Family,friendship,and strength among LGBTQ+ migrants in Cape Town,South Africa: A qualitative understanding

Abstract

The purpose of this qualitative study was to explore how migrants in South Africa identifying as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, or with other diverse sexual orientations or gender identities (LGBTQ+) describe and understand their pre-migration family experiences and how family and other social relationships facilitated strength during post-migration. We conducted six focus groups, consisting of both morning and afternoon sessions, which included a total of 30 LGBTQ+ migrants (ages 21–42). The following themes were identified using grounded theory: managing family responses during pre-migration: concealing, avoiding, disclosing; the power of (even) one: support during post-migration; “love is a very big thing”: drawing strength from chosen family; and “pulling myself up”: drawing strength from self-reliance. Findings demonstrate that many participants reported experiencing negative responses from family, but some continued to rely on family support after arriving in South Africa. Further, participants often depended on newfound friendships for support as well as their own internal resources. This self-reliance was facilitated in part by participants’ understanding that they could not depend on their families or other people because of the negative responses faced in their countries of origin. Implications for theory, research, and practice are discussed.

Keywords

Family and social relationships LGBTQ+ migrants resettlement social support South Africa

International migration has proliferated over the years, with an estimated 272 million international migrants (e.g., immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers) reported in 2019 (International Office of Migration [IOM], 2020). Certain countries in particular have experienced a significant increase in the number of migrants. For example, South Africa (SA) has the largest number of migrants from countries within and outside of the African continent (IOM, 2020). As migration to SA has increased, certain subgroups of migrants, specifically individuals identifying as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, or with other diverse sexual orientations and gender identities (LGBTQ+) have received greater attention (Camminga, 2017; Marnell et al., 2020). Growing numbers of LGBTQ+ people migrating to SA has been driven by their constitutional guarantees of nondiscrimination on the basis of gender and sexual orientation (Cock, 2003), as well as employment opportunities in a variety of sectors (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development/International Labour Organization, 2018). However, mounting evidence has revealed discrepancies between such opportunities and the actual lived experiences of LGBTQ+ migrants in SA, who face acute and chronic experiences of prejudice and discrimination (Dill et al., 2016; Marnell et al., 2020).

While research on migrants has consistently shown that reliance on family members (i.e., parents, siblings, grandparents, and other relatives) for relational and practical support is essential for dealing with resettlement challenges (Schweitzer et al., 2006; Sossou et al., 2008), evidence suggests that LGBTQ+ migrants typically cannot rely on family support due to homophobia and transphobia, requiring them to develop new relationships to ease their integration (Alessi et al., 2020b; Kahn, 2015). However, studies that examine how LGBTQ+ migrants in SA navigate family relationships pre- and post-migration, as well as new social relationships in the host country, are limited. Thus, the purpose of this study was to explore how LGBTQ+ migrants in SA describe and understand their family relationships prior to migration and how these and other social relationships facilitated strength following migration. In this study, we examine LGBTQ+ migrants as an especially vulnerable subgroup of the migrant population to understand the commonalty of their experiences. Similar to other studies (e.g., Alessi et al., 2020b; Marnell et al., 2020), we examine LGBTQ+ migrants as a whole to show how they differ from migrants who do not have to think about their sexual orientation or gender identity when migrating because hetero- and cisnormativity are implicitly accepted or endorsed. Findings have the potential to enhance the literature on how social relationships and community supports facilitate the integration of LGBTQ+ migrants and improve post-migration services designed to support this population.

LGBTQ+ human rights in Central, East, and Southern Africa

The culturally diverse countries that comprise Central, Eastern, and Southern Africa tend to vary when it comes to LGBTQ+ rights. Seventeen countries in these regions criminalize same-sex sexual relations, with two explicitly criminalizing gender identities and expressions that do not adhere to cisgender norms (Giwa et al., 2020a; Mendos, 2019). Punishments range from fines to death (Giwa et al., 2020a; Gloppen & Rakner, 2020). Even in countries, such as Kenya and Namibia, where transgender individuals can legally change their names and gender markers, LGBTQ+ individuals are still persecuted and offered little to no legal protections (Chiam et al., 2017).

To understand the current context regarding LGBTQ+ rights in Africa, it is important to examine the history of colonialism throughout this region. While pre-colonial Africa was predominately characterized by cis- and heteronormativity, same-sex relations and partnerships were not subjected to harsh punishments (Murray & Roscoe, 1998; Tamale, 2013). However, when European colonizers invaded various African countries in the 19th century, they imported Western laws that endorsed hetero- and cisnormativity (Tamale, 2013). Such laws included prohibitions against “sodomy” or “unnatural offences,” the legacy of which can be found in many present-day laws (Mendos, 2019). Since then, “postcolonial amnesia” has led to the presentation of African state-sanctioned homophobia and transphobia as an act of resistance against the “Western construction of homosexuality,” which is seen as a purported threat to African values (Amorini, 2014).

