‘Having to use English others us': South African terminologies of sexual and gender diversity

Abstract

The linguistic coding of sexual and gender diversity remains highly contested in African contexts. While English language terminologies reflecting rights-based talk proliferate, such terms fail to fully reflect the lived realities of African queerness. This paper engages existing South African research on indigenous terminologies to describe sexual and gender diversity, focusing on representations of male same-sex sexualities. Our findings show that local terminologies serve not only to ‘other’ sexual and gender diversity, but also hold the potential to render those existing outside of normative sex/gender binaries as socially intelligible. Two core themes emerged: (i) the persistence of heterogendered subjectivities, where sexual dissidence is mapped onto a normative male/female binary; and (ii) a procreative imperative focused on communitarian norms that privilege heterosexual childbearing. The findings highlight the limitations of global terminologies of sexual and gender diversity by engaging the ways in which local African terminologies provide social recognition for same-sex sexualities in generally heteronormative community spaces. We discuss the implications of this gendered encoding of sexual dissidence in terms of advocacy strategies for the greater social inclusion of sexual and gender minorities.

Keywords

LGBTI linguistic analysis male sexualities Southern Africa

‘Having to use English removes us from our cultures. It others us’ – a South African queer woman, describing her attempts to explain her sexuality to her Xhosa¹-speaking parents. (Collison, 2017)

Introduction

As sexual and gender rights become increasingly part of a global social justice agenda, terminology affirming sexual and gender diversity continues to expand. Established English terms such as ‘lesbian', ‘gay', ‘bisexual', ‘transgender', ‘intersex' and ‘queer' – as well as various associated acronyms – have proliferated. Researchers and activists have, however, raised concerns about the relevance and impact of deploying these terms in southern contexts (McEwen and Milani, 2014; Msibi, 2014). Referring to knowledge production on African sexualities, Tamale (2011: 18) states ‘the fact that the language of Western colonialists has dominated sexuality discourses means that the shape and construction of the meanings and definitions of related concepts necessarily reflect realities and experiences outside Africa’. As such, the categories deployed as part of such scholarship are often taken for granted, at the expense of important conceptual issues such as the racialisation of sex and the cultural intelligibility afforded to gendered personhood (Atanga et al., 2012; Sanger and Lynch, 2018).

Historically, scholarship about African sexualities has been located within colonial traditions – the nature of which is a foundationally inordinate and regenerative focus on, and characterisation of, African/black bodies and sexualities as morbid, deviant, exorbitant and beguiling (Lugones, 2007; Tamale, 2011). More recently, critical sexualities scholars have focused on countering such racist representations. Traversing much of this contemporary body of research is the impetus to make sexual and gender diversity in African contexts visible, to counter arguments that non-normative sexualities are ‘un-African' (Msibi, 2014). These efforts have relied on similar tactics as those used – often successfully – in other global contexts, notably that of a human rights framework (Epprecht, 2012). The rights discourse has been a successful one globally in terms of bringing attention to bear on the experiences of sexual and gender minorities. Similarly, in South Africa lobbying for constitutional protection of the rights of sexual and gender minorities has resulted in a progressive and robust legislative framework. Hence, much of local activism towards the realisation of sexual and gender justice has been premised on the notion of queer persons as rights-bearing subjects, deserving access to the same rights and responsibilities as heterosexual persons (Morison and Lynch, 2016). Rights-based talk challenges the discursive erasure of sexual and gender minorities, arguing for full citizenship and accruing entitlements.

Rights-based talk has, however, been critiqued for not adequately engaging the constraints and possibilities for queer persons to take up such rights. Even in countries such as South Africa where protection based on gender and sexual orientation is constitutionally enshrined, queer persons' experiences range from everyday discrimination to brutal violence (Kaighobadi et al., 2020). Rights-based talk that is underpinned by notions of individual responsibility, without interrogating limitations on taking up such rights, may inadvertently mask structural inequalities in the contexts within which queer persons are situated (Macleod and Vincent, 2014). Further to this, rights-based talk may waver when different rights are pitted against each other in a hierarchy of rights, such as when cultural or religious rights are invoked to justify denial of queer persons' rights (Morison and Lynch, 2016).

