We've Always Been Here: South Asian Queer Activism in '90s NYC
This project is situated within two longer histories in New York City: that of the South Asian diaspora, and that of the queer South Asian community. One story is impossible to tell without some grounding in the other.
We offer our gratitude to Sva (an organizer in SALGA and Youth Solidarity Summer in the 1990s) for sharing their recollections in oral history format. The excerpts from their oral history help tether this exhibit in not only the archives, but also in firsthand memory.
For an earlier twentieth-century history of South Asian immigration in the United States, you can read fellow LHP Youth Researcher Arun’s exhibit, found here.
One of the biggest critiques against queer South Asians — both from within the South Asian community and from outside — is that queerness is an infiltration of South Asian culture by “western perversity.” This overlooks the reality that South Asian queer people have existed and been documented for centuries. They may be found in the archives using different labels that describe the spectrum of sexualities seen in the South Asian community, such as shomo-kami (homosexuality) or hijra (a centuries-old community of transgender, intersex, or eunuch people). These labels, which account for more fluidity than the fixed categories of “gay” and “lesbian,” were used frequently within queer South Asian community and/or activist spaces, as well as in the names of queer South Asian activist groups that emerged in the late twentieth century.
Queer activism in New York City, when — and if — historically acknowledged, has traditionally had a white face. Queer history in NYC often begins and ends with the Stonewall Riot in June of 1969, in which a racially diverse group of queer and trans New Yorkers defended themselves against a violent police raid. Stonewall was a watershed moment for queer visibility and for gay activism. But a queer history that erases much other than Stonewall and ACT UP’s public protests during the AIDS crisis is not a representative one. South Asian queer activists were thinking about many of the same queer issues facing their communities as their counterparts, including how to organize against and address the AIDS crisis. (A new oral history project by Nikhil Patil, “Excerpts from an Epidemic: Documenting South Asian American Narratives from the Early Years of the AIDS Crisis in the United States,” represents an important attempt to place South Asians within the history of the United States’ response to AIDS.) Where they often diverged from activist groups with large white memberships was their focus on specific, intersectional issues: forming community, interrogating questions of caste and class in their organizing spaces, and visibly celebrating a culturally specific queerness.
"I came to New York in the fall of '97 [from Atlanta]. By then, I had already been meeting people in SALGA through national HIV/AIDS organizing and hearing about them through networks, [Trikone in Atlanta, another queer South Asian organizations], and newsletters."
The fight for representation for Desi queers has spanned decades within New York City. Both nationally and in NYC, specifically, queer South Asian organizations emerged as important hubs for queer cultural production, activism, and solidarity in the 1980s and 1990s. Importantly, as more groups began to form, they served as models for others to follow in their footsteps. Trikone — which directly translates to “triangle,” a reference to the Nazi effort to identify and eliminate queerness through the marker of the upside-down pink triangle — was one of the first queer Desi organizations to emerge. Originally started in California’s Bay Area in 1986 as a newsletter for queer Desi news and events in the area, Trikone would eventually expand into other national chapters, as well as a social services-oriented group and a magazine. Shamakami, another short-lived but impactful group, was a Bangladeshi organization primarily oriented around South Asian lesbians. Numerous other groups existed, both for short periods of time and over multiple decades. This project will primarily focus on the South Asian Lesbian Gay Association (SALGA), a non-profit, volunteer organization based in NYC, working to bring awareness and aid to those who identify as queer and South Asian.
“Also something else that was happening at the time in the late ‘90s that informed what I [was] doing in the YSS space was the controversy around Fire (1996), the film. It was a film by a filmmaker named Deepa Mehta. She made a trilogy of films. Fire depicted a love story between two sisters-in-law living in a joint family context in North India, I think set in Delhi. Shabana Azmi and Nandita Das played the protagonists. The Hindu Right groups in Bombay and Delhi, tore down the posters saying that “This is not Indian.” People that we knew in Bombay, queer women's groups, did counter-protests. So there was a kind of discourse to draw from for this that was happening in India. [My partner at the time] sent VHS tapes of queer films for a film festival that some of these folks were doing in Bombay. And so one of the things we were able to talk about in YSS was the Fire controversy.”