Still, several countries across the continent have begun to decriminalize same-sex sexual relations (Mendos, 2019). Notably, in 1996, SA was the first to explicitly prohibit gender and sexual orientation discrimination in its constitution (Cock, 2003) and has been the only African country to legalize same-sex marriage (Pew Research Center, 2019). This cannot be fully understood without acknowlegding the context of Western homonationalist agendas (see Chávez, 2015; Giwa et al., 2020a; Puar, 2007), which juxtapose “gay-friendly” countries against the perception that other countries, where rights for LGBTQ+ people are limited or nonexistent, are “backwards” and “oppressive.” In doing so, the extensive histories of oppression and persecution in these “exceptional” Western countries (e.g., United States, Canada, the United Kingdom) lose their salience. For SA, this means that its recent history and enduring legacy of apartheid (South African History Online, 2019) can be decentered in human rights discourse, since it gains a new, benevolent reputation as the first and only African country to allow same-sex marriage (Pew Research Center, 2019).

LGBTQ+ migrants

With the increase in LGBTQ+ people migrating to SA for better legal protections and economic opportunities, scholars have sought to better understand their experiences of marginalization and oppression (Camminga, 2017, 2018; Marnell et al., 2020). For example, LGBTQ+ migrants have experienced discrimination by state officials as well as harassment and physical violence by community members (Dill et al., 2016; Marnell et al., 2020). LGBTQ+ migrants in SA have also detailed pressure to perform gender and sexuality in ways that temper or suppress their self-expression for survival (Marnell & Khan, 2016; Marnell et al., 2020; Palmary, 2016). Meanwhile, these challenges may be compounded for those unable to conform as easily. Further, transgender migrants presumably have rights, but often lack the safety, security, and community support necessary to actualize them (Camminga, 2017, 2018). These experiences have been paralleled by those of LGBTQ+ migrants in other host countries, such as Canada (Lee, 2018), the United States (Alessi, 2016), and Norway (Akin, 2017). For example, Lee (2018) discusses the ways white/Western countries have structured their policies to block entry of LGBTQ+ migrants, specifically from the Global South, thereby questioning the degree to which such countries reflect their reputations as safe havens for LGBTQ+ people. Further LGBTQ+ migrants, including those in SA, have recounted the multiple ways they felt pressured to prove their sexual or gender identities to asylum officers by performing these identities according to Western conceptualizations (Camminga, 2017). The pressure to perform can be better understood by recognizing the limits of umbrella terms, such as LGBTQ+, especially for gender-diverse migrants, who may be forced to adhere to binary assumptions about gender rather than convey how the category is understood and negotiated by them in a variety of contexts (Saleh, 2020).

For LGBTQ+ migrants, the pressures of navigating the asylum system may occur as they attempt to deal with mental health issues (Kahn & Alessi, 2018). For example, prior to migration, many LGBTQ+ individuals experience traumatic events related to their sexual orientation and gender identity (Giwa et al., 2020b; Hopkinson et al., 2017; Ogunbajo et al., 2019). Migrating to other countries may mean greater freedom to express their sexual and gender identities; however, LGBTQ+ migrants have been shown to experience post-migration difficulties, including housing and employment discrimination and other stigma-related experiences (Alessi et al., 2020b; Cerezo, et al., 2014). Accessing support may also be difficult for LGBTQ+ migrants who may feel disconnected from individuals in the host country due to language barriers and cultural differences (Fox et al., 2020; Husakouskaya, 2017).

Support systems for LGBTQ+ migrants

Given the many post-migration challenges, the literature has focused on systems of support among non-LGBTQ+ migrants and how these supports ease resettlement (e.g., Burholt et al., 2018; Thompson, 2016). A widely established source of support for migrants has been families of origin, whether they migrate together or live in different countries (Baldock, 2003; Burholt et al., 2018). However, research suggests many LGBTQ+ migrants do not have access to the same supports as other migrants, due to rejection by family and diaspora communities (Kahn, 2015). As a result, many end up establishing family relationships that consist of friends and romantic partners (Alessi, 2016; Cantú, 1999; Manalansan, 2006), and frequently rely on these relationships for employment and housing assistance (Alessi et al., 2020a; Cantú, 1999).

Although these new relationships may provide a substitute for LGBTQ+ migrants’ families, research shows that LGBTQ+ migrants sometimes maintain familial support post-migration (Chávez, 2011; Manalansan, 2003). For LGBTQ+ migrants, separating from their families following migration may not be viable, so they create lives that encompass their families and newfound social relationships (Borges, 2018; Manalansan, 2003; Rodríguez, 2009). For some, this could require concealing one’s sexual or gender identity from the family on which they depend for support (Borges, 2018).