Other efforts to normalise African queerness have relied on identitarian notions of diversity, interwoven with rights discourse. Such advocacy is premised on the idea that difference from heterosexual norms coalesce into discrete groups that embody particular markers or characteristics that set them apart from the majority (heterosexual) population. In this manner, homophobia and transphobia have been equated to other forms of discrimination based on other social identities, such as race, to protect the rights of sexual and gender minorities. Mhaoileoin (2019: 50), however, contends that ‘…imperialist modes of LGBT activism, dependent on the homo/heterosexual binary, mark a different set of categories: developed/developing, religious/secular, black/white, Arab/Israeli, urbane/provincial, cosmopolitan/communitarian, educated/ignorant’. Furthermore, public health terminology, in attempts to circumvent some of the challenges associated with identity politics and rights-talk, largely relies on categories related to behavioural risk. For instance, the term ‘men who have sex with men’ (MSM) has become popular in HIV/AIDS research, in order to identify and study behaviourally risky practices irrespective of participants’ sexual self-identification (Young and Meyer, 2015).

Such behavioural and identitarian categories have not escaped scrutiny and critique – notably for conflating diverse groups with ‘considerable diversity, fluidity and complexity in the expressions of sexuality and gender’, thus erasing other identities and practices that resist seamless classification into binary notions of gender and sex (Mantell et al., 2016: 953). Such categories obscure ‘the porous margins of these classifications, the important diversities that exist within categories, and the intersections between them’ (Parker et al., 2016: 821). Perhaps most salient in African contexts is the manner in which Western terminologies risk reinforcing narratives of queerness as foreign and exotic. This inadvertently bolsters arguments that same-sex sexualities are un-African (Logie, 2015; Morison and Lynch, 2016). Feminist and post-colonial scholars have challenged such wholesale depictions of Africa as homophobic by tracing how same-sex desire has to varying extents been accommodated and articulated within normative African worldviews over time (Amadiume, 1987; Epprecht, 2008). Historical accounts include Epprecht’s (2004) research with same-sex practicing men in Zimbabwe and work by Gay (1985), and Kendall (1998) focused on female same-sex sexualities across different African contexts.

Contemporary research also demonstrates how, parallel to homophobia and transphobia, public attitudes reflect support for sexual and gender diversity. For example, South African survey research in two urban townships² found that over 85% of respondents agreed or partially agreed with the statement ‘People who are attracted to members of the same sex and who live in this township are part of the community just like anyone else who lives here’ (Sigamoney and Epprecht, 2013). A representative survey of South African public attitudes regarding same-sex sexualities found that over half of participants (55%) said that they would ‘accept’ a gay family member (The Other Foundation, 2016). Further to this, 52% of participants indicated that lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex (LGBTI) persons ‘should be included in their culture and tradition’, pointing to a measure of support for social belonging of queer persons (The Other Foundation, 2016). Clearly, same-sex desire has to different extents been accommodated and articulated within normative African world views. Sigamoney and Epprecht (2013: 101) attribute this, in part, to the manner in which ‘exercise of discretion on the part of same-sex attracted individuals and their maintaining the appearance of heteronormativity’ can mitigate homophobia and contribute to cultures of qualified acceptance, alongside stigma associated with same-sex sexualities. What remains lacking, however, is research that investigates how discursive strategies are drawn on, and to what effect, to support the social belonging of queer persons. This prompts an analysis of indigenous queer terminologies that moves beyond an assumption that local terminologies and other linguistic practices are necessarily only derogatory. In particular, an analysis that unpacks the manner in which shifts in prejudice and restrictive sexual and gender norms occur may provide useful insights for research and advocacy geared towards increased social belonging and support for sexual and gender diversity.

Ultimately, while human rights, identitarian and public health discourses about sexual and gender diversity have proven to be valuable advocacy tools, they remain subject to counter-arguments of irrelevance or illegitimacy, especially so when deployed outside of the contexts in which they initially originated (Sikkink, 2017). Jowett (2014: 17) argues that dismantling queer oppression requires ‘a more extensive toolkit of rhetorical resources, to suit the nuances of the local socio-political climate and respond adequately to counter-positions’. In this paper, we respond to some of the limitations of global terminologies of sexual and gender diversity by analysing existing South African research on indigenous terminologies describing male same-sex sexualities, in particular. We identify two themes in existing scholarship, before outlining implications of such local discursive practices for challenging marginalisation and stigmatisation of same-sex sexualities in African contexts.

