Queer Precarity in Tokyo: How Homosexuality and Addiction add to the Precariousness of Gay Men in urban Japan
Written by: Rik Dammer
Graduate School of Social Sciences (GSSS) MA: Contemporary Asian Studies (CAS)
Supervised by: Olga Sooudi
Written by Rik Dammer Student Number: 10875123
2015-07-24 Amsterdam
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Thesis Outline
Introduction 4
Chapter One: Homosexuality and Precarity in Japan 6
• 1.1: Precarity as a National Affliction 6
o Marriage and Reproduction 7
• 1.2: Homosexuality in Japan 10
o Homosexuality as a Legal Precarity in Japan 12
Chapter Two: Addiction and Recovery in Japan 16
• 2.1: An Overview of Substance Abuse in Post-War Japan 16
• 2.2: Methamphetamine Use in Gay Communities 22
• 2.3: Narcotics Anonymous in Tokyo 26
Chapter Three: Social Spaces of Gay Recovering
Addicts 30
• 3.1: The Significance of Social Space 30
• 3.2: Towards an Understanding of Queer Spaces 32
• 3.3: Analysing the Operation Spaces of my Informants 34
o Spaces of Leisure and Pleasure in Nichōme 34
o ‘Hattenba’: Places of Sexual Contacts 36
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• 3.4: Gay Ghettoization 41
• 3.5: Places of Recovery 43
Chapter Four: Data Analysis 46
• 4.1: Interview Segments 46
o Kazuaki 46
o Higashi 49
o Yohei 54
o Taniyama 58
• 4.2: Concluding Remarks 66
Bibliography 68
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Introduction
Research Question
How do homosexuality and recovery from substance abuse in urban Japanese gay men contribute to the precarity of their social position and spaces?
In this thesis I will construct and support the argument that homosexuality and recovery from substance abuse can both add to the precarious position of gay men in Japan; and that this social position can be mirrored and illustrated by the spaces that these gay men socialise in. I hope that this will contribute to a broader understanding of the term ‘precarity’, which is a term often used to refer to uncertain socioeconomic circumstances, especially in relation to Japan’s economic recession that has been going on since the
1990s. I want to show that there can be factors of additional precarity (as mentioned, homosexuality and addiction) and that a precarious social position may be visible in spatial aspects. In order to make this argument clear, I will have a chapter on Precarity and Homosexuality in Japan, constructing a framework in which I can build my argument and later implement my data. It will give a general definition of precarity, and I will make clear how I am going to use that definition to strengthen my argument.
I will also try to show some of the social perceptions of homosexuality that have a deep-rooted history in Japanese society, since most of these prejudices will come back later in my informants’ data. Next, I will have a chapter on Addiction in Japan, giving a brief historical overview of methamphetamine abuse and its social perceptions, and also the
5 contemporary use of this particular drug among gay minorities. This is not only to show the social perception of addicts, but mostly to show the highly risky behaviour that can be seen in these men, while delving into some of the reasons and theories behind why such self-destructive behaviour is prominent in this specific group of gay drug users. Following that will be a chapter on Social Spaces, drawing on general theories of urban space and also theories on queer space, which is often rendered as a marginal space, and in this case I will argue that in Tokyo it functions as a precarious space.
While I will lace these chapters with occasional quotes and anecdotes from my research, I will present the bulk of my data in the final chapter, where I will take relevant passages from some of my interviews and elaborate on them with a data analysis, connecting them to the theories and arguments that I have made in previous chapter. I hope that this will create a broad understanding of concepts, as well as a strong case for my argument that homosexuality and addiction are contributors to precarity in contemporary
Japan.
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Chapter One: Homosexuality and
Precarity in Japan
The aim of this chapter is to introduce the topic of homosexuality in Japan, focusing mainly on its social perceptions and implications. I will also connect it with precarity and introduce this term that is globally used in the neo- liberal world to indicate peoples’ precarious circumstances. I will start the chapter by giving a definition of precarity that I can use to analyse my data.