Due to the limited research on LGBTQ+ migrant family relationships in SA, research with non-migrant LGBTQ+ populations in SA may be helpful for understanding these family dynamics. For example, a study of men who have sex with men (MSM) showed that they were able to identify at least one family member who offered social and/or financial support, despite disapproval of their same-sex sexual behaviors (Gyamerah et al., 2019). The ability to rely on extended family for support is consistent with African emphasis on consanguineous family ties (McDaniel & Zulu, 1996). This tends to be true of children growing up in Central, Eastern, and Southern Africa, where the extended family remains an important social institution (Lloyd & Blanc, 1996).

Method

The current study was part of a larger research project conducted in June and July 2019, which examined the experiences of LGBTQ+ migrants in SA (Alessi et al., 2020a). In this grounded theory study, we explore LGBTQ+ migrants’ pre-migration family relationships and the processes related to navigating these and newfound relationships during post-migration. The study was guided by the following research questions: (a) How do LGBTQ+ migrants describe and understand their relationships with family members prior to migration? (b) How does support from family and other individuals facilitate LGBTQ+ migrants’ strength following migration?

Participants

The sample consisted of 30 individuals, 21–42 years old, who migrated from Zimbabwe (n = 13), Malawi (n = 8), Democratic Republic of Congo (n = 3), Burundi (n = 2), Uganda (n = 2), Lesotho (n = 1), and Tanzania (n = 1). Participants had resided in SA between 6 months and 17 years, with 23 reporting that they were undocumented. Three participants reported having a work permit, while 3 had been granted asylum and 1 had permanent residence status. Participants were asked to self-identify from a list of sexual orientations and gender identities outlined by Puckett and colleagues (2018). Fourteen participants identified as gay men, 2 as bisexual men, 1 as a queer man, 1 as a queer bigender person, 1 as a gay gender nonconforming person, 3 as gay women, 2 as lesbian women, 1 as a woman who loves women, 3 as gay trans women, 1 as a bisexual transwoman, and 1 as a trans woman (sexual orientation not specified).

Procedure

Participants were recruited using purposive sampling. A community liaison from an organization serving LGBTQ+ migrants informed individuals about the study. This liaison promoted a sense of trust between participants and the investigators, helping to facilitate recruitment in a timely manner. In addition to relying on the assistance of a community organization for recruitment, participants were able to refer others for study participation. Inclusion criteria were: (a) being at least 18 years old, (b) residing in SA for at least 1 week, (c) identifying as LGBTQ+, (d) migrating to SA to escape persecution or another reason (e.g., economic hardships); and (e) being able to speak conversational English. Individuals were screened before each focus group to ensure that they met inclusion criteria. Informed consent was obtained prior to participation. Study protocols were approved by the institutional review boards of both Rutgers and McGill Universities.

Data collection

The study began with participants completing a short questionnaire to gather demographic information (e.g., country of origin, length of time in SA, immigration status, sexual orientation, and gender identity). After this, participants took part in one of six focus groups that included morning and afternoon sessions. The first author (EA) moderated the morning focus groups, while the last author (SK) functioned as a process observer. The process observer monitored participant engagement, experiences of distress or discomfort, and ensured participant contributions were equitable.

Focus groups included 4–6 participants. All participants were asked to maintain confidentiality and required to provide verbal assent before participating. Morning sessions were 90–120 minutes long; a semi-structured interview was used to ask participants about their reasons for migration, pre- and post-migration family experiences, day-to-day experiences in SA, and current social supports. Afternoon sessions lasted 45–60 minutes and were moderated by the last author (SK), with the first author (EA) serving as process observer. Participants were asked to reflect on sources of strength throughout the migration trajectory, including their time in SA. Afternoon groups used both verbal and art-based methods, but only the verbal communication from these groups was triangulated with data from morning focus groups. All focus groups were audio-recorded and professionally transcribed. As compensation for their time, participants received R173 for each focus group and refreshments before each session.

Data analysis

We used constructivist grounded theory to analyze all focus group data (Charmaz, 2014). Constructivist grounded theory is a flexible analytic tool for analyzing qualitative data, relying on the use of traditional grounded theory techniques such as open, and selective coding (Strauss & Corbin, 1998). It also accounts for how sociocultural forces shape researcher-participant interactions, inviting “discovery” of the reality emerging from these interactions and their influence on data collection and analysis (Charmaz, 2014). The analysis began with the first, fifth, and sixth authors (EA, SG, and SK), who conducted open coding of the transcripts to create a codebook. Next, the second, third, and fourth authors (BG, MY, and SC) used the constant comparison method (i.e., moving between the codebook and transcripts) to: (a) provide further support for codes, (b) develop new codes, and (c) identify codes relevant to the whole sample and those related to subsets of participants. Once coding was completed, the first, second, third, and fourth authors (EA, BG, MY, and SC) engaged in multiple peer debriefings to refine additional codes and create preliminary themes. Then, the fifth and sixth authors (SG and SK) reviewed the themes and further refined them to ensure they represented the data.