Methodology

Considering the limited South African scholarly base analysing language use in relation to sexual and gender diversity (see McEwen and Milani, 2014; Msibi, 2013; Msibi and Rudwick, 2015), we cast our net wide to identify texts for analysis. We used, as a starting point, our own knowledge of academic literature, ‘grey’ literature produced by LGBTI South African civil society, as well as our awareness of media outputs, such as newsprint, related to LGBTI issues. The diverse composition of the research team in terms of race, sexual orientation and gender identity, language, academic and activist background meant that we considered a broad range of existing texts. This initial search was supplemented by an online search (i.e. Google Scholar and standard academic databases). While we initially intended to include texts focused on sexual orientation and gender identity broadly, as our review progressed it became apparent that much of the language and terminologies we encountered were focused on male same-sex sexualities, both in the academic literature and in popular media. This likely reflects the general lack of research on female sexual diversity in South Africa, as well as the narrow focus on violence against lesbian and bisexual women in the studies that do exist, with considerably less research attention paid to linguistic practices associated with female same-sex sexualities (Lynch and Muller, 2016). Funding for African LGBTI-related research remains skewed towards public health studies as these relate to same-sex practicing men and transgender women as ‘key populations’ in the HIV epidemic, further contributing to a lack of research on female sexual diversity.

Our analysis was informed by Braun and Clarke’s (2006) six-step guidelines for qualitative thematic analysis, drawing on principles of feminist decolonial theories (Lugones, 2010; Mavuso et al., 2019). This includes a critical treatment of how language shapes personhood, in that discursive resources can be mobilised to different ends, to fashion positively valued identities such as those made familiar in a gender binary system, or to ‘ward off negatively valued identities, such as identities associated in heterosexist ways with gender-nonconformity’ (Sanger and Lynch, 2018: 206). This theoretical framing acknowledges that while it is possible to challenge existing gender relations and broader structural oppression, the extent to which people are able to do so is constrained by their location in particular socio-cultural contexts (Macleod and Vincent, 2014; Mavuso et al., 2019).

We focused our analysis on selected key texts that represent substantive engagement with terminologies and other linguistic practices related to sexual and gender diversity, traversing a wide range of topics and settings, including: male same-sex sexualities in urban townships, spanning apartheid (Donham, 2000) and post-apartheid settings (Donham, 2000; Msibi, 2013; Tucker, 2009); research on skesana identities – male same-sex identities ‘constructed on the basis of femininity’ (Msibi and Rudwick, 2015: 46) and moffie subcultures – male same-sex identities similarly associated with effeminacy (Cloete, 2018); language practices associated with lady/gent subcultures (McClean and Ngcobo, 1995; Reid, 2006, 2013; Yarbrough, 2018); vocabularies and cultural contexts related to queer beauty pageants (Matthyse, 2017); LGBTI-related stigma and discrimination in rural settings (Mavhandu-Mudzusi, 2018), including higher education (Netshandama et al., 2017) and public health facilities (Morison and Lynch, 2016); and language practices related to intersections of race, sexuality and gender within gay male social spaces (Tucker, 2009). These texts predominantly draw on research located in urban township settings (e.g. Donham, 2000; Salo et al., 2010; Sigamoney and Epprecht, 2013; Tucker, 2009), with a smaller number of studies focussed on rural and peri-urban settings (e.g. Morison and Lynch, 2016; Netshandama et al., 2017; Reid, 2006, 2013).

In what follows we present the two themes identified in our analysis: that of (i) heterogendered subjectivities and (ii) a procreative imperative. We discuss these below, providing illustrative examples of linguistic practices drawn on in these themes.