Then I will delve into what it means to be a gay man in a country that places so much importance on the establishment of a heteronormative nuclear family. As such, I will show that precarity in Japan is not only about labour
(according to its traditional definition), but also about the family, opening up the possibility for homosexuality and addiction to also be seen as aspects of precarity
1.1: Precarity as a National Affliction
“Precarity” is a word of the contemporary era, picked up first by social and labour movements in Europe during the 1970s. At the time, it was used specifically in the labour market, referring to “employment that is uncertain, unpredictable, and risky from the point of view of the worker” (Kalleberg,
2009). Since most work in the history of mankind has been precarious by this definition, it has the most pertinent meaning in a select few countries that have enjoyed secure employment, referring mostly to post-war industrialised nations including the US and Japan. Particularly Japan saw a huge economic growth after the war, combined with a high level of job security, famously coined as “lifetime employment”. While beneficial at the time, it brought
7 along a structure of dependency that would collapse as lifetime employment became mostly obsolete after the burst of the economic bubble in the 1990s.
This was a structure of dependency on the corporation and the family. Men were often the primary breadwinners, receiving a family wage that supported their unpaid wives as well. The family depended on the breadwinner, and the breadwinner depended on his job security (Allison 2013, p. 6). As this structure collapsed, precarity in Japan is very much about the family as well as labour. I will elaborate on this in the next sub-chapter.
Marriage and Reproduction
One of Japan’s main contemporary issues is the declining marriage rate, which goes hand in hand with a declining birth rate. Traditionally, Japan has seen arranged marriages between men and women. One of the initial contributors to the declining marriage rate in the post-War era was the near- complete erosion of arranged marriages, which is a general consequence of global neo-liberalized economies and tendencies towards individualism.
More and more Japanese idealise the concept of romantic love or at least mutual affection and personal interest as a reason for marriage, but the institutions through which like-minded men and women can meet are still not sufficient (Retherford, Ogawa, & Matsukura, 2001, p. 98). This is problematised by the fact that the social pressure to get married is still very high (Hendry, 1981). There are certain factors that have become more prevalent that make one less likely to marry. Such factors include irregular employment for men and living with ones parents. As such, people in precarious economic positions are more vulnerable to the aspect of precarity related to the family as well.
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I would like to stress that precarity is not only about labour, but also about a broader range of socioeconomic uncertainties in regards to life and the future. As for the general definition of precarity, it is often defined as a state of socioeconomic uncertainty, unpredictability and risk (Standing, 2011). But I think the word ‘socioeconomic’ does not cover the kind of precariousness I have found in my informants. While most of them were indeed ‘precariously’ employed (that is to say, temporarily or part-time), a few of them had steady employment and income. Their precarity, as I will argue, comes from other insecurities, risks and uncertainties related to being gay and / or being an addict.
Because of their homosexuality, there is no normalised way of becoming a proper shakaijin (literally “society person”), which is a term often used for adults who have established a family through (heterosexual) marriage and usually have children (Dasgupta R. , 2012). They are regarded as the ‘winners’ of society, whereas the category of ‘losers’ includes unmarried women over
30, freeters (“free-term” or part-time workers), otaku (geeky, unattractive men) and hikikomori (socially withdrawn people) (Miller & Bardsley, 2005). This perceived status of ‘loser’ is what I connect profoundly to the meaning of precariousness: the inability or uncertainty of fitting in with mainstream working society. Since gay marriage is mostly impossible in Japan (see
Chapter 1.2), and means of reproduction for gays are difficult to access and scorned by society, I would argue that for my informants, being homosexual puts them in a specific precarious situation. Below follows a small excerpt of my interview with Hideaki, a 34-year old single man who is from Tokyo.
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Do you want children?