We enhanced methodological rigor by using multiple coders who were not present during the focus groups to provide additional perspectives by drawing attention to codes that may have been overlooked. Additionally, we held peer debriefings to discuss our assumptions and biases and how our positionalities affected how codes were identified and interpreted. We also kept an audit trail to document all research processes and track decisions (Padgett, 2016).

Results

As we sought to understand LGBTQ+ migrants’ relationships with family (parents, siblings, grandparents, relatives) prior to migration and how these and other social relationships facilitated strength in resettlement, we identified four themes: (a) Managing family responses during pre-migration: Concealing, avoiding, and disclosing; (b) The power of (even) one: Support during post-migration; (c) “Love is a very big thing”: Drawing strength from chosen family; and (d) “Pulling myself up”: Drawing strength from self-reliance. Each participant chose their own pseudonym to protect confidentiality.

Managing family responses during pre-migration: Concealing, avoiding, and disclosing

The majority of participants shared the common experience of migrating to SA due, in large part, to discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity. In most cases, participants faced or feared hostile treatment from their families should they find out about their sexual orientation or gender identity. As Chi-Chi, a 36-year-old lesbian woman, described: “I left my country because of my sexuality…there is still discrimination in my country. Most especially from your family….”

As identified from the analysis, three strategies were commonly used to deal with this hostility from family: concealing their identity; avoiding disclosure altogether, unless a particular incident occurred that led to being inadvertently “outed”; and/or disclosing their identities and bracing for family reactions. No one strategy was used exclusively; participants described using whatever approaches they believed were appropriate for the situation.

Concealing sexual orientation or gender identity occurred frequently among participants. This strategy could be implemented even when a participant faced a desperate situation, whereby family support would usually be critical. For example, Ruwach, a 28-year-old gay man, described how he lied to his family after experiencing a targeted act of violence:

…I was tortured for being gay after I was caught kissing a guy, tortured for more than 4 hours. And I never told my family what happened. I lied to them that it was robbery, because for my sexuality it is a secret even at home. They don’t know that I am gay. So I had to lie.

Others attempted to avoid disclosing as long as possible, as they worried about negative family responses motivated by deeply held religious beliefs. Jay, a 31-year-old gay man, mentioned: “Growing up in a family which has a background which is Christian, you know, it’s so hard to come out and say I’m gay. They wouldn’t accept it.”

Ultimately, however, the strategy of avoiding often ended with some episode of involuntary outing. Having their sexual orientation or gender identity discovered led the majority of participants to experience relational disturbances, including psychological distancing, active condemnation, and even cut-offs by family members. For instance, after his parents discovered that Keith, a 25-year-old man, was gay, he reported that their relationship changed: “Although they didn’t abandon me, but you know when you are treated in a certain perspective that you are not loved anymore. Then you take it as…you just get the message for yourself.”

In another example, after the family members of Tich, a 31-year-old gay man, found traditionally feminine clothing in his possession, they used religious doctrine to condemn his identity:

We had a fight. [My father] said all sorts of words. ‘You are going to burn in hell. You are bringing Sodom and Gomorrah in this house.’ And, at some other point, my brother caught me playing [a ‘girls’ game] and he chased me away. He beat me up. He told me all sorts of words: ‘You are gay.’

While some were outed, others chose to out themselves to their parents because the burdens of concealing or avoiding were too great; not all who disclosed experienced outright rejection from their families in their countries of origin. A few described being able to sustain relationships with at least one family member. For example, although NaNa, a 37-year-old transgender woman, was rejected by most of her family members and ultimately had to flee her country of origin, she talked about feeling accepted and supported by a close few family members:

I say my family is lucky, [because] I am close with my sister [and] brother. They accept me as the way I am. But my uncle [and] aunties, there was some confusion for them and [they] did not understand.

Nonetheless, even for participants, such as Alex, a 30-year-old gay man, whose family bonds remained intact, leaving eventually was unavoidable when manifestations of homophobia and transphobia became intolerable: “…In [my country of origin, they] don’t allow gay. So I said…I’m going, but [my family] know I’m gay [and] accept it.”