Heterogendered subjectivities

In South Africa, the term ‘gay' is often not used in the same manner, at least not consistently, as it is used in many global north contexts (Donham, 2000; Msibi, 2013). Instead of ‘gay', many stereotypically masculine presenting same-sex practicing men continue to be considered straight, while their effeminate (male) partners are largely considered in female gendered terms. Donham (2000) traces this back to the 60s and 70s where – in predominantly Zulu black urban townships – effeminate men were considered ladies, also referred to as skesanas, who dated masculine presenting men – gents or injongas (McClean and Ngcobo, 1995; Reid, 2013). Injongas were known as ‘somehow bended men’ to denote the fact that they were straight, but known to be sexually available to or attracted to homosexual men (Reid, 2006). These linguistic constructions remain current, as Reid (2006: 139) demonstrates in his research conducted in small town South Africa, where the terms ‘gay' and ‘lady' are used interchangeably to denote same-sex practicing men who perform female gendered identities:

While I had come across many manifestations of gay identities during the course of my fieldwork, there are some generalisations that can be made about the way in which gay identity is conceived, practised and performed in the context of Ermelo and surrounding towns. The most pervasive is that being gay in these environs is almost invariably synonymous with being effeminate or, in local parlance, a ‘lady’ or sis-Buti […] A ‘lady’ is a femme who ideally maintains a female social and sexual role in relation to a gent, a ‘somehow-bended’ or a ‘butch’.

The terms ‘ladies’ and ‘gents’ do not foreground sexual non-conformity, but instead map onto a gendered binary, ‘respected and adhered to by both “ladies” and “gents”’ (Reid, 2006: 139). Ladies share cultural legibility with heterosexual female-bodied women, participating in the same socio-cultural roles such as performing women’s chores, working in jobs associated with women, and hosting and entering beauty pageants (Yarbrough, 2018). Mbongeni, Nathi and Thabo – ‘ladies’ in Reid’s (2006) research – participate ‘fully and actively in church affairs dressed in the women’s uniform’, with Mbongeni and Nathi working as hairstylists in the community (Reid, 2006: 140). Concurrent to heterosexism and hostility towards LGBTI persons, ‘it is apparent that Nathi, Mbongeni and Thabo all regard themselves as “gay” and enjoy considerable acceptance and integration, albeit in the role of women, in their respective church communities’ (Reid, 2006: 140).

In a similar manner, the term ‘moffie’ – initially originating in Afrikaans-speaking coloured³ communities in and around Cape Town – is generally used to describe cross-dressing effeminate men, but is also considered as interchangeable with ‘gay’ (Tucker, 2009). The term has a similar meaning to other homophobic slurs and makes frequent appearances in violent attacks on sexual minorities.⁴ Yet, concurrent to violent hostility, moffies – associated with pageants and glamour – are tolerated, and in some instances even celebrated in the communities where they live. Queer activist Liberty Matthyse (2017) describes the community response upon returning home after winning a prominent local pageant: ‘I was flooded with supportive messages from people and children asking me whether I was the beautiful ‘moffie’ who had won Miss Gay Western Cape and was featured within the local newspapers’.

Research about same-sex practicing men’s healthcare access in a rural South African province similarly refers to how mapping onto feminine gendered roles and practices may increase the extent to which gay men are accommodated in spaces otherwise hostile towards LGBTI persons (Morison and Lynch, 2016). Zuko, a gay man, shares that in a context where ridicule, privacy violations, and even refusals of care by healthcare professionals towards LGBTI persons are common, there are instances where treatment in clinics are positive, ‘especially towards those gays who are out, the “drag queens”’. He continues, ‘it’s perhaps a little easier for them because they have a lot of female friends and so them and the female health workers will refer to each other by names like […] mkhozi, friend’ (Morison and Lynch, 2016: 20). In this context, the use of the word Zulu mkhozi (the direct translation being ‘mother-in-law’, and used to refer to anyone with the same clan name as one’s in-laws) denotes ‘respect, acceptance and ties of familial connection’ (Morison and Lynch, 2016: 14). In Zuko’s context, conforming to a feminine gender role offers gay men cultural intelligibility and social acceptance.

This acceptance is of course precarious, described by an LGBTI activist in research by Cloete (2018: 46) as ‘ambivalent’:

It is the same community that does not allow me in the mosque, or in the church or in the school that forces me out of the school system, when I see the nurse. They might discriminate against me in a professional capacity. But it is that same nurse that will sit with me in the tavern that will drink with me, you know. And will use that word moffie, in an empowerment, way, Aah you my friend, ‘Jy is my moffie’ [You are my moffie]. But tomorrow in my professional capacity, will say ‘moffies behoort nie hier nie’ [Moffies do not belong here].

