers. I’m unaccustomed to sunsets happening past 8pm and it feels amazing to look at sea and sky merging into one big blue.
thursday may 28
The clouds have heard me! Grey skies and light rain greet me into reality. I feel vindicated but hope secretly that the sun knows I’m just in a bad mood and that I’ll be waiting for its return.
Images of Minnesota protestors clashing with police flood my social media feeds. My heart swells with respect for everyone in those streets and behind-the-scenes fighting police brutality in the middle of a health crisis. Mhe moving videos and accounts from people on the ground spur me into researching ways to meaningfully help from afar. My family and some friends in India have expressed surprise/confusion about why they should be concerned about racism in America when there’s a million other injustices happening across the world. That’s a fair point—events in America do receive more international media coverage than anywhere else. As an Indian person with zero connection to America, I’ve been asked why I feel the need to get involved. The Black Lives movement is specific to African-Americans but it’s also relevant to minority races in every country. Anti-Blackness is pervasive across the West, South America, Asia and the Middle East—regions where Eurocentric beauty standards promote fair skin and hateful stereotypes hurt the social lives, self-worth and careers of brown and Black skinned people. In Singapore, Indians and Malays are subject to more police checks than the dominant Chinese population and are routinely discriminated against in labour/property markets. We must always speak out and support others who are fighting racial injustice, wherever it’s happening.
After dinner (egg noodles with gai lan, tofu and a side of pirogies) I take a walk around the block in the drippy weather to the infectious breaks of New York dance wizards Ace Mo and MoMa Ready. I long for those moments on dancefloors when everyone has a stupid smile on their face and the beat communicates for us.
friday may 29
Once again I wake up to strong drilling, this time conducted right outside the building.
Brain capacity is running slow today and it takes me forever to complete sentences. I should be using this lockdown to breed new good habits, maybe my increased frequency of zoning out counts as meditation? Slow living continues and I have to make a forced effort to be a decent friend and daughter. I realise I’ve been snacking on gummy vitamins and by now, must have consumed enough nutrients for months. Shouldn’t I be super energetic?
Heavy rains are predicted but I go for a quick walk to buy my mother a gift for her last day of work at her current job (she’s moving departments). I just look for any reason to get outside these days. Groups of five can socialise now and I’ve had some hangs with friends at the park. I find a small orchid of fantastic fuchsia and wished I gave off as much grace as this distinguished flower. Protecting this precious plant whilst walking in blustery winds is no easy feat and I must look extremely comical.
Seeing protests spread across different American cities is extremely powerful and prompts me into thinking about activism. Can collective solidarity lead to change? Not always. I know plenty of Singaporeans who would protest against the exploitation of migrant workers but they would be arrested before their demonstrations gathered momentum. There’s no shortage of human injustices to support and I’m very aware that I’ve personally spent more energy on certain causes than others. So what’s an average person to do other than join protests, donate and spread awareness on social media? 1) educate yourself 2) be aware of bias in public structures/institutions that favour certain ethnicities 3) call out your friends when they use slurs and explain why it’s wrong 4) make an effort to patiently talk to someone whose views you disagree with. not to make them change their mind but to present alternative viewpoints.
saturday may 30
Toronto is holding an anti-racism protest today, organised by Not Another Black Life. Here’s the moving opening speech by local activist Keosha Love.
“This is a letter to anyone Black, non-black, anyone who is human. The last few days have been extremely heavy to say the least. It feels like we are not moving forward, only backwards. The violence we are experiencing globally is not okay and will never be okay. If you are tired or annoyed of reading all these posts and the news surrounding anti-black racism, guess what? We are tired too. Tired of being a walking target and dying every single day. If you’re thinking to yourself: “Do I really need to talk about this? It’s already viral and being shared everywhere.” The answer is YES. Trayvon Martin died in 2012, his case received global coverage and even that wasn’t enough because here we still are. So, YES you need to be a part of this conversation. YES you need to listen.
If you’re unfamiliar with allyship, it is a continuous process of using your privilege and power to learn about marginalized people and empathizing with their experiences. The goal of allyship is to ultimately take on problems of oppression and violence as if they were your own without removing yourself from the conversation. There is no such thing as a Black problem. This is a human race problem. We need collective outrage and action. I'm always confused by why it’s solely Black people who are the loudest and most enraged when another Black man or Black woman dies unjustly. Your silence is an act of violence. Not having to fight is a privilege. Not having to care is a privilege. I understand we can not control the privileges we were born with but we have a responsibility to each other to use our privileges of race or gender to stand up for others when their race or gender is a barrier.
For example, I was born able-bodied and cis-gendered. These pieces of my identity were out of my control but are still privileges I can be aware of and utilize to make space for the people who were not born with the same privilege and experience consistent violence because they identify as Trans or Disabled. I can listen and I can help by ensuring their voices are amplified and their experiences are validated not silenced. Now, if you are white or a person of colour, you have the privilege of not being Black. If you are both a man and white than you have the privilege of not being Black or a woman. You hold a mass amount of power, whether you asked for it not, the systems we live in put you at the top.
So I ask you, what are you going to do with this power and privilege? How will you empathize with others who have multiple intersections of oppression like being Trans, Black & Queer or being a Woman, Disabled & Indigenous. How are you willing to show up for people who do not look like you? How are you going to use your voice in solidarity and allyship that is not performative? Privilege in itself isn’t the evil I’m addressing, it is how white police, white men, and white people in authority choose to abuse their power and privilege that make it evil and make them evil.
Lastly, when we speak about Black lives, remember we are speaking about human lives. I’m aware there are many social issues that exist and they are all important because they are addressing human LIFE. Therefore black lives are a part of that conversation. So, by all means talk about other social issues but don’t you dare forget about us. When black people share their feelings around anti-black racism, you do not get to comment on how we choose to react to these issues and you do not get to put our issues at the bottom as if they do not count as a human rights issue. Radical love, empathy and action is needed right now and I’m asking you to join me. Pull the fuck up.”
sunday may 31
Hearing comparisons of American protestors with the pro-democracy movement in hong kong. Both are firmly rooted in police brutality and freedom. both causes are also being obstructed by right-wing idiots. still, the contexts are completely different. It’s important to keep the conversation going and continue to learn about struggles across the globe whilst questioning simplistic explanations.
I really hope this fight for racial and political freedoms continues even when protests stop. It is time for everyone to assess how ethnicity influences our opinions, how we can treat everyone fairly and most importantly, what steps we can take to decolonise our minds so race stops being restrictive.
featured creature: disco clam
Those flickering lights you see? Scientists previously thought it was a type of bioluminescence, but now believe the flashes come from nanobeads of reflective silica. They have toxic snot too.