“Yes, I would probably want children, but only if I end up with a
partner who wants children as well. If I stay single, then I definitely will
not have children.”
So if you were with a partner who wanted children, how
would you make that a reality?
“Well, in Japan there is no good system for that. So maybe I would
move to my future boyfriend’s country. I have a thing for foreign boys
after all (laughs). Gays cannot get married here in Japan yet, so staying
in Japan would not be an option.”
Do you know any gay people in Japan that have children?
“No… I cannot think of anyone. Gays in Japan just do not have
children, I guess!”
This shows that for Hideaki and many other gays, having children with a boyfriend in Japan is not a viable option, despite being an option that could legally be realised even without marriage. It is interesting that Hideaki does not even consider this option, and he was not the only one. I think this is an indication as to how poorly homosexuality is perceived in Japan. In the next sub-chapter I will detail some of these perceptions, showing that homosexuality is often denied or regarded as a ‘hobby’, but not accepted as an identity or lifestyle.
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1.2: Homosexuality in Japan
An interesting note to start on is the historical context of homosexuality in
Japan. Male-on-male sex, known as nanshoku (lit. “Male colours”), has a deep-rooted history, including stories of respected samurai having affairs with younger men, which was publically known and regarded as a normal practice. During the Edo period (1603 – 1876) Japan’s urban centres had thriving districts of mostly-sexual entertainment, known as ukiyo, the
“floating world”. A common practice in this world of theatres and brothels, and which especially flourished during this era, was male-on-male prostitution (Pflugfelder, 1999). A notable part of male prostitutes were danshō, female cross-dressers. This combination of commercialism and cross- dressing heavily shaped the public perception of homosexuality (Leupp 2007, p. 142). This is still true today, as many of my informants told me that upon coming out, their families often thought that they wished to become a woman.
There is another historical anecdote that can be seen as symbolic of the general Japanese attitude towards homosexuality until this day. This is that homosexuality in Japanese people is historically seen as kari (provisional, temporary), in contrast to the shin (genuine) homosexuality as seen in
Westerners. Whereas the latter is incurable, the Japanese homosexual may still be cured through (heterosexual) marriage, at least in peoples’ perceptions (Robertson 1999, p. 22). There is an obvious overlap here to the data that my interviewees provided me. Many of them mentioned that upon coming out, their parents would often not understand what it means to be gay. Noboru’s parents told him that he was just in a phase that he would grow out of. Kazuaki’s parents questioned him upon his homosexuality, calling it a “hobby” (shumi).
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The word ‘hobby’ was used often by my informants upon describing the reactions of the people around them, such as in this excerpt of my interview with Toru, a 37-year old single ice-cream maker:
When did you know you were gay?
“I have known I was gay since elementary school. I did not think I was
doing anything strange. Around that time I started having sort of
playful sexual contact with my cousin, but you cannot really call it sex
at that age. My first time for real was when I was in university at 21
years old, with my first boyfriend.”
How did you meet your boyfriend?
“Well, there was no Internet back then, so I found him through a gay
magazine called ‘Badi’. I had to send a letter to the magazine to reply
on his personal ad, which must be hard to imagine for you [as a young
person]. One time I left an issue of Badi on the reading table and my
mother found it. She got really angry about it! She got so upset that I
had to stay at my boyfriend’s place for a week until she calmed down.
She thought that being gay was just a hobby, so that was quite
difficult. I have never talked about it with my dad. I went to university
for 4 years, and the first 3 years I was really scared to come out. Some
people must have noticed, but I did not say anything.”
Toru’s mother’s belief that homosexuality is just a hobby is a common one in
Japan, as I described by the popular notion of ‘temporary’ homosexuality on the previous page. But the fact remains that homosexuality is neither temporary nor curable, placing homosexuals in a vulnerable and precarious
12 position because they are socially expected to change an important part of who they are and what they want. It seems that homosexuality is not taken seriously; it is not regarded as something real. Japanese law reflects this attitude, as I will describe in the next sub-chapter.
