Queerness is an identity. And identities are dynamic.
As we aspire towards a more inclusive and accepting world, homosexuality finds crevices to make its voice heard louder than ever in a heteronormative world of blacks and whites. While navigating the landscapes of fluid sexualities, identity undergoes an evolution over time, age, and heightened self-awareness, all while being shaped by the intersectionalities of race, gender, repression, societal roles, politics, region, religion, and numerous others. This dynamicity prompts a question of whether queerness can be a transient facet of identity.
Can queerness be taken up as an identity for earning a livelihood (drag queens, men dressed as hijras to earn easy money by begging at street signals)? Can it be context, place and situation-specific? Is it enforced in some cases? Can it be a product of repressed heterosexualities? Is it a modern phenomenon, or has it been present historically? I seek to explore these questions through examples and interviews.
Consider, for example, the traditional folk art of Maharashtra, Tamasha. This form of folk theatre incorporates singing-dancing and includes a trope of artists who travel from village to village for performances. The trope includes a peculiar and interesting character known as ‘nachya’, generally played by Dalit men. These characters are inherently effeminate in nature, curated for the exclusive entertainment of the upper caste men.
Shockingly, these ‘nachyas’ are frequently gang-raped by the Savarnas. Surprisingly, in most cases, neither the nachya nor the upper caste men are homosexual and lead strictly heterosexual lives outside this exploitative space. This sexual abuse is a tool used by Savarna men to assert their masculinity and caste superiority over the Dalits, as it is a Dalit man’s subordinate and ‘uncivilised’ masculinity that renders him less of a male. Here, homosexuality is circumstantial and with intricately interwoven rural caste politics, toxic masculinity and the struggle for livelihood. Despite the constant hardships, nachya men do not quit their profession, and carry on their facade of effeminacy and enforced homosexuality.
Another example of temporary queerness that has persisted throughout historical times is set against an unlikely backdrop – the Pashtun tribes of Afghanistan. It might be surprising to find heightened homosexual activity in a society marked by strict sexual repression. But it is precisely because of the extreme restrictions on sexual relations with women that homosexual behaviour becomes prevalent. Roughly 18-45% of Pashtuni men engage in homosexuality, not necessarily because they are attracted towards men, but because there is highly limited interaction between men and women, and it is easier to turn to men to channelise sexual urges.
Possessing young, beautiful males is seen as a status symbol and often something to brag about and show off. These young boys, known as halekons, are vividly described in Pashtuni literature as well. Mentions of their beauty are found in popular poetry. What is remarkable is that Pashtuni men don’t consider themselves homosexual for engaging in pedophilic sex, as according to them, it is something they do, not something they are, it is a behavioural trait and not an identity. The identity of homosexuality is denied through a religiously curated, firm mindset of heterosexuality, while still pursuing contradictory actions. Homosexuality here is brought about by situational factors of religious conservatism and the limited visibility of women in public spaces and eventually, their erasure from public minds. If there is a return to coeducation and relaxation of the dress code for women, there will be increased scope for interaction between the sexes and a definite reduction in homosexual tendencies in men.
Instances of homosexuality have also been found among Greek soldiers in ancient times, Taliban fighters in Afghanistan and migrant labourers in Saudi Arabia’s labour camps, as a product of unreleased tensions of masculinity and repressed sexual urges.
Apart from these instances, we find possibilities of induced homosexuality in everyday settings as well, sometimes in as common a milieu as a school. While talking about an increased possibility of lesbianism in an all-girls school with a queer friend who grew up in an all-girls school, they said, ‘In an all-girls school, there is more space to talk about things that are generally perceived as taboo, or ‘hush-hush’, for eg., menstruation. There is freedom of speech and expression at school which is found wanting in homes having a majority of male members. Growing up in a patriarchal household, females are generally barred from discussing some topics freely, which they can take up with no qualms at an all-girls school, as it is a female-dominant setting. There is more freedom to express yourself. So, I think, consequently, the topic of queerness also comes up. It is not that people suddenly become lesbian by studying in an all-girls school, it’s that the first step for someone to identify and understand themselves is by thinking beyond the binary and questioning oneself, “What if I am attracted to the same sex rather than the opposite one?” When you are surrounded by girls on an everyday basis, it is easier to find answers to such questions.’
However, this is only one perspective, as these are examples of circumstantial homosexuality, where sexualities are molded or enforced through certain situations. Hence, the person has little or no say in the formulation of their identity. The other end of the spectrum includes people who embrace their queer identity and later revert to heterosexuality due to a complex amalgamation of reasons. My friend added to this, “You take time to decide your favourite food, colour, and clothes; it is the same with sexualities. Say, if a bisexual person can decide later on in life that ‘pansexual’ is a label that suits them better, if a person is allowed the freedom of changing and redefining labels that suit them the most within the community, they should be able to change and evolve outside the community as well. But taking time to discover yourself does not mean you have the liberty to exploit or sexually abuse someone (like Pashtuni men). It is completely valid for a formerly queer person to decide that they might not be queer, it is brave also, but what doesn’t sit right is the fact that social media is not used to amplify their voices and struggles anymore. Instead, it functions as a tool to propagate the invalidation of the entire LGBTQ community. Even when people who have detransitioned simply give voice to their experiences and hardships, it fuels homophobic hate. On the other hand, there are instances of “former” queer and trans people who suddenly decide they should go back to ‘normal’ and advocate the fight for trans- and homophobia. And this only propagates the image that they had gone over to the “bad side”, repented their mistakes, and went back to the “good side”.’ People who identify as being queer temporarily and then join the homophobic community should be mindful of the fact that their actions, albeit subjective and individual, should not serve as further proof for the anti-queer community to invalidate the existence of LGBTQ communities. “While people choose to exhibit queer qualities specific to context and time, that is not equivalent to being queer”, my friend concluded.
In conclusion, the temporal dimensions of queerness are a product of an intricate interplay of individual agency, societal pressures and the intersection of personal and external factors. Historical narratives and current-day examples illustrate how the concept of queerness and the decision to claim it as an identity can be context-specific, enforced, or a conscious choice, all having complex reverberations in both queer and non-queer communities. Only through ever-evolving dialogue, can we uncover the beauty and complexity of identities and sexualities that defy easy categorisation.
Edited by Amirtha Varshini V C
Article 19 