Significantly, dissident sexualities as expressed through terms such as ‘ladies’/‘gents’ and ‘moffie’ may be ‘partially tolerated [because] the associated gender subversion does not threaten the heterosexual gender binary’ (Salo et al., 2010: 306). This echoes South African research conducted in other contexts, noting that sexual dissidence may be largely tolerated when same-sex practicing men and women conform to heterogendered social and cultural roles, particularly so in communities where compliance to heterogendered norms is highly valued (Epprecht, 2006; Lynch and Clayton, 2016; Sanger and Lynch, 2018).

Clearly, socio-cultural imperatives to conform to gendered roles and expectations persist. Perhaps one of the most enduring gendered requirements of social recognition and legitimacy is bearing children through heterosexual sex, which forms the focus of the next theme.

A procreative imperative

Matula (taboo) or matudzi (bad omen) are Tshivenda terms associated with same-sex sexuality and typically employed to denigrate practices that do not fit into normative ontological frameworks, including challenges to a heteronormative world-view (Netshandama et al., 2017). Research conducted in the predominantly rural South African province of Limpopo documents how ‘matula’ is commonly deployed to categorise same-sex practices as a threat to traditional cultural norms and values and consequently, as deserving supernatural punishment (Netshandama et al., 2017). By designating a practice as matula – as taboo – it becomes part of customary prohibitions that forbid association with the person(s) engaged in it. A participant in research by Mavhandu-Mudzusi (2018: 96) explains:

People in the community assume that whenever they see people engaged in same-sex relationship [it] is a ‘bad omen’. Whenever bad things happen in the family or in the community, even in the country – like when it is not raining, or when there are floods, mass accidents – the community members will always blame the queer individuals. They say we are bringing bad omen to the community. If one is recognised as such in the community, people can even necklace⁵ and burn you to death. The chief of the place where I stay does not want to hear anything about homosexuality. One day at Khoroni [traditional gathering at the chief’s kraal] he said that ‘If I hear that anybody is engaged in this matula of men having sex with men, and females having sex with females, I am going to banish the person with his/her whole family from my country’.

Limpopo is largely under tribal authority and, as such, proclamations by a chief carry significant influence. Yet, the statements referred to above are more complex than simply being homophobic. Descriptions of same-sex sexuality as matula not only produce and maintain stigmatising heteronormative ideals, but are, significantly, also intertwined with taboos around not bearing children. A participant in research by Netshandama et al. (2017: 314) states: ‘Loving one another [as a same-sex couple] is not a problem [but] God wants a couple to give birth’, pointing to how the presumed rejection of childbearing elicits moral condemnation.

A community member in research by Sigamoney and Epprecht (2013: 98) explains this incompatibility of same-sex sexuality with community kinship norms as follows:

When they say ‘African men’, it means you must have your own family. What I think about gays is that they are unable to make children. When he is asked to make a child he runs away. He will be saying he doesn’t want to make a child as he falls under the girls. You have to show at home that you are a man.

In this socio-cultural context, fathering children through heterosex mitigates condemnation of gay men as a threat to heterogendered norms. Salo et al. (2010: 303), in their research with same-sex practicing youth in townships on the outskirts of Cape Town, note that among their participants, ‘men who had fathered children, albeit only biologically, were considered as being heterosexual men, [despite] evidence of same-sex relationships’. Similarly, Jason – a gay man participating in Mavhandu-Mudzusi's (2018) research – states:

The moment I told them that I have made a girl pregnant, my family members were so proud of me. They started to involve me in most family debates and discussions which were not so when they were still suspecting that I am not heterosexual. Even some of the students [at the university where I study] and community members, who used to call me sivhara makoti, literally meaning a ‘brother-in-law-sister-in-law’, started to call me skhokho meaning ‘a real strong, rich man’. They were also able to interact well with me.