Homosexuality as a legal precarity in Japan
So what is it that puts gay men in a legally precarious position? I have already briefly touched upon certain social notions that might prevent them from entering normalised society. Because of their marginalised social position and the scrutiny that exists against them, it seems very difficult for gays to establish a family unit. Toru, an informant mentioned in the previous paragraphs, even thought it was “impossible” (muri). While it is technically possible, Japanese national law does not facilitate equal parental rights to gays, for example. While as of May 2015 gay partnership is a legal reality in
Japan, the scope of this law is limited. Despite being the first country in East
Asia to legalise gay partnership, it is only possible within the Tokyo ward of
Shibuya, which counts about 270.000 inhabitants (not even 0.01% of the whole Japanese population) (the Guardian, 2015). Only one of my informants lives in this ward, so for the rest of my informants it is still not a judicial reality.
While there is gay partnership in this small district, I would still say that Japan as a whole is a nation in which gay marriage or partnership is very limited.
As spatial aspects will take an important role later on in this thesis (Chapter
3), it is pertinent to take a closer look at Shibuya, firstly asking why it is that gay partnership has become legal here, and not elsewhere. This can be contributed to several factors. First of all, Shibuya is one of Tokyo’s trendiest areas, known for its creativity and liberalism, with the ward’s mayor Toshitake
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Kuwahara stating that the new law is in line with the area’s character (BBC,
2015). The neighbouring ward of Setagaya has indicated that it will look into following Shibuya’s footsteps regarding LGBT rights. This is indeed in line with the character of the area, since Setagaya houses Japan’s first (and so far only) openly transgender official, having elected transgender woman Aya
Kamikawa into its ward assembly in 2003. This aspect of being in a liberal area has probably contributed to the pro-gay law being introduced in
Shibuya, alongside having a liberal mayor. Not all of Tokyo politicians are as liberal, especially at the time when Tokyo’s governor was the far-right
Shintaro Ishihara (in seat from 1999 to 2012), who is very conservative and has given controversial discriminatory remarks on some marginalised groups, including homosexuals and also Koreans and other ethnical minorities. As the governor, he did not have the power to completely reject Shibuya ward’s decision to implement the law, but he did limit its scope significantly. The ward was able to grant gay couples hospital visitation rights and the ability to apply for housing as a couple, but other rights such as tax benefits that straight couples enjoy were not implemented for gays (McKirdy, 2015). As such, the legal position of gays remains precarious, even in Shibuya.
As described in Chapter 1.1, precarity in general is a position without predictability or security. Insecurity is something most people in Japan deal with, whether it is economic or financial insecurity, but I would argue that gays have an additional dimension of precarity. While conducting my interviews, one of the main things that I felt was a sense of uncertainty.
Uncertainty about the future, uncertainty about being openly gay (or not), uncertainty about the desired or existing relationships they have. The fact that most of my informants were recovering addicts, adds a third layer of precariousness, so to speak. Most of them had experienced struggles at work
14 due to their time as active addicts. Some of them were unemployed, while some worked part-time, and a few of them had regained a full-time job; all after a period of unemployment due to being committed to some sort of rehabilitation facility, usually a clinic that provides a full stay for several weeks or months.
In the above paragraph I mentioned a “triple threat” of precarity, with the general economic uncertainty all Japanese have to deal with, supplemented by being gay and being a recovering addict. In order to get a firmer grip on how this plays out, in the next chapters I will introduce an overview of addiction in Japan, following it with theories on social spaces and queer space, giving a spatial aspect to the material I have discussed so far and the data that my informants gave me.