The power of (even) one: Support during post-migration

Although a little more than half of participants mentioned experiencing outright rejection by their families because of their LGBTQ+ identities, some continued to remain in contact with at least one family member while in SA. Additionally, a few of these participants reported being supported by family members already living in SA. In most cases, family relationships typically offered vital emotional and practical support to ease resettlement, which participants described as extremely challenging due to the difficulties of finding housing and employment and dealing with the stigma and discrimination of being an “LGBTQ+ foreigner.” For example, Shelton, a 21-year-old gay man, said his aunt not only provided emotional support but also a place to stay once he arrived in SA:

When I told her [I was gay], she was like, I always knew because I saw you growing up. I was just waiting for you to tell me. And when I got there, I didn’t stay [with her] long and I got a job.

Whether or not they received practical support (e.g., money, food, or a place to stay) from a family member, participants reported that the emotional support they received was especially important for promoting their strengths. For example, as Jackie, a 39-year-old trans woman, tried to survive in SA, she talked about the support that she received from her sister: “My sister…[makes] me strong. You know…I’m [a] trans woman. She [says]: ‘Don’t care about other people. You know who you are. Don’t [be] scared of anyone. Be strong.’ That make me be strong.”

While some participants expressed that they were able to comfortably rely on at least one family member for practical and/or emotional support once in SA, for others the relationships were more nuanced. For instance, Liam, a 25-year-old gay man, described his relationship with his parents as one that gave him strength. However, he acknowledged that his sexuality created conflict for his father. As a result, Liam mentioned that he would rather rely on counseling for support instead of his family because “there are things [that] are very personal that even [if it is] your family you can’t tell them.”

In some cases, practical and emotional support from family members, although significant, was conditional. Several participants reported that, while they were lucky to have at least one family member in SA who offered them a place to stay and food to eat, such support came at a price. For example, Troy, a 21-year-old gay man, had lived with his older sibling, concealing his identity until he could no longer keep it a secret because it was “always there.” After he came out he was forced to leave:

That was a mistake I regret, because he didn’t accept it. He is my elder brother. He didn’t accept it. He didn’t like it. He just didn’t want it. So he was like, we have to take you to church. I did all those processes [before], but it didn’t work out for me.

Troy pointed out the conundrum. He had certainly gained the ability to live without the pressures of concealing his identity from his brother, but he lost an important foothold in integrating into South African society in the process: “…He is the one who could help me to get a permit to be staying here in SA. So right now, I don’t even have a permit here.” Being in a family situation where one would have to conceal their sexual orientation was one of the main reasons why Pinky, a 31-year-old gay man, avoided his family members and individuals from his diaspora community altogether: “So sometimes if you need the protection, especially for me, we have to stay away from these people that you love, people that are from [my country of origin].”

“Love is a very big thing”: Drawing strength from chosen family

When family members could or would not offer participants, like Troy, practical or emotional support or when participants were on their own, like Pinky, they struggled to support themselves. As a result, they ended up relying mostly on friends for meeting basic needs (housing, food, clothing) and for emotional support. For instance, Slash, a 19-year-old gay man, expressed that the people he met through a community organization provided opportunities to talk about his situation and receive both emotional and practical support from others like him. Indeed, he experienced a sense of kinship with the staff and other organization members, identifying one person in particular as a positive maternal presence: “So when I was going [to organization name], I was getting help from [another LGBTQ+ migrant]…She is mama…I was [staying with her for] one month.”

Another participant, Jeffrey, a 23-year-old queer bigender person, pointed out how important the friends they made in SA were:

When I’m going through difficult times, I would just, like, go to [my friend]. We would hang out. We would talk. And I can’t really talk with my family, you know. So [this person] is like the only family that I’ve got here.

Similarly, Sam-e, a 37-year-old gay trans woman, described that the friendships she developed through attending activities at a community organization allowed her to bond with other LGBTQ+ migrants from an array of African countries. Referring to other participants in the focus group, she stated: “My family, when I meet you guys, you are my family.” The sense of family provided by the community organization was especially important, given the intersecting forms of stigma they encountered in SA. With the creation of chosen families, participants noted that they had established a crucial source of strength and support as they attempted to deal with homophobia, transphobia, racism, and xenophobia in SA. For instance, NaNa, a 37-year-old transgender woman, expressed how important it was to have at least one friend who accepted and encouraged her to come out and express herself:

I had to express myself. [There] was nowhere [for me] to feel happy…as the person in the closet…[my friend loves] me how I am. And he [started] pushing me, saying, ‘You must know what you want in your life.’ So, as trans female…you have to fight. You have to forget. You have to put [aside] the past. And…be strong as you are.