The above excerpt illustrates the ‘redeeming’ character of siring a child for gay men in this setting. Prior to the pregnancy, the phrase sivhara makoti marked Jason as different and served to marginalise him within his family and community. However, fathering a child allows him access to a normative, socially valued masculine ideal of being powerful, virile and being a financial provider – ‘a real strong, rich man’. This supports research from other African contexts where childbearing through heterosexual sex transfers a measure of belonging to persons deviating from gendered norms in other ways, such as through same-sex practices (Epprecht, 2006; Tamale, 2007). For instance, Southern African same-sex practicing men in research by Essack et al. (2019: 10–11) describe the compelling influence of a procreative imperative, in that ‘procreative sex with women becomes intertwined with normative notions of sexuality and kinship, where for many male couples siring children is linked with recuperating full personhood’.

An emphasis on (heterosexual) procreation as a social ideal, while widespread, is particularly pronounced in communitarian African contexts where childbearing functions as a fundamental social organising principle (Matolino, 2017), i.e. as a cultural demand for procreation to drive ‘intimate relationships, sexuality and the wider organisation of the social’ (Roseneil et al., 2013: 903). The stigma that accrues same-sex practices is then partly due to transgressing this ideal; ‘homosexuality […] violates the ultimate order of things and inescapably means infertility’ (Mazama, 2009: 264). A closer look at terminologies ascribed to male same-sex practices reveals that the socio-cultural significance assigned to fathering children through heterosexual sex applies to gay men as well, and that similar to the first theme, it is gay men’s divergence from such a gendered expectation that elicits condemnation (as matula), more so than a concern with homosexual behaviour. Indeed, Gaudio (1998), referring to the West African context, states that ‘homosexuality is not seen to be incompatible with heterosexuality, marriage, or parenthood’.

Concluding discussion

We identified two intertwined and mutually reinforcing themes in existing South African research about male same-sex sexualities: that of mapping sexual dissidence onto a normative male/female binary shaped by notions of heterosexual complementarity and a focus on communitarian norms that privilege a (heterosexual) procreative imperative. These themes dovetail to map queer personhood onto a heterogendered binary and function in different ways to contribute to queer in/visibility in local South African contexts.

The findings illustrate how in many South African settings men’s sexual diversity is intensely gendered, more so than it is sexualised. While delineating gay and bisexual men’s sexual dissidence along a normative gender binary also occurs in some northern contexts (e.g. Barrett, 2020; Hunt et al., 2020; Peel, 2005), our analysis focuses on how in the settings referred to in South African scholarship, aligning with feminine and masculine roles and identities increases acceptance for same-sex practicing men. It is by mapping same-sex practices onto a gender binary that gay men become socially intelligible. Indeed, lady/gent and moffie subcultures find spaces of belonging in otherwise heterosexist communities precisely because their gender subversion does not threaten the heterosexual binary. Similarly, the social value of (heterosexual) childbearing as part of a heterogendered world order is foregrounded in descriptions of same-sex sexuality as matula, or taboo. While queer persons are seemingly excluded from belonging through such an emphasis on the social value of (heterosexual) procreation, it points to how meeting socio-cultural gendered obligations may be prioritised in some communities, such that meeting these obligations mitigates stigma. For gay men who father children, this provides access to recognition and belonging within their families and communities. This supports Southern African research noting that in community contexts that are largely heteronormative, sexual dissidence is often accommodated as long as queer persons take up gender-appropriate socio-cultural roles (Cloete, 2018; Epprecht, 2006; Lynch and Clayton, 2016; Sanger and Lynch, 2018).

The cultural intelligibility that local terminologies for sexual diversity affords stands in contrast with the western LGBTI acronym and related terms. Yet, South African civil society organisations have in many respects adopted the language of global LGBTI activism, including the requirements of visibility through ‘coming out’ and publicly embracing difference from heterogendered norms. Mhaoileoin (2019: 149) refers to this as a ‘discursive centring of the western gay subject’ and argues that this ‘seriously undermines the relevance and efficacy of international anti-homophobia campaigns’. This surfaces the tensions between how sexual dissidence is made sense of in communities, and how global lexicons, instead of spurring greater acceptance of queer persons might inadvertently construct queerness as ‘other', ‘strange', and ‘foreign'. In this sense, the findings demonstrate how, as mentioned at the outset of this paper, English can fall short of and even serve to other queer persons, when naming sexual and gender diversity in African contexts.