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Chapter Two: Addiction and
Recovery in Japan
This chapter will function as an introduction to another important one of the main themes of my research, which is substance abuse and recovery in
Japan. This is aimed to illustrate how (most of) my informants’ status as recovering addicts influences their social positions. It is necessary to have this background for two reasons. First of all, a historical background is needed to frame substance abuse within Japanese society, revolving mainly around the hiropon crisis of the post-war era. Secondly, it introduces another element of vulnerability to the position of my informants: being an addict, active or recovering. This is on top of the vulnerability of being gay as discussed in
Chapter One. Ultimately, these multiple vulnerabilities are what makes their position so precarious.
2.1: Substance abuse in post-war Japan
“In 1999, I was arrested for drug possession. I was caught with ‘shabu’
(crystal meth) in my pocket. They took me to the police station, where
I was placed in a cell for 20 days awaiting my sentence. Then my
parents came to pay my bail, so I got to wait for my sentence at home
from then on. In the end, I was put on probation with a heavy warning,
because it was the first time I had come into contact with the police.
They told me that if it happened again, I would be sent to prison
straight away.”
- Taniyama (44)
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That is what one of my informants told me about his life as a drug user. He details an event that many other have also experienced. Methamphetamine is illegal in Japan, as it is in most other countries in the world. However,
Japan’s special history with this particular drug embeds Taniyama’s story in a long history of police and government trying to deal with methamphetamine addiction, with its climax right after the end of the Second World War. After
Japan’s defeat in 1945, the country ended up under control of the Allied forces. While the Occupation, lasting from 1945 until 1952, was officially administered by all of the Allied Powers, it is often referred to as the
“American Occupation” of Japan (Takemae, 2003). After the occupation, methamphetamine addiction became the symbol of a damaged and dependent Japan (Kingsberg, 2013, p. 141), which I will detail over the course of the following paragraphs.
The catalyst of Japan’s first narcotics crisis was the large-scale abuse of hiropon, a potent stimulant known today as methamphetamine. Hiropon was mainly given to soldiers, pilots and factory workers during the War years to keep them alert and to suppress hunger. This reflects the brand’s name, which stems from the Latin word ‘Philopon’, which means, “love of labour”.
Such a situation is not unique to Japan, as methamphetamine was mass- produced in all major war nations such as the United States, the United
Kingdom and Germany (Rasmussen, 2008). It became especially popular in
Japan, where it was also commercially marketed as a medicine for low blood pressure and daytime sleepiness. At the end of 1954, the Asahi Shinbun (one of Japan’s most popular newspapers until this day) estimated around 1,5 million domestic methamphetamine users (Asahi Shinbun October 15, 1954).
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While contemporary social perceptions of substance abuse generally involve a moral judgement of addicts, framing them as weak people, or people lacking self-control and the will to live a productive life (Corrigan, 2009, p.
139), it is important to keep in mind that this was not the case for Japan at the time. Hiropon had been a widely commercialized medication that was ought to keep people alert and awake during work. Japan has long prided itself on its high work morale, so at the time the usage of hiropon could even be seen as a patriotic decision in rough economic times. As its destructive potential became clear, public perception framed its users as victims of its time, instead of passing moral judgement. I would like to take a full quote from Kingsberg excellent article on post-war methamphetamine abuse (2013, p. 147), who in turn got it from a government task force on stimulants’ publication, for it perfectly illustrates the social perception of addicts at the time:
“After the end of the war, people lost their spirit, the country was
catapulted into extreme economic disorder, and both hope for
tomorrow and the dreams of the past were lost; so students drifted
into nihilism and decadence, and turned to the powder that could
make them forget [hiropon]” (Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department
Stimulant Supervision Countermeasure Report 1955, p. 19)
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Figure 1: an anti-drug campaign poster by the Ministry of Health,
stating the dangers of hiropon. The visualisation of the skull and the
headless body alludes to the image of addiction that the government
sketched, as illustrated in the aforementioned quote by the
Metropolitan Police Department.