In 1996, Indian-Canadian director Deepa Mehta released Fire, a film that depicted themes of queer intimacy between two women in Delhi named after the Hindu goddesses Radha and Sita. Right-wing Hindu activists in India were enraged, attacking theaters, motivated not only by homophobia but also the notion that the movie was a vulgar, defamatory representation of Hindu goddesses. The riots and violence that surged from this movement encouraged the rise of a lesbian public [?] in India.
But the protests concerning Fire weren’t contained in India alone. SALGA, too, held protests against the violence taking place in India as a result of the film’s release and reception. As discussed in the oral history excerpt above, communication between queer activist groups was taking place not only from coast to coast in the United States, but transnationally. Throughout their protests, SALGA denounced the conjoining of sexism and homophobia with Hindu nationalism. The violent street protests in India were not only an issue taken up by queer women’s groups in Bombay, but also by their partner groups across the diaspora. By upholding each other’s fights as if they were their own, understanding that sexism, nationalism, and homophobia were issues intertwined and shared across locations, a distinct landscape of queer South Asian groups emerged.
“SALGA was also loose. It was like monthly meetings at the Gay and Lesbian Center and parties that were fundraisers, but also just parties and support groups and things like that. It wasn't like there was a political line that they were following. It was very progressive at that time, because who was around in SALGA. But yeah, it was just me and [others] kind of talking about queer stuff in the YSS space.”
Queer South Asian cultural production — from music and films to magazines, newsletters, and zines — also flourished in the 1990s, often serving as a reason for groups to meet, mingle, organize, or party. New York City in the 1990s, in particular, fostered Desi community queer expression and sexual liberation in a number of ways: DJ sets and Bhangra nights at nightclubs, house parties, drag shows, illicit meetings by the piers, film screenings, and more. The South Asian queer diasporic art that was produced in the United States in this period was heavily inspired by such environments. “Color Me Queer” parties were frequent and popular fundraising events in the ‘90s; some queer advocacy groups, like NYC’s Caribbean Equality Project, still hold them annually. Such parties inspired novels like Tanuja Desai Hidier’s novel Born Confused, which described the friendships and romances that bloomed from NYC queer nightlife.
The interpersonal dynamics of this type of organizing was not tangential to it, but central to it. Relationships built inside organizing spaces often took root outside, or romantic relationships or friendships would turn into organizing partnerships. Parties were not just social events — although they were also social events — but places where community was built, funds were raised, and issues would be voiced. This could also become complicated when systemic issues — sexism, colorism, internalized homophobia, and more — made their way into queer South Asian spaces. Despite shared identities, systemic issues shaped the way that individuals, especially women, trans people, and gender-nonconforming people were heard or respected within organizing spaces, including but not limited to SALGA’s.
What is the India Day Parade?
By the 1990s, a large Indian diaspora had put down roots across the country. The Immigration Act of 1990 and its central provision — creating the H-1B visa program for skilled temporary workers — was hugely important in establishing a younger generation of South Asians in the United States. Of those who lived in New York City and in New Jersey, some found community in more traditional sites; others, especially younger queer folks, sought out organizations, nightlife spaces, and kindred spirits that would allow them to be their full selves. Generational and gendered tensions combined to create real anxieties amongst older South Asian immigrants that their children — many of whom were queer, radical, and dissatisfied with the status quo of Desi identity — were slipping beyond familiar, traditional roles.
“When I asked SALGA members about what they found ‘political’ in their organization’s work, without fail they referred to the summer activities building up to the annual parade protest. Parades symbolically reproduce the nation and provide spectacular sites for the constitution and consumption of national identities. At the India Day Parade, SALGA and its progressive allies challenge the fascinating nesting of U.S. and Indian nationalisms that are defined through the construction of normative and deviant sexualities.” (Monisha Das Gupta in Unruly Immigrants, p.185)
The India Day Parade, as described by its organizing body, the Federation of Indian Associations (FIA), is an annual gathering of the diaspora. Bringing together celebrities, dignitaries, community groups, artists, and performers, it is the largest yearly gathering of its kind outside of India. Its stated mission is to celebrate the coming together of Indo-America and Indian immigrants, centering and celebrating Indian culture. In the past decade, it has also been an event that reinforces Hindu nationalism, and supports a more narrow vision of what it means to be "Indian."