In addition to friends, some found support and strength through the intimacy they shared with their romantic partners. For example, Baird, a 42-year-old gay man, acknowledged that his strength came from his wife, who was a trans woman. Further, Zoe, a 35-year-old woman who loves women, described that she felt lonely and depressed, as she tried hard to support herself and her children. It was not until she had the support of a new relationship that she began to feel somewhat better: “I’ve got a new partner now, so I’m in love. So it’s like…a bit of a relief.” This relationship helped buffer the effects of the alienation she felt as a migrant in SA. She stated:

There is a term they use [in] Ubuntu, like oneness, togetherness, which actually doesn’t exist here. Back home you get it a lot where we are very community and we are very together. Although we come from very broken families, most of us. And here it’s a bit, when you are talking about foreigners, it’s like a foreigner in SA is anyone who is not South African. It’s for me, when I was at home, a foreigner was mostly white people…But here, it’s like someone who is African is a threat. They are called a kwerekwere a derogatory term for foreigner. So when they call you kwerekwere, you know that you are not welcome here at all.

Finding acceptance among potential romantic partners was also difficult due to racism and xenophobia. As two participants discussed in one focus group:

Tish: I’ve experienced racism from coloureds and other white gays. And I’ve seen, also, even blacks. When one white person comes where we are and you be like, ah, what is he doing here? It’s not only in a one way. But especially in SA, it’s mainly, especially the Afrikaans.

Ruash: Most of the white [gay] people, they don’t really date black [gay] people. They date amongst themselves. Even if you go on those sites like Grindr, even if someone, even if you type and say hi, don’t think he is going to respond to you.

Given that participants could frequently feel excluded, it was important for participants to be surrounded by people who made them feel accepted and loved. As Johanna, a 24-year-old gay trans woman, described:

So the thing is, being surrounded by people who understand you, being surrounded by people who don’t mock, who don’t judge you, who love you. Love is a very big thing. So what we really need, as gay people, is we need love. We need acceptance. We need not be judged.

“Pulling myself up”: Drawing strength from self-reliance

Participants described another process that occurred alongside their reliance on family and friendships following migration. They had begun to distance themselves or already distanced themselves from the complex family dynamics that impacted their decision to migrate. This separation, which was, in part, precipitated by rejection or anticipated rejection from family members contributed to an evolving sense of self-reliance, in which participants expressed that the relationship with themselves was the only one they could truly rely on, as they attempted to start a new life in SA. As two participants remarked:

Jay, a 31-year-old gay man: As for myself, I rely on myself. I don’t rely on anyone…my parents they don’t know I’m gay. I’m still in closet. So I didn’t want to continue staying with them, for them to find out that I’m gay.

Linda, a 32-year-old gay woman: I have a life here. I’m not depending on anyone. I’m surviving.

Similarly, Rajah, a 27-year old queer man, expressed that having to live independently from his family in SA enabled him to stand up for himself: “I can [now] speak with confidence about a lot of things, because of circumstances I find myself in.”

Participants’ self-reliance allowed them the freedom to accept and honor themselves, as they attempted to create a new life in SA. As Taku, a 31-year-old bisexual man, expressed:

I’m going to be myself, not apologetic to anyone, because I didn’t want to be who I am. It’s not a choice. I was just born like that. So for not being apologetic and to educate myself and to live my life that I’m supposed to live and not to mess around.

Ultimately, participants expressed that their need to be independent and self-reliant helped them draw on their strengths to survive. As Shelton, a 21-year-old gay man explained:

I guess gay people, they are strong, because we get to be independent because I think everyone here say, they left their families and started from nothing. Raised themselves to standards. And you don’t have to thank anyone for getting you to where you are. So whenever you look back and then you’re like…I was once homeless and today I am here. So I can definitely pass through this, whatever obstacle you are facing.

In fact, despite the multiple challenges experienced when attempting to locate housing and employment, participants’ self-reliance helped them find creative ways to support themselves. For example, Kay, a 37-year-old bisexual man, described how his entrepreneurial spirits and resourcefulness allowed him to make ends meet:

With housing, also, yeah I struggle…I’m staying in a shack as well, but it’s quite expensive…[and] I live alone…I’m still hustling [as] a hairdresser. I try now to open my own salon in that location. But before I was working here in town in a salon. So now I fight hard until I open my salon there.

Tookie, a 23-year-old gay gender non-conforming individual, echoed similar sentiments. They described that their self-reliance was key for survival in SA: “I’m now in a new phase so I need to pull [myself up]…That’s how I stay strong. And working hard…when you…have nobody to depend on, you don’t have anybody to call.”

Discussion

This grounded theory study explored the pre-migration family experiences of LGBTQ+ migrants in SA and how family and newfound social relationships facilitated strength post-migration. Findings are similar to previous studies demonstrating frequent experiences of abuse and hostility by family members and limited support before migration (Alessi, 2016; Cerezo et al., 2014; Hopkinson et al., 2017). Consistent with other studies, we also found that the abuse experienced was sometimes motivated or reinforced by religious beliefs of their families (Alessi et al., 2019). While the focus groups did examine the specific source of these religious beliefs, some anti-LGBTQ+ campaigns in African countries, such as Uganda, have been supported by Christian religious groups in the United States (Ibrahim, 2015). Considered another form of colonization, these campaigns have gained traction and may potentially shape how families and communities respond to people’s diverse sexual orientations and gender identities (Ibrahim, 2015). Future research should examine how such anti-LGBTQ+ campaigns relate to the treatment of LGBTQ+ persons and may precipitate their migration.