An interesting note is that the hypodermic needle was embraced as an essential piece of modern technology, which lead to the fact that nearly all post-war consumers of hiropon administered it through intravenous injection
(Kingsberg, p. 143). At the time, Japan was modernising rapidly, and thus became susceptible for new inventions to become highly popular.
Kingsberger states that at one point, hiropon was sold including needles in any grocery shop. While this habit is obsolete nowadays, it is still reflected, as most of the people I met in the rooms of NA in Tokyo had been addicted to injecting meth. This surprised me, since in my own experience in the
Netherlands, there is a much wider variety of different drugs of choice, and the way of administration is usually by insufflation or inhalation. I have only met a handful of recovering addicts that had used hypodermic injections during their active addiction, which is considered to be quite extreme. When
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I expressed my surprise about this during an NA LGBT (Lesbian, Gay,
Bisexual, Transgender) meeting in Tokyo, someone asked the group, which consisted of around 15 people that day, “which of you were addicted to injecting meth?” upon which every single one of them raised their hand.
While confirming the still existing popularity of the hypodermic needle in
Japan, it also alludes to a specific popularity of methamphetamine among gay communities. This is a phenomenon not exclusive to Japan, as methamphetamine is by far the most popular drug in urban gay communities throughout the US and Europe. I will detail the popularity of methamphetamine among gay users in chapter 2.2, after the following paragraph on the more recent developments about the drug in general in
Japan.
By the 1970s, Japan had changed drastically from a dependent war-ravaged nation to an independent economic powerhouse, in which the increasing wealth of the people once again called for a supply of stimulants. Since the brand hiropon had completely disappeared, methamphetamine had to be imported in its street-drug form from other parts of Asia. This is its crystal- structured form known nowadays as crystal meth, or shabu in Japanese slang.
Whereas hiropon had symbolized the national post-war state of despair, mobilising the nation in a collective effort to combat its use, shabu was (and still is) simply seen as a consumer’s choice in a highly industrialized and commercialized society (Kingsberg, 2013, p. 157). Whereas the hiropon crisis spawned all sorts of structured movements against its use, this time drug- users were largely ignored by society because they no longer evoked a national pity. It is perhaps because of this reason that a need developed for self-help groups for addicts who had no one else to reach out to. One of such groups, Narcotics Anonymous (NA), was introduced to Japan in the
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1982 (Official NA Website, 2015), making it one of the first non-English speaking countries to see NA meetings. In chapter 2.3, I will describe my own experience with NA in Tokyo, mapping its spaces and visitors.
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2.2: Methamphetamine Use in Gay Communities
In this sub-chapter I want to try and tackle the question as to why is it that stimulants, and methamphetamine in particular have gained such a widespread popularity among gay communities across the world, which is said to have reached epidemic levels of abuse in major metropolitan gay communities (Reback, 1997). One of the answers may be found in the psychological effects of the drug. It is said to induce euphoria, boost self- confidence and self-esteem, alongside acting as an aphrodisiac. These qualities are said to be particularly alluring to gay and bisexual men (Halkitis,
Parsons & Stirratt; 2001, p. 21). This is illustrated by the following quote I got from one of my informants, who preferred to stay anonymous with this sensitive information.
“I used to visit many hattenba (gay cruising areas), I would go a few
times a week and stay there for hours! Usually, most people were on
shabu [crystal meth]. Most hattenba are open 24/7, so you can walk in
and out whenever you wish. For example, you must have heard about
the 24-hour ‘kaikan’ [a gay sauna, close to where the gay bars are
centred in Tokyo]. Drugs are not allowed there, but if you keep them
hidden then they do not check for it. And of course there are many
dark and hidden-away areas for cruising. So it is a perfect area to use
drugs! Since I stopped using, I do not visit these places anymore. It is
less fun without drugs, and it is also too dangerous to see it around. I
might get tempted, which is not what I want right now.”
- An anonymous informant.
