In Kumar Muniandy’s moving solo show Second Class Queer, Krishna is attending a speed dating event in Berlin. He’s introduced to a variety of men, some interesting, some ignorant and one downright horrible. Through the conversations he has with these potential suitors, his own past experiences – and the white privilege, racism and assumptions he encounters on a daily basis – are gradually revealed. But first, a dance.
The show begins in darkness, the only light coming from a small shrine at the side of the stage. Kumar enters and performs a beautiful dance and mime, with sensuous movements and fine use of hands and arms.
Suddenly he falls to the floor in agony, shouting and writhing. I thought for a moment that he’d been taken ill, but we then learn, from a news report projected onto the screen behind him, that a Malaysian teenager has been raped, beaten, burnt and murdered in a homophobic attack by school bullies. Kumar curls up in the far corner of the stage. Silence falls.
The audience is already transfixed. This is a stunning, bold way to open a show and it works, largely thanks to Kumar’s composed confidence and physical skill. He is completely in control, of his body and of the stage, there is no hint of nervousness or hesitation. The audience is at once committed to this performance, and Kumar keeps this feeling of personal connection strong throughout the hour that follows.
A voiceover introduces the speed daters to their first meeting. A bell rings when it’s time to move on. A single chair shows us Krishna eagerly awaiting his first chat.
The men he meets include Michael, who’s convinced Krishna was the waiter at the curry house he visited last night and wants to know why he doesn’t ‘look like Buddha’, Deiter, a German who thinks white privilege doesn’t exist and racism is all in the mind (‘I don’t see colour’), and a Muslim who wants a long term partner but thinks he won’t get one because he’s too fat and hairy ‘and looks like a terrorist’, but says it must be easier for Krishna because he’s thin and hot.
Then there’s Ganash aka Laurent, who’s been on a ‘spiritual journey’, ‘knows India’ and invites Krishna to chant, and Francis, a black nurse. Some patients won’t allow him to treat them; they spit in his face.
Every conversation Krishna has with a white man exudes racism, intentional or not, and there’s plenty of cultural appropriation too. Dieter may be the overt racist, but the others simply don’t seem to realise – or care – what they are saying. Curries, Buddha, hairy legs, mysticism; that’s what India’s about, isn’t it? And no matter how many times Krishna tells them he’s a Tamil Malaysian, back they go to the same old stereotypes. Meanwhile, every person of colour has their own story, and it’s mostly not about spirituality; it’s about the cold hard facts of everyday racism.
A speed dating event is the ideal setting for a character – especially a solo actor – to tell us his back story. Through the information Krishna shares with each man, we learn about his grandparents, who came from a low caste and were moved from India to Malaysia as ‘coolies’ by British colonialists, and his own life as a necessarily closeted gay man in a conservative country where,
‘Same-sex intimacy is prohibited under the Federal Penal Code 1936, which criminalises acts of “carnal knowledge against the order of nature” (sodomy) and “outrages on decency” (gross indecency).’
HumanDignityTrust.org, December 2024.
Krishna’s mother has recently died. Kumar shows us his pain and grief, but it is not until his conversation with Francis that he reveals his guilt; the revelation is heartbreaking. Homophobia has long tentacles; it’s not only the immediate victims who suffer.
In Krishna, Kumar has developed a deeply nuanced character. Sensitive, interested and empathetic, Krishna still gives as good as he gets and isn’t afraid to tell people what he thinks of them. Kumar manages to convey a touching sense of optimism while never making Krishna naïve; he is all too aware of the fight he has fought and will have to go on fighting,
‘My whole life has been about the colour of my skin.’
The use of projected images and videos is highly effective, illustrating Krishna’s story without distracting us from the narrative. Music is also well chosen. And despite the show’s serious themes, it has some very funny moments; wait till you hear how Francis deals with his one white friend’s transgressions – Krishna is impressed!
The ending of Second Class Queer is bittersweet. While Krishna may be able to find inner peace – his visit to his mother’s shrine is both moving and cathartic – he will of necessity continue to live in a racist and homophobic world, and one that seems to be getting worse by the minute.
Kumar is touring this show to raise awareness, not money. It’s a very important piece for him; all he asks is that we talk about what we’ve heard and try, as he is doing, to do something about it.
Second Class Queer is at C Venues | C Arts | C Aquila (studio), Roman Eagle Lodge, 2 Johnston Terrace (Venue 21) at 12 noon until Sunday 17 August. Second Class Queer is supported by a 2025 Keep it Fringe fund bursary.
Please note: the show contains graphic sexual references and is not suitable for children.
