Opportunity & Repression: LGBT Activism in an African Context
By Meredith Lukow
Honors Capstone Advised by Prof. Adrienne LeBas Department of Government School of Public Affairs University Honors Spring 2012 Lukow 1
Opportunity & Repression: LGBT Activism in an African Context
--- Can repression be beneficial for social movement mobilization? LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) organizations in Africa are becoming increasingly vocal advocates for equality and human rights in the face of severe cruelty from the state and society. This study investigates the strategies that African LGBT activists employ, when they are successful in claiming rights, and whether the existing Western- focused LGBT movement theory is applicable in an African context. The LGBT movements in three African countries—South Africa, Uganda, and Ghana—are compared using a multi-method analysis that includes data gathered from interviews, newspaper articles, and movement organization publications. According to this investigation, political opportunity is a significant factor for LGBT movement success in these African cases, despite Western LGBT movement theory’s focus on identity building. Additionally, contrary to the traditional view that repression has a uniform negative effect on mobilization, these findings indicate that repression may actually spur activism. Consequently, a serious revision of the classical approach to repression in social movement theory should be considered. ---
INTRODUCTION
LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) organizations across the globe are becoming increasingly vocal advocates for equality and the protection of human rights. Though many of these movements are decades old, they are a more modern phenomenon in Africa. According to human rights professor Chi Mgbako, “African
NGOs and community groups championing the rights of Africa's sexual minorities have recently won a number of ‘small but significant victories’” (3 May 2011).
Despite this surge in activism, most African states and societies are severely homophobic. This study aims to discern what strategies LGBT activist groups in Lukow 2
Africa employ, where they are successful, and whether the predominantly Western
LGBT movement theory is applicable in an African context.
According to this analysis, political opportunity is the most significant factor for LGBT movement success in these cases. For example, the end of apartheid in
South Africa opened an opportunity to enshrine LGBT rights in the new South
African constitution and thus provided a legal basis for all ensuing advocacy for
LGBT rights. Political opportunity is what allows LGBT movements to successfully achieve equality under the law.
Nevertheless, the classical view of political opportunity structure is too simplistic. The traditional political opportunity model predicts that repression will have a uniformly negative effect on mobilization. These findings indicate the opposite—that an increase in repression may actually spur members of the LGBT community into even greater activism. When LGBT people are permitted to live their lives privately and create isolated safe spaces without overt interference from the state, they are generally content with this status quo despite great societal homophobia and will not actively claim rights. However, when repression spikes and the day-to-day lives of LGBT people are threatened, as with the introduction of the Ugandan Anti-Homosexuality Bill, organizations form and activism increases.
Moreover, this study finds that existing LGBT movement theory lacking with respect to these African cases. This body of literature is predominantly Western and emphasizes identity and framing processes as the primary factors in LGBT movement success. Its failure to address political opportunity as a factor in achieving LGBT rights impedes the explanatory power of the theory. Lukow 3
This study analyzes and compares the LGBT movements in three African countries—South Africa, Uganda, and Ghana. These cases present a representative sample of in terms of the level of repression of the LGBT community in each country.
In South Africa, LGBT people are constitutionally protected from discrimination, while Uganda has severely criminalized homosexuality and Ghana has a largely hands-off approach to the existence of LGBT people. They also represent a wide spectrum of success in terms of enshrining legal LGBT rights. The South African movement has managed to entirely decriminalize LGBT relationships. Uganda has an active LGBT movement that is responding to state repression and even preparing a constitutional challenge to the current anti-LGBT laws. Conversely, Ghana has a number of homosexual safe spaces within society, but barely any LGBT activist organizations.
LITERATURE REVIEW
Current State of LGBT Movement Theory
The existing body of scholarship on LGBT movement theory is primarily centered on ideas of identity and framing within the Western context. At the most basic level, identity and framing processes create in movement participants the perception of oneself as an activist, a member of a larger group of activists, and part of an overarching narrative of social and political change within. A number of works have broadly considered the use of specific tactics by the LGBT movement. For example, Barclay, Bernstein, and Marshall (2009) approach the LGBT movement’s use of legal strategies through the lens of symbols, oppositional frames, and Lukow 4 meaning. While their book does mention some LGBT movements abroad, the majority of the situations they address occur in the United States. Others have used the LGBT movement as a case within broader social movement study, such as
Berbrier’s (2002) analysis of the American deaf, gay, and white supremacist movements’ incorporation of civil rights and minority status frames in an effort to gain societal legitimacy. In both cases, the literature emphasizes LGBT activists’ strategic use of framing without addressing the role that the American political landscape played in these cases.
Another category of existing LGBT movement scholarship considers LGBT movement dynamics in specific American localities. Armstrong (2005) analyzes the role played by the intersection of the homosexual movement with the New Left in the crystallization of the field of LGBT organizations in San Francisco in the early
1970s. She finds that this collision produced new identities and new perceptions of
“homosexual interests” in the LGBT movement, including the movement’s emphasis on securing civil liberties (Armstrong, 2005). Addressing more recent movement activity in San Francisco, Taylor et. al.’s (2009) study of a 2004 same-sex wedding protest identifies activists’ conceptions of collective identity and their impact on subsequent activism and movement sustainability. Bernstein (1997) investigates organizing around the consideration of LGBT rights ordinances in New York City,
Vermont, and Oregon, and LGBT movement responses to anti-LGBT legislation in
Colorado. She develops the concept of “identity deployment” in which activists choose to whether to celebrate or suppress their differences depending on the context (Bernstein, 1997). Though these works differ in their specific approach and Lukow 5 intent, they all focus on how LGBT identity impacts or is used by the American LGBT movement. As we will see below, though identity does play a role in the success of the South African LGBT movement, political opportunity has a significant effect and should also be considered throughout LGBT movement theory.
Stephen Engel’s work provides an exception to the rule regarding the unilateral focus of existing LGBT movement literature on identity and framing. His analysis compares the American and British LGBT movements in terms of political opportunities in addition to addressing collective identity formation and culture
(Engel, 2001). Nevertheless, like the bulk of LGBT movement theory, his work is
Western-centric. The open political and social landscape of Western liberal democracies differs greatly from states where the political space is much more controlled, as in Uganda, Ghana, and apartheid-era South Africa. Consequently, we cannot assume that theories developed solely in the Western context are applicable to other cases.
Within existing LGBT movement scholarship, what little consideration there is of LGBT organizing in the developing world tends to be broad in scope and address African cases as only a small piece of a broader analysis. These works also place great emphasis on identity and framing. Seckinelgin (2009), whose investigation focuses on India with some mention of Nigeria and Senegal, finds that the practice of internationalizing human rights frames can silence the voices of local
LGBT activists by imposing Western conceptions of LGBT identity on the movement.
Roberts (1995) conducted some of the first analysis of LGBT movements in the developing world. He investigates the role of the AIDS crisis as a catalyst in process Lukow 6 of LGBT identity formation and identifies a link between this newfound identity and
LGBT movement activity. While Roberts does briefly mention Africa, his principal cases are situated in Latin America, Southeast Asia, and Eastern Europe. Both of these authors tangentially address African cases. However, their primary focus lies elsewhere and, as with most LGBT movement scholarship, they stress the impact of identity and framing. The overwhelming weight that LGBT movement theory places on identity and framing processes emphasizes the movement’s internal dynamics without considering the particular socio-political context within which LGBT movements work.
Currently, South Africa is the sole African case with a substantial body of literature. The South African LGBT movement was inextricably tied up in the antiapartheid movement, which has made it a frequently studied topic. Moreover, the legalization of same-sex marriage in 2006 has brought further attention to the
South African LGBT movement. Recent works focus particularly on strategies the movement has used to defend its past gains. For example, Thoreson (2008) compares the South African LGBT movement’s success in maintaining rights to the more mixed success of the women’s movement and the inefficacy of the conservative countermovement. He finds that the LGBT movement has been successful due to stable political alignments and strategic messaging to ruling elites
(Thoreson, 2008). Currier’s (2010b) study of the South African LGBT movement investigates the strategy of “normalization” used by mainstream LGBT organizations to expel a group they perceive as a threat to the movement and protect the movement’s past victories from attack. While the South African case is a valid topic Lukow 7 of study, it merits comparison to the lack of LGBT movement success elsewhere in
Africa. What it is about South Africa that makes it so different than the rest of the continent?
In summary, the current body of LGBT movement theory focuses disproportionately on Western cases, with only minimal consideration of movements in the developing world and Africa in particular, and largely considers the movement success in terms of identity and framing tactics. The literature’s focus on internal processes of movement formation neglects the external factors that impact the movement, such as political opportunity. Additionally, the Western- centric nature of the literature fails to address how the West’s primarily liberal democratic political structures impact movement success. These biases result in distorted theory.
Importance of Political Opportunity
By focusing so intently on identity and framing, the existing LGBT movement scholarship neglects an important aspect of mainstream social movement theory: political opportunity structures, or changes in a national political system’s institutional structure or informal power relations that facilitate or constrain the emergence of social movements (McAdam, McCarthy, & Zald, 1995, pp. 4). Political process theorists such as Tilly, McAdam, and Tarrow championed this concept in response to the then-prevailing theories of collective action that focused on psychology as an explanatory factor (McAdam, McCarthy, & Zald, 1995, pp. 3). A number of circumstances contribute to political opportunity including the degree of
“openness” of the political system, the stability of elite alignments, the presence of Lukow 8 elite allies, and the state’s capacity for repression (McAdam, McCarthy, & Zald, 1995, pp. 10). These political opportunity proponents see changes that make the established political status quo more vulnerable as a necessary prerequisite for the formation and success of social movements (McAdam, McCarthy, & Zald, 1995, pp.
8). Though it has been revisited and revised countless times (e.g. Kriesi et. al., 1992;
Koopmans, 1993; McAdam, Tilly, and Tarrow, 2001), the basic idea of political opportunity structures has undergirded the study of social movements for decades.
Addendums to political opportunity theory include Kurzman’s work on the
1979 Iranian Revolution. Through his analysis of objective structural vulnerability in pre-revolution Iran, he finds that the revolution’s success did not stem from true opportunities, but from opportunities that were simply perceived by protestors
(Kurzman, 1996). Consequently, political opportunity theory has been expanded to consider not only changes in real political opportunities but also opportunities as experienced and seen by relevant actors. Political opportunity theory is clearly integral to the study of social movements and is a worthwhile framework to apply to
African LGBT movements as well.
This theory of political opportunity structure is particularly relevant to the case of South Africa. Though the existing LGBT movement theory’s work does inform some of the internal LGBT movement processes in the post-apartheid era, this does not explain the movement’s success by itself. Instead, in order to fully understand the South African LGBT movement’s achievement of legal same-sex marriage in 2006, it is necessary to consider the unprecedented political Lukow 9 opportunity provided by the inclusion of LGBT rights in the 1996 South African
Constitution.
Repression & Political Opportunity
However, the current understanding of political opportunity as it pertains to social movements is too simplistic, lacking the nuance required to be widely applicable. The traditional view under political opportunity theory is that repression has a direct, negative effect on mobilization. One of the first works to advance this theory was Snyder and Tilly’s “Hardship and Collective Violence in
France, 1830-1960” (1972). Originally intended as a critique of the then-dominant psychology-based theories of social movements, Snyder and Tilly’s study examines the fluctuations in levels of collective violence in France and compares these cycles to measures of hardship, government repression, and political activity (1972). They found that there was a negative correlation between instances of collective violence and indicators of repression—the level of excess arrests, size of the national budget, and “man-days” in jail (Snyder & Tilly, 1972). According to these findings, repression has a direct, deterrent impact on protest. For years, the bulk of social movement theory has taken for granted the idea that repression will decrease the level of activism and movement organization in a society.
More recently, a critique of the classical view of repression has appeared, detailing certain movements and networks that have been able to endure under conditions of severe repression by state or society. For example, Taylor investigates the persistence of the American women’s movement in the intervening years between the suffrage campaign in the 1920s and the movement’s rebirth in the Lukow 10
1960s (1989). She identifies a number of “abeyance structures,” or entities that allowed the movement to endure between upsurges in activism by providing continuity and maintaining the movement’s ideology (Taylor, 1989). Essentially, though the political climate was not receptive to the women’s movements goals, the movement carried on during this period in a more muted way through specific organizations and individuals. This work represents one of the first challenges to the dominant view that repression stifles activism.
Similarly, Simi and Futrell’s study of the American white power movement explores how members “materialize, communicate, and sustain white power identities under highly antagonistic social conditions” (2004, pp. 16). They find that the white power movement is able to endure such repression by creating “free spaces,” such as Bible study groups, music festivals, and online communities, where activists can safely express their views without restraint or fear of reprisal (Simi &
Futrell, 2004). These works on the women’s and white power movements suggest that though repression may have a deterrent effect on outright protest, it does not eliminate all forms of organization by activists.
Some authors have studied social movement organizations that, instead of simply subsisting below the surface, actually mobilize despite repression. Opp and
Roehl argue that, while repression is costly and consequently has a deterrent effect on protest, it will increase protest in certain circumstances where repression is considered illegitimate (1990). In these cases, repression launches micromobilization, defined as processes that raise the rewards and diminish the costs of participation (Opp & Roehl, 1990). Micromobilization can take a number of Lukow 11 forms, including increasing levels of prestige and approval for participants that are embedded in activist networks, increasing perception that the regime’s repression is immoral, or increasing perception that protest will achieve desired political goals—all of which encourage individuals to protest despite the costs of repression
(Opp & Roehl, 1990). Where such processes exist, the expected impact of repression is reversed.
Other scholars have observed similar instances of mobilization despite repression, but attribute this phenomenon more to a baseline existence of organization and activism instead of individually altered cost-benefit analyses.
Almeida’s work on social movement organizations in El Salvador indicates that expanded opportunities in the form of increased institutional access and the introduction of competitive elections allowed activists to form sustainable organizations (2003). Later, when these opportunities disappeared, the existing network of organizations was durable enough to continue its work despite state repression (Almeida, 2003). Einwohner also argues that repression does not stomp out activism. Her study of the Jewish resistance movement in the Warsaw ghetto during the Holocaust demonstrates that social movement organizations can mobilize activists even in the most repressive of circumstances (Einwohner, 2006).
The work of Almeida, Einwohner, and others marks the beginning of a burgeoning body of scholarship that contests the traditional view that repression has a direct, deterrent impact on social movement mobilization.
Lukow 12
METHODS
Each case considers the domestic LGBT movement on each of McAdam,
McCarthy, and Zald’s three primary factors for analyzing social movements: political opportunities, mobilizing structures, and framing processes (1996, pp. 2) using a multi-method analysis that considers data from interviews, newspaper articles, and movement organization publications with the goal of evaluating the strategies and successes of each movement. Because the South African LGBT movement is more established that those in Uganda and Ghana and has more available data, South
Africa acts as a theory-generating case for this study.
While some may argue that the difference between the circumstances for
LGBT people in South Africa versus Uganda is simply the result of culture instead of political opportunity structures, the selection of these cases controls for cultural effects. South Africa, Uganda, and Ghana are all former British colonies. In each case, there is evidence that the traditional African cultures were at least somewhat tolerant of LGBT people and that the current state of homophobia derives from a combination of British common law sodomy bans and fundamentalist Christian and
Islamic rhetoric (Epprecht, 2005, pp. 139-140). According to Epprecht, history reveals “different and quite humane ways that African societies have understood or even honored people who did not fit heterosexual ideals” (2005, pp. 142). For example, many African cultures explained homosexual attraction as a spirit possession of female person by a male ancestor and vice versa (Epprecht, 2005, pp.
139). Similarly, there are reports of homosexuality between Hutu and Tutsi youth Lukow 13 in pre-colonial Rwanda and a homosexual king named Mwanga in pre-colonial
Uganda (Tamale, 2007, pp. 92-93). Consequently, the variation between these cases cannot be explained by differences in culture alone.
The first section will address the South African LGBT movement, from its apartheid-era beginning to its resurgence as part of the antiapartheid movement coalition and eventual success in achieving full legal equality for LGBT South
Africans. Second, the paper will investigate the Ugandan case, showing how the
LGBT movement went from an underground network of groups providing healthcare and safe spaces for LGBT people to a full-fledged, organized movement of committed vocal activists despite severe state repression. The third section will cover the LGBT movement, or lack thereof, in Ghana. This case will demonstrate why LGBT Ghanaians have not created formal activists organizations thus far and how increasing societal repression has driven them to start claiming rights more vocally in recent years.
SOUTH AFRICA
Beginnings of the South African LGBT Movement
South Africa has the oldest and most well established LGBT movement of the three cases. The country’s white Afrikaner-dominated society was notorious not only for its extreme racial segregation, but also for its history of sexual conservatism
(Kende, 2009, pp. 135). Under apartheid, almost all sexual acts between men were criminalized either under common law rules on sodomy and “unnatural acts” or by a provision of the Sexual Offences Act 23 of 1957 (Louw, 2005, pp. 143). However, Lukow 14 lesbian relationships were not criminalized except for certain age of consent provisions (Louw, 2