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Not only does methamphetamine reportedly stimulate sexual experiences, it also lowers the user’s boundaries and impairs judgement, leading to a significant increase in unsafe sexual encounters, which in turn greatly heightens the risk of contracting HIV for stimulant-using gay men. Halkitis,
Parsons & Stirrat (2001) call this the “double epidemic” in urban gay communities: methamphetamine abuse that goes hand in hand with high rates of HIV contraction. This connection is not singular, as HIV can be caught both by the behavioural effects of the drug (unsafe sex) as well as the mode of administration, which is by inhalation or injection, the latter also being able to transmit HIV. Since both of these behaviours are seen predominantly in gay communities, it is fair to say that my informants have been particularly vulnerable to this double epidemic of drugs and disease. This is fortified by the attitude towards safe sex in Japan, which is notoriously held in low consideration. HIV is seen as a foreign disease, so Japanese men often falsely think that as long as they are in Japan, only having intercourse with Japanese partners, they will not be exposed to HIV (Sawazaki, 1997).
This type of self-destructive behaviour reminds me of the so-called ‘death drive’, which is a concept used in queer studies. Queer used to have the same meaning as ‘gay’, but nowadays it refers to any person who does not conform to heteronormative sexuality or gender norms (Iasenza, 2010).
Shortly put, “the death drive names what the queer, in order of the social, is called forth to figure: the negativity opposed to every form of social viability”
(Edelman 2004, p. 9). Queer theorists such as Edelman argue that ‘queers’ symbolically stand for the opposing side. This rhetoric is as old as the story of
Sodom’s destruction that came to symbolise the sinfulness of homosexuality.
A recent manifestation of this rhetoric has been seen during and after the HIV
24 crises of the 1980s, as gays were (and still are) blamed for the physical infestation and destruction of humans.
While queer theory’s ‘death drive’ largely talks about an external, symbolic sort of rhetoric, I would argue that this death drive has been internalised by gay people worldwide, especially those who find themselves in precarious circumstances. How can one not assume an internalised death drive when looking at the case of HIV-positive medication rejecting gay methamphetamine abusers, as I discussed a few paragraphs earlier? There is a disregard for their own physical safety, which has been contributed to many factors, including the social (un-)acceptance of homosexuality but also uncertain perspectives of the future. This can be closely tied to precarity, which indicates a social position of uncertainty and vulnerability.
I have seen people close to me in which this internalised death drive in the shape of the double epidemic as described above had manifested. I have personally seen the experiences and motivations from a friend who passed away in 2013, at age 27. He was a regular methamphetamine user and he was HIV positive. He told me that he had stopped taking his HIV medication, because he thought it was made to poison him. This delusional paranoia is a typical symptom of stimulant abuse (Curran, et al 2004), and particularly perilous when it leads to HIV-positive users deliberately not taking their medication. Another unfortunate implication is that HIV-positive people, who do not take medication, are much more prone to transmitting the virus through sexual intercourse than their medication-adhering counterparts, which is due to the viral load that is present in bodily fluids, which medication is aimed to minimise. All these factors are like ink drops in water, since they only allow the problem to spread. I hope that the connection is obvious by now, as risky behaviour, unsafe sexual encounters and methamphetamine
25 use, all among gay men, are heavily correlated with each other. And most importantly, they all contribute to the particularly precarious circumstances that these men may find themselves in.
Since HIV-status is a sensitive issue, I did not ask for this very often, but I have confirmed that at least six of my close informants in Tokyo were HIV- positive. I have also heard it be mentioned by several other people who shared their stories during NA meetings. Sources such as the Japan HIV centre report that men are often complacent about HIV, thinking that there is nothing that can be done about it (Sawazaki, 1997). Further along in this chapter I will take HIV-status alongside homosexuality and drug abuse as factors of precarity, which I would argue are all intertwined.
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-AP .O 4AMACHI 49 東京都障害者福祉会館 4OKYO TO 3HOGAISHA &UKUSHI