In 2006, South Africa became the first African country to recognise same-sex marriages through the landmark passing of the Civil Union Act. For many South Africans, this represented major progress in LGBTQIA+activism which was spearheaded including Beverley Ditsie, Justice Edwin Cameron and the late Simon Nkoli. Moreover, this bill was intended to afford queer[1]couples full recognition of the Constitution in the same fashion as heterosexual couples; notwithstanding that the bill has since been amended in December 2018 to prohibit marriage officers from refusing, on the basis of conscience, religion and creed, to solemnise same-sex civil unions. However, the South African Black queer community continues to experience gross discrimination at all levels of society, especially in the microcosm of Apartheid that is Cape Town. How do we unpack discrimination in the LGBTQIA+community? Is it possible for the Black queer community to create spaces of safety and healing?
“No blacks. Whites only. It’s just a preference.”
Racism is entrenched in the power relations that sees whiteness being regarded as the societal standard; however, the former tends to reveal the anxieties and double standards associated with the latter. Furthermore, to the outsider, the LGBTQIA+community is often promoted as a utopia where everyone feels that Patti LuPone was robbed of a Tonyfor “Anything Goes”, or the community worships Madonna or, that queer people of colour (QPOC) don’t experience discrimination from their white counterparts. Although much of this discord can be attributed to the underrepresentation of Black queer people in mainstream media, it must be noted that the reluctance of the white queer community to engage with the intersectionality of queer people of colour is a reason, too.
In the South African context, Cape Town is regarded as the “gay capital” of Africa; however, this privilege is often only enjoyed by white queer individuals at the expense of QPOC. As such, racism in the gay community is often explicitly promoted via the insidious phrase, “No blacks”, on dating apps, including Grindr and Tinder. Conversely, Black gay men and some non-binary individuals tend to be fetishized, which is linked to the historic hyper-sexualisation of Black bodies; however, for complex reasons not explored in this article, it must be noted that this hypersexualisation is often projected onto Black womxn, by proximity.
From a systematic perspective, racism in the queer community is evidenced by the annual pride celebrations in South Africa which are often exclude Black queer people, in general. As such, in 2015, several queer activists called for Cape Town to be more inclusive and subsequently, those activists launched “Alternative Inclusive Pride” which took place in Gugulethu and Khayelitsha. Furthermore, the queer public spaces in Cape Town tend to cater to the domineering whiteness, which has resulted in the emergence of a club, Zero21 as a safe space for QPOC.
“No fems, masc dudes only.”
Gay men have a deep infatuation with masculinity and idealise the pursuit of a heterosexual love interest through some liaison that is reminiscent of a Danielle Steel novel. This supposed “preference” is rooted in internalised homophobia and by extension, patriarchy and misogyny. In a recent Mail & Guardian article, Zanta Nkumane points out that gay communities “aspire to heteronormative standards” which results in the replication of the aforementioned ideological ills.
To be fair, the vilification of effeminate men goes back to the 20thcentury in the US and England, through which the word, “fairy” emerged as a derogatory slang word. However, it is striking that the trope of effeminate gay men in mainstream media has remained for all those decades and somehow, it has made a crossover into Black television in the US and diaspora. In South African Black communities, femininity is often regarded as something that needs to be subdued or policed by patriarchy; notwithstanding that masculinity, in essence, is a performance. Black effeminate gay men and non-binary individuals often suffer immense scrutiny from their families to conform to a so-called traditional concept of masculinity. Then again, who wants to be called a “moffie” or “stabane” by his/their family? It can be argued that the concept of “straight-acting” or “masc4masc” men is a preference; however, it implies that there exists a tiered pyramid of desirable characteristics at the expense of those who don’t conform to such, and it subsequently reduces queerness to a strife towards achieving homogeneity. Moreover, femmephobia highlights the problematic view that queer men cannot be misogynistic purely because of their sexuality, which warrants a separate conversation. Consequently, it is of paramount importance to remember that transgender womxn of colour continue to bear the brunt of femmephobia; thus, if you believe that femme queer individuals are disposable and inferior, you cannot participate in the work of Black queer liberation.
“No fats.”
Physical image mainly defines queer identities, and is often linked to heteronormativity, racism and sexism. Fatphobia can manifest itself through bullying or a thinly-veiled concern for someone’s health; however, the phobia is associated with the idea that everyone has to conform to an ideal beauty standard: white, able-bodied, thin and conventionally-attractive (within the confines of whiteness). Furthermore, in the queer context, the mainstream beauty standard is a white, muscular gay man, which misrepresents the immense diversity and beauty of the LGBTQIA+community. As such, this results in fat bodies being shamed into obscurity and false equivalences being made regarding beauty, i.e. skinny =beautiful. Singer and body-positive activist, Lizzo, emphasises in her 2018 Papermagazine interview that being fat and beautiful aren’t mutually-exclusive concepts.Therefore, fat bodies simply need to be normalised and represented in the queer community. Our bodies are political; thus, society needs to reimagine what “healthy” and conventional beauty looks like.
In conclusion, it must be emphasised that the aim is not to gain approval from white queer people, but allyship is key towards protecting a movement and community. Moreover, it is crucial that QPOC support each other, create safe spaces and continue to fight for Black queer liberation. Also, it is important to acknowledge positionalities and to use that privilege to impact marginalised communities, but also taking the time to deconstruct indoctrinated opinions, which stem from how marginalised individuals have been socialised to take part in the upholding of white supremacy.
[1]In this article, “LGBTQIA+” and “queer” will be used interchangeably.