Since its founding, the India Day Parade has served as a mirror for the factions and politics of the members of the diaspora who participate in it. In the 1990s, when a desire for a visable "Indian-ness" felt urgent, politicians, business owners, and community leaders — at least certain types — were welcomed and celebrated at the Parade. But who was excluded? Why were they left on the margins of a space meant to “gather the diaspora”? And perhaps the most nagging question: Why would young, queer activists and organizers who understood the nationalist, sexist, and homophobic characteristics of the Parade still want to participate in it?
For the purpose of this project, I focus specifically on moments between 1992 and 2001, when SALGA was denied the right to march in the India Day Parade by the FIA. Motivated to maintain the mainstream image of “Indian” identity, the FIA claimed that (1) the more expansive “South Asian” scope of SALGA fell beyond the scope of “India.” This argument, frequently employed by right-wing Hindu nationalists, is inherently islamophobic, meant to exclude non-Hindu and non-Indian Desis who are equal consumers (and producers) of Indian culture in many circumstances.
The FIA also claimed that the values of the LGBTQ+ community did not align with their organizational values, and would as such not be an accurate representation of the Indian identity to an American audience. This excuse was extended beyond SALGA to deny other activist organizations fighting for marginalized groups, such as Sakhi for South Asian Women, an organization focusing on gender justice and gendered violence that was also denied the right to march.
As a result, the India Day Parade became not just a site of cultural narrowing by the organizers, but also, a site of cultural expansion, resistance, and reclamation by protests and organizers. Groups like YSS, SALGA, and SAKHI began to march in the Parade because it was a visable signifier to the organizers and participants: This is what it looks like to be Indian, too. And we aren't going anywhere.
“She was ahead of her time in … leading our movement for equality into a broader movement for freedom and justice and dignity for everyone.” - The Dream of A Common Movement, a collection of Vaid’s writings published following her death in 2022.
My interest in this topic stemmed from my discovery of Urvashi Vaid. Urvashi Vaid (1958-2022) was an Indian-American lesbian activist, author, and civil rights attorney who helped build spaces for radical queer organizing throughout the United States. Vaid’s literary career focused on essays calling for a truly intersectional feminist movement, emphasizing values demonstrated throughout this exhibit. Her posthumous collection, The Dream of a Common Movement, demanded intersectional change over assimilation, calling for politics rooted in coalition, confrontation, and collective imagination.
Prior to her involvement with SALGA and the National India Day Parade, Vaid was best known for being the head of the National LGBTQ Task Force, being the first woman of color to hold this position. In the 1990s, she advocated for HIV health policy reform and healthcare justice. Collaborating with the Fenway Institute of Health Policy research, Vaid helped launch the Racial and Economic Justice Initiative and the Aging Initiative, creating the largest-ever Black Pride Survey and Asian Pacific Islander LGBT Survey. In 2012, Vaid established the LPAC, the first Lesbian PAC.
Vaid’s involvement in SALGA’s fight against the FIA was key. Her framework of intersectionality and solidarity spoke to the issue of queer exclusion from the India Day Parade as an open debate on who gets to define “Indianness” in the diaspora, calling instead for diasporic accountability and democracy.
“Creating this common movement… what if instead of saying, I’m in coalition with you, we tried to identify how HIV treatment issues connect with racism… And that’s the case in reproductive choice.” - Urvashi Vaid
1992
- Right-wing Indian nationalists begin debating whether queer Desi groups should be allowed in the India Day Parade.
- Vaid marches to the FIA office to advocate for inclusion but is demeaned and turned away.
- Vaid is already head of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, the first woman of color to do so.
- SALGA organizes a protest called Desi Dhamaka (“blast” in Hindi).
- The NYC Human Rights Commission intervenes on SALGA’s behalf for safety and inclusion.
- SALGA marches in the India Day Parade for the first time.
1993
The FIA denies SALGA's application unless they agree not to display any signs identifying as queer, which SALGA refuses.
1994
- FIA bars SALGA, claiming they missed the deadline and aren't specifically "Indian."
- Priyamvada Sinha, SALGA spokesperson, writes: “We’ve come too far...to sit in the back of the bus in our own community.”
- On August 21, SALGA members march with Sakhi, who carry protest banners reading: “SALGA was banned from marching today. Why?”
1995
SALGA is again excluded, with the FIA claiming SALGA is too broadly South Asian to qualify as “Indian.”
1996
SALGA is excluded again, now on the grounds that only FIA members can participate. SALGA’s coordinator Faraz Ahmed tells the NY Times this was “just a way of keeping us out.”
1997
- SALGA holds a press conference to protest exclusion and highlight discriminatory double standards.
- Other “South Asian” labeled groups were permitted to march without issue.
- SALGA and allies form the South Asian Progressive Task Force to protest FIA policies.
2000
SALGA is allowed to march with restrictions. FIA warns SALGA not to include “obscene stuff or provocative clothing.”
2001
- FIA again shows reluctance, claiming SALGA violated prior conditions by displaying “large signs.”
- The Community Board supports SALGA's inclusion and threatens to cancel the parade without them.
- FIA remains ambiguous about future participation, saying only that they might “recommend” it for the next year.
Celebrating the history of South Asian queer activism in New York City means recognizing the long networks of solidarity, community activism, and care that are its foundation. Examples of such “transformative solidarity” and collective care were exhibited within these enduring networks throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as in other points of cross-cultural, cross-ethnic organizing.
Queer South Asian activist organizations remain present throughout the city still. It’s also important to note that while groups like SALGA or SATQC (the South Asian Trans and Queer Collective) continue explicitly fighting for LGTBQ+ rights, many queer South Asian New Yorkers are on the forefront of activist organizing efforts that are not explicitly queer. They can be found working in leftist activist spaces throughout the city, tackling everything from community health to anti-gentrification initiatives.
On the topic of South Asian activism, Har — a queer transfemme Punjabi Sikh who was active in SASI (the South Asian Solidarity Initiative and YKR (a South Asian American theater collective) — shared, “It’s brilliant and wild how much queer South Asians are overrepresented in organizing spaces.” “It is really non-men who do all the work,” she added.
The organizational initiatives taking place outside of masculinist and patriarchal frameworks may explain the framework of care, camaraderie, and intimacy, she explained. Her point is supported by the overrepresentation of queer and transfemme South Asian Americans who make up the majority of membership and leadership in radical diasporic spaces. Sasha, a queer Sri Lankan organizer who serves as the director of CAAAV, called this the “oh, you too?” moment.
The disproportionate presence of queer femme South Asian workers raises questions of burden and responsibility. But these queer women have crafted spaces that reject care work as an invisibilized or feminized form of labor to be forgotten, proving that care is both political and also foundational to powerful solidarity movements. This legacy of transformative solidarity against anti-Blackness, transphobia, the caste system, and religious hate is what allows for NYC-based queer South Asian organizers to put their bodies on the line and to build meaningful relationships that keep these networks of care thriving today.
The South Asian Diaspora of NYC
Unruly Immigrants: Rights, Activism, and Transnational South Asian Politics in the United States (2006) - Monisha Das Gupta
A Lotus of Another Color: An Unfolding of the South Asian Gay and Lesbian Experience (1993) - ed. Rakeh Ratti
"Expanding the Narrative of Epidemics: Reflecting on the Early Impact of HIV/AIDS within the South Asian American Community" (2021) - Nikhil D. Patil
Ishtyle: Accenting Gay Indian Nightlife (2020) - Kareem Khubchandani
Asian Americans: An Encyclopedia of Social, Cultural, Economic, and Political History (2014) - ed. Xiaojian Zhao and Edward J. W. Park
Solidarity and Intersectional Organizing within the Diaspora
Desis In The House: Indian American Youth Culture In NYC (2012) - Sunaina Maira
The Dream of a Common Movement: Selected Writings of Urvashi Vaid (2025) - Urvashi Vaid
Q & A: Queer in Asian America (1998) - ed. David L. Eng and Alice Y. Hom
Born Confused (2002) - Tanuja Desai Hidier
India Day Parade
Virtual Homelands: Indian Immigrants and Online Cultures in the United States (2014) - Madhavi Mallapragada
"INDIA DAY JOINS CITY'S ETHNIC PARADE" - New York Times - August 17, 1981
"When Gay Pride Was Excluded From India Pride" (2018) - The Aerogram, Preeti Aroon
"Desi Dhamaka Protests at Madison Square Park" (2018) - entry on the NYC LGBTQ Historic Sites Project