Chinese-Kiwi playwright, poet and performer Nathan Joe has won numerous honours including the Bruce Mason Playwriting Award in 2021. He is co-editor of queer literary publication Eel and creative director of Auckland Pride, the LGBTQI+ festival running this month.
Choosing how and when to come out can be so complex. How did you reveal yourself to your parents?
I came out to Dad just before I moved to Auckland when I was 20, and to Mum when I was about 28. I came out to my parents separately, as we don’t have good two-on-one conversations.
Why is that?
Coming out is an act of storytelling, and it’s easier to talk to Dad in English, because ostensibly he’s a Kiwi, and because Mum didn’t come to New Zealand until she was in her 20s, I came out to her in broken English.
How did they react?
It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, although we’re still not quite where I’d like us to be. There’s still work to be done that involves re-engaging, being brave and vulnerable. Mum still has some discomfort around my being queer.
How much of that do you think is cultural?
A fair bit. My parents both have roots in the Guangdong Province, China. Although Dad was born in New Zealand and raised in Porirua by his Chinese parents, Mum was a first-generation immigrant and is more closely aligned to traditional Chinese culture. So even between my parents, there is a cultural difference.
When did you realise you could break away from those perceived cultural parameters?
I grew up in Ilam, in Upper Riccarton, Christchurch, which was like a de facto Chinatown with its churches, grocers and restaurants. It was all part of that 90s wave of immigration but my outlook was quite narrow. For a long time, I didn’t understand the possibility of a world beyond my neighbourhood, and while I wasn’t closeted as such, I definitely wasn’t out. I sensed I was different from the other kids but I couldn’t articulate how until I started tertiary education and my world opened up.
What did you study?
I felt indifferent to university but it was important to my parents, as they’d not had that opportunity. So I applied for broadcasting school in Christchurch, to study digital film and television. Although I didn’t necessarily want to be a film-maker, and my application was atrocious, I did give a good interview as I was deeply passionate about film. Cinema was my crutch and my anchor during those challenging pubescent years, an escape from the smallness of my life.
How did your true identity begin to reveal itself at university?
Most of my friends knew I was queer, but being gay wasn’t something I could practise back then. I’m 32 now, and it’s difficult to articulate how different the landscape was in the 2000s compared with now. Fifteen years ago, being queer and a nerd was not highly regarded. So growing up queer, Chinese and geeky in Christchurch was a tangled intersection to navigate, whereas those things are much more mainstream today.
How did your life change when you moved to Auckland?
Having more independence and freedom, I was finally able to date. Not living at home with my parents helped, as that had played a big part in me not pursuing things in a healthy manner. Even now, as an adult, the notion of bringing someone home to meet my parents gives me the shits.
Some of your theatre work is rather confronting and, at times, sexually explicit. Do you invite your parents to see your plays?
They saw Scenes from a Yellow Peril at the Waterfront Theatre last year. Through that, they saw me as an adult Chinese person with a complex personality, but I still have to do some code switching around them, turning various facets of myself off – my family self versus my independent self. I realise now, too, that it’s okay for those things not to be in perfect alignment and that they might never be.
Can you tell me about a defining fork in your creative road?
One was in 2013. I was living in Auckland where I saw Silo Theatre’s Speaking in Tongues and Auckland Theatre Company’s The Glass Menagerie. Those two plays made a huge impact, and when Playmarket, the script agency, offered a thing called Asian Ink, to workshop plays by Asian writers, I was inspired to submit something. So I quickly whipped something up, and that set me on the road to writing plays.
Was that the big break?
Not at all. It wasn’t an easeful process either, but the seed was planted. Then I fumbled around for a few years trying to be a theatre maker with varying degrees of success.
Presumably, theatre wasn’t paying the bills. How did you make a living?
As a continuation of my studies, I’d moved to Auckland to do an internship at the production company that made the television show Target. That became my bread and butter because, as an emerging playwright, if anything I lost money in those first five years putting on plays.
What was the turning point in your theatre-making career?
Writing plays was not a practical career and I was still fumbling in 2019. Then I made a show with some friends for the Auckland Fringe called I am Rachel Chu, a response to the film Crazy Rich Asians. It was joyful, silly and freeing, and it had a little moment which re-inspired me to keep going.
You then moved back to Christchurch – how was that, to return to all those layers of home and family?
It was actually quite lucky, as the timing overlapped with lockdown, which gave me the space to work on Scenes from a Yellow Peril, which in turn led to such a funny chaos-theory thing. Because of Covid, the Auckland Arts Festival couldn’t bring in international productions so they wanted expressions of interest for local content. I’d already written Scenes from a Yellow Peril, and while it had previously had some rejections, that time it flew. If not for that, I don’t think I’d still be doing theatre.
Why the move to Auckland Pride?
I’d already started moving into arts administration. In 2022, I was programming assistant at the Basement Theatre. Arts admin shifted my perspective. I came to see my time and resources could be better spent trying to support the wider ecology, rather than simply trying to make theatre, which is so fraught and never very consistent.
To what extent is thinking about throwing in the towel part of your creative process?
A creative life is a windy journey that will always have ups and downs. Once I reached my 30s, I felt I had to choose between staying in the arts or living an adult life, so becoming an arts administrator was my way of being an adult, while staying in the creative sector.
Is it a bit like being a fairy godmother? Providing other artists with opportunities and support?
Totally. When I first started working with Julia Croft [Pride’s executive director], we described it as us trying to retroactively feed our younger selves in ways we weren’t fed at the time. Like an act of time travel, to support people, whether through resources or affirmation.
What is Auckland Pride?
It is more than just a festival, it is the intersection of art, culture and politics, a way for the queer community to make a difference and change lives. It helps certain communities feel safe and empowered by telling stories about things that might otherwise be under threat, and art is the best way to do that.
What draws you so strongly to the arts, bearing in mind an artistic career can be so fraught?
I owe my life to art. Creativity is a core part of who I am and theatre is so deeply spiritual and transformative. This role sees all my personal values align. Pride would have made a world of difference to me when I was growing up, so maybe I’m also trying to heal my inner child.
Auckland Pride, February 1-29. aucklandpride.org.nz
