féi hernandez (b.1993, Chihuahua, Mexico) is a trans, formerly undocumented immigrant. féi is a poet/prosist, cultural worker, designer/illustrator, and a life doula. Descendant of the Raramuri, Pi’ma, and Cora peoples, féi is devoted to eradicating borders, decentering colonial impositions, and unearthing ancient codes for a safer world to ensure the continual legacy of Black and non-Black Indigenous futures. She is a 2023 Lambda Literary fellow and 2022 Tin House Scholar. féi is the author of HOOD CRIATURA (Sundress Publications 2020) and the forthcoming (UN)DOCUMENTE (Noemi Press, 2025). féi has been published in Poetry Foundation, Academy of American Poets’ "Poem-a-Day,", Autostraddle, PANK Magazine, Somewhere We are Human, TransLash Media & Narrative, and more. For more of her projects and services visit: feihernandez.com
Interview conducted by HFR Intern Nikolai Ryan
Nikolai Ryan: Feel free to answer this in whatever way you see fit and are comfortable with—in regards to gender, how would you describe yourself?
féi hernandez: I embody an ever fluid expression of gender and sexuality—it’s always moving to the rhythm of my femme spirit. Although I don’t identify as such for respect and tribe unaffiliation purposes, something akin to 2 Spirit would be the ideal embodiment for me. But in contemporary and colonial terms, I identify as: trans femme/woman.
NR: How do you engage with the idea of gender in your life, e.g., in your personal expression, in your relations with others, in your writing and other creative pursuits?
fh: The force of my being, my gender, my sexuality mirrors the ancient codes, resilience and expansiveness of my ancestors. My expression is a decolonial act that seems natural and inherent, considering I’m someone rising from a violent and colonized history. My spirituality has always been very much tied to my gender expression as well, which means that every fiber of how I live is informed by my transness. Everything must be deconstructed in earnest and must be embodied in the context of inter-being with all living and non living things. I am a portal from which purpose flows, at least that’s what I’ve been taught by my elders. I come from the Rarámuri, Pi’ma, and the Cora peoples. Although I have been in diaspora within the context of Chihuahua, Mexico, and later after migration, in the U.S., everything that I do, everything that I write, everything that I create, whether it’s a visual art piece or my expression via fashion or how I show up on a day-to-day basis is an offering, a preservation, a refraction of my predecessors, an amulet of existence and connection—all of me is a historical embodiment of a peoples continuation. I am also responsible for uplifting these nations I come from although I’ve lived a very “de-cultured” way, considering my family’s displacement into a nationalistic identity of “Mexican”.
NR: How does your identity impact your writing, whether it’s explicitly about identity or otherwise?
fh: In my novel in progress the protagonist, Rayéna, a mixed blood Indigenous (trans) woman, is the last sand priestess. Legend foretells that sand magic will evolve to be able weave time itself, so during an invasion and upon Rayéna’s transformation into a wave of sand to swallow the troops, she unlocks time magic. She gives birth to her son Shumarí from the sands of her body to fulfill her dying wish, to be a mother. Unbeknownst to her, she accidentally envelops him into a time portal and sends him to a post apocalyptic future. The story follows both protagonists. Shumarí, as he collects the scattered remains of his mother captured by the new Time Lord, and Rayéna as she recovers her alma back into her body as she searches for her son. They know the other is alive, so they travel forward and against the the sands of time while being persecuted by a Time Lord minions. At all costs.
This story is a mirror of many of my lived experiences as a trans woman who’s transness began with the knowing that child-bearing was an integral of her system, although biologically absent. Additionally, although in this story time isn’t a physical wall, it is an impediment, a force they must learn to manipulate to save themselves and the world. Much like my impediment of growing up in the hood, undocumented. The mother/child relationship especially reflects my very enmeshed relationship with my mother, but can also be interpreted various ways: the journey towards the inner child or the self actualización of a self. All in all, my identity is the key to the perspective in any of my work, written or otherwise.
NR: What do you think are the most important things we can be doing as writers and readers to amplify TGNC voices of all intersections?
fh: With any intersectional movement there is a fight against genocide. There is a fight against oppressive forces. (QT) Black writers, thinkers, philosophers, community members, workers, teachers, therapists, and artists are spearheading this, so I would say listen to and read (QT) Black writers, thinkers, philosophers, community members, workers, teachers, therapists, and artists. To amplify TGNC voices we much study the history of intersectional oppression and amplify each other’s work. I believe there is a level of responsibility that we have to each other to acknowledge when we don’t know something and then do the necessary spiritual, emotional, physical, and mental labor that it takes to be informed and in solidarity with suffering peoples. I think that for all readers and writers out there, there’s an immense responsibility. I’m not just a writer to get accolades and get rewards, or be a best seller (although those material and subjective competitions help distribute the message). I write because I must archive my people and the people that I’m in solidarity with. I write as a human who is responsible for other humans. As a reader, I am also responsible for reading and engaging with lived experiences that are unfamiliar to me, committing to my individualized way to support and engage against all oppressive systems. What is my similitude and/or proximity/distance to those suffering? Where do I stand with my definition of humanity? What do I do for others outside of my own immediate family or my own immediate community?
There’s also this really important need to continue to be critical. I can tell you my experience, I can tell you that as a trans and formerly undocumented person I’ve suffered and navigate in particular ways—but I still need people to be critical. I’m critical no matter who anyone says they are. Not as a judgement, but as an active participant in creating true-meaning. What do we mean when we say things? What’s underneath the generalized terms. Where is your spirit rooted? I encourage nuance. Specificity. I encourage people to determine their own authenticity with what and how they’re engaging with the world. I don’t take things for face value no matter what. For example. when addressing Latinidad or Mexicanidad, what do we actually mean? It is a disservice and anti-Black to not be able to acknowledge the white supremacy married in nationalism, of generalized identity markers like “Latine”. My prerogative is to address whiteness, white supremacy, anti-Blackness, and therefore anti-Indigeneity. I also think about “representation” and how deeply its filtered through consumability. How are we being critical of representation? How are we understanding the root of our individual being and blossoming the nuances of our experiences confidently, unafraid to be “different”. By doing this, we can uplift the new world available to us directed by QTBIPOC.
LALA THE ORIGIN
originally published in Issue 64