A discursive strategy of heterogendering sexual dissidence is, of course, not without flaws. Some queer persons cannot conform or choose not to conform to heterogendered norms (Stevens, 2012). For sexual minorities who are not made intelligible within a heterogendered binary, e.g. persons who identify or present as non-binary or genderqueer, or childless queer persons, such deviation from heterogendered norms positions them as ‘outside of what is socially recognised as a credible citizen subject’ (Morison and Lynch, 2016: 16). Thus, a discursive strategy of heterogendering sexual dissidence is only successful in fostering belonging in instances where queer persons approximate heterogendered norms successfully. Not being able to or choosing not to opt into such heterogendered practices potentially compromises this measure of social acceptance. It is clear that in this regard, the language of global LGBTI activism has been important in troubling the quiet acceptance of discreet sexual non-conformity. In short, while African societies, and South Africa in particular, appear to be becoming more accommodating of sexual diversity, the challenges for those embodying non-normative and non-traditional gender expressions remain and they continue to pay a price for stepping outside of the heterogendered binary.

The findings have implications for social justice advocacy, towards greater accommodation of sexual and gender diversity in South Africa. For many people in South Africa and across the region, a western queer lexicon is only gradually beginning to evoke some level of engagement and familiarity. In terms of social justice advocacy and programmatic work, in the more immediate term drawing on local terminologies that elicit immediate recognition and familiarity may prove fruitful when engaging traditional leaders, religious leaders, community members, research participants and government stakeholders. McAllister (2015: 47) notes that ‘Western ways of talking about sexuality feel foreign, inauthentic, and threatening to many in Africa who might otherwise be open to the idea that their sexually different fellow citizens belong in the community and deserve acceptance and respect’. Thus, the importance of drawing on local terminologies lies in its potential to more deeply engage with a broad range of stakeholders on ‘LGBTI’ issues who in many ways determine the levels of inclusion for sexual and gender minorities in South Africa and across the region. There is a history of linguistic reclamation among sexual and gender minority communities globally, including terms such as ‘faggot’ and ‘queer’ in Europe and North America (Rand, 2014). The challenge here lies in understanding how best to code switch and use local terms beyond ‘LGBTI’ without perpetuating the stigma and exclusion reinforced by some of these terms; future research can benefit from exploring this potential.

In terms of advocacy strategies that aim to contribute to social change over the long term, the findings provide support for social change interventions that focus on dismantling harmful heterogendered norms as shared drivers of oppression for multiple, intersecting identities. For instance, the emphasis placed on a socially valued masculinity anchored in proving one’s virility by having children with women applies to gay men in terms of providing access to social belonging, but has also been shown to drive normalisation of heterosexual men’s sexual entitlement, and in that manner has been linked to sexual violence (Shefer, 2016). This supports deploying advocacy strategies that are not ‘LGBTI’-specific but instead focused on harmful heterogendered norms as these impact on diverse genders and sexualities, including heterosexualities (Dolan, 2014). For instance, integrated interventions addressing the intersecting vulnerabilities of ‘normatively’ gendered girls and young women, as well as queer persons, hold potential for dismantling the underlying structural underpinnings of harmful heterogendered norms (Dolan, 2014; Chynoweth, 2018; Walsh, 2015).

Footnotes

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was supported by The Other Foundation [Inyosi grant].

ORCID iDs

Ingrid Lynch

Finn Reygan

Notes

Ingrid Lynch is a Senior Research Specialist in the Human and Social Capabilities (HSC) Division at the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC). Her research examines the socio-cultural determinants of sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR) and gender-based violence (GBV). Her work employs intersectional, gender-transformative, and participatory methodologies. She is editor of the book, Queer kinship: Perspectives on sexualities, families, and reproduction in South Africa, along with Tracy Morison and Vasu Reddy.

Finn Reygan is Research Director in the Human and Social Capabilities (HSC) Division at the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) and Extraordinary Associate Professor in Educational Psychology at the University of the Western Cape. He leads multiyear, multicountry projects across Eastern and Southern Africa focused on systems level change related to diversity, including gender and sexual diversity, and publishes widely in the field of gender and sexualities.

Molemo Ramphalile is a PhD candidate in the Department of Political Studies, University of the Witwatersrand, South Africa. His broad interests include Cultural Studies, Feminist Theory, and Critical Race Theories.

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