We also found that participants managed their diverse sexual orientations and gender identities in their courtiers of origin through a variety of strategies: concealing, avoiding, and disclosing. Subsequent family responses (rejection, outrage) were similar to what LGBTQ+ individuals experience in countries that purportedly hold accepting and affirming views about LGBTQ+ identities. Yet, unlike LGBTQ+ individuals in the United States, for example, who frequently engage in internal migration by moving to urban areas seeking greater acceptance (Weston, 1995), individuals in this study were unable to do so. Even if such urban areas did exist in their countries of origin, internal migration might not be possible because economic opportunities that contribute to this type of migration were not readily available. Thus, for many participants SA was a logical choice, despite the financial hardship and social isolation they experienced post-migration. Being in contact with certain family members was important for participants after their arrival in SA, and many remained connected to them.

In fact, consistent with findings from two lines of previous research—MSM in SA (Gyamerah et al., 2019) and LGBTQ+ migrants (Alessi et al., 2018; Borges, 2018)—participants acknowledged that they had family members who remained supportive of them, even if the connection was sometimes conflicted. The current study makes a unique contribution by capturing the nuances involved in the post-migration family dynamics of LGBTQ+ migrants. For instance, although a number of participants were rejected by family in their countries of origin, some continued to rely on them for practical and emotional support in SA. This support was critical to their survival in a country where they struggled to meet basic needs. Although research on LGBTQ+ refugees and asylum seekers has shown that there were supportive family members during pre-migration (e.g., Alessi et al., 2018), these studies typically do not discuss the role of family support in resettlement. Likewise, studies showing the importance of familial support during post-migration do not examine pre-migration experiences (e.g., Chávez, 2011), which creates a gap in understanding how LGBTQ+ migrants experience family relationships across the migration trajectory. LGBTQ+ refugees and asylum seekers may be likely fleeing to countries where they have little or no family living there. In contrast, when it comes to migration to SA, LGBTQ+ migrants were likely to have family there, as it is the country with the most migrants in Africa (IOM, 2020).

While some could be out to family in SA, others had to conceal their sexual orientation or gender identity to continue receiving support from them. Participants recognized that this support was critical for providing them with the basics (food and shelter), but having to conceal meant they could not: dress in ways that made them feel comfortable or be open about romantic relationships or friendships. This lack of financial security left these participants struggling to build new lives for themselves in SA. However, even those who were able to live on their own still struggled. More specifically, while these participants felt relatively safe to express their sexual and gender identities, they still contended with employment issues, precarious housing situations, and food insecurity. It was as if participants had to make a choice: live with family in SA and conceal their sexual orientation or gender identity or live on their own and struggle to meet their most basic needs. This finding aligns with previous research showing that, while SA may be a “safe haven” for LGBTQ+ people on the African continent, the lived experiences of LGBTQ+ migrants suggests otherwise (Camminga, 2017; Marnell et al., 2020). Moreover, this is not limited to the South African context; it has been widely established that LGBTQ+ migrants face numerous hardships in settlement that are compounded by structural barriers and psychosocial issues (Alessi, 2016; Lee, 2018; Lee & Brotman, 2013).

Although it is not uncommon for other migrant groups to also encounter these barriers, the dilemma participants faced is not something that heterosexual migrants typically have to consider; that is, whether they need to hide a salient aspect of their sexual or gender identity in order to get their basic needs met. Actually, it was only through participants’ newfound relationships or chosen family that many felt they could receive unconditional practical and emotional support. The value of these supports cannot be understated, especially when considering the challenges of being undocumented, securing housing and employment, and managing the effects of xenophobia, racism, homophobia, and transphobia (see also Alessi et al., 2020a). Ultimately, chosen family played an essential role in the everyday life of participants; chosen family was not only essential for providing basic needs and buffering against the negative impacts of stigma and discrimination but also for humanizing and accepting participants when nuclear and extended families were unwilling or unable to do so.

We found that participants also spoke about self-reliance—that is, relying on their own internal as opposed to external (family and chosen family) resources during post-migration. This finding is especially salient because self-reliance was facilitated by participants’ beliefs that they could not depend on their families or other people because of the rejection they had faced in their countries of origin. This seemed to be solidified when they came to SA, as the psychosocial and structural barriers they experienced left them feeling they had to take care of themselves. Further, self-reliance was key for dealing with obstacles and helping participants feel more comfortable taking risks to do so. Self-reliance coexisted alongside the support they received from families of origin or social relationships, as participants were aware of limits to how much they could rely on family and friends in meeting their resettlement needs.

Limitations

This study is not without limitations. While findings show that family and friendships shaped social support processes for LGBTQ+ migrants living in SA, this does not imply any type of causality; that is, we do not know whether other processes enabled participants to feel supported by family and friends (e.g., length of time in SA). Relatedly, while some participants were able to receive material support from family members, the extent to which this was driven by family socioeconomic status and/or by the family acceptance and tolerance is unknown, as we did not collect these data. Our analysis also did not specifically account for how various intersecting identities (e.g., being a Black transwoman from Burundi) impacted their family and social relationships. Thus, we risked essentializing participants, which may have missed some of the rich description and nuance that comes with conducting this type of research. Nonetheless, our sample consisted of individuals holding multiple identities, who felt a sense of solidarity when sharing their experiences. Conducting focus groups that began in the morning and continued in the afternoon also helped to ensure that we conducted a deep exploration of participants’ experiences and the processes surrounding their family and social relationships. At the same time, we do acknowledge the limitation of being unable to recruit transgender men and only recruiting two lesbian women. Future studies would benefit from enhancing recruitment methods to ensure that a broad range of LGBTQ+ migrants are included. Finally, the sexual and gender identities of participants did not always correspond to Western conventions about how these identities are expressed (Carrillo & Fontdevila, 2014). For example, in some non-Western contexts, sexual and gender identities are more integrated (Bilodeau & Renn, 2005); in fact, some participants who were assigned male at birth, and presented as cisgender men, identified as transgender women. This indicates that reducing aspects of identity into demographic labels using conventional Western understandings may sometimes fail to fully represent participants’ lived experiences. In future research, we will ask participants to identify their own categories, terms, or phrases that best describes their identities rather than having them choose from a list. Indeed, one participant actually chose her own descriptor, (i.e., a woman who loves women).

Implications

Findings have implications for theory, especially the way we understand the experiences of LGBTQ+ migrants in SA. More specifically, LGBTQ+ migrants in SA may face abuse by their families prior to migration, but this does not suggest that cut-offs necessarily occur following migration. In fact, family members in SA as well as those who remain in the country of origin may provide critical emotional and practical support during post-migration. This support must be viewed as a facilitator of integration for some LGBTQ+ migrants. While some theoretical frameworks (e.g., Ager & Strang, 2008) highlight the importance of support from family and diaspora community members for promoting integration among non-LGBTQ+ migrants, findings from this and other studies demonstrate that a key facilitator for integration among LGBTQ+ migrants in SA was the support received from LGBTQ+ community organizations as well as friendships with other LGBTQ+ migrants (Alessi, 2016; Borges, 2018).

Following rejection from their nuclear and extended families in the country of origin and in SA, participants also became more self-reliant. This should be be considered a strength; however, this self-reliance could end up being problematic if it inhibits the development of social and personal relationships that could help to facilitate integration. Expanding theory about the family and social relationships of LGBTQ+ migrants in SA would require future research, such as using standardized measures to examine social support and whether type of support received varies based on who is providing the support (e.g., family vs. friends). Measuring these across various time points might also help illuminate whether types of support are more salient during initial periods of migration compared with those who have been in SA for longer periods of time. Future studies might also examine the psychosocial consequences of concealing sexual orientation or gender identity from family members that SGM migrants must rely on for support. Such research would require large samples, requiring that concerted efforts are made to fund this type of research.

Findings also have implications for clinical practice. Mental health professionals and migrant assistance workers should harness the support of LGBTQ+ migrants’ nuclear/extended family, if available, and chosen family to help ease resettlement. Additionally, it will be important to help LGBTQ+ migrants process the complex dynamics that may have existed prior to migration and how these dynamics may unfold in the host country. Helping professionals should also ensure they have knowledge of available resources in the host country to assist LGBTQ+ migrants who may need both emotional and practical support.

Conclusion

This study illuminated how LGBTQ+ migrants in SA navigated family and other social relationships as well as community supports amid contexts where xenophobia, racism, homophobia, and transphobia were prsent. By focusing on the role that family and social relationships play in resettlement, mental health practitioners and migrant service providers may be able to better understand LGBTQ+ migrants needs and how best to support them during this difficult and complex life transition.

Footnotes

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was supported by the Rutgers Research Council.

ORCID iD

Edward J. Alessi

Brett Greenfield

Open research statement

As part of IARR’s encouragement of open research practices, the authors have provided the following information: This research was pre-registered. The data used in the research are not available due to concerns regarding participant confidentiality. The materials used in the research are not available due to concerns regarding participant confidentiality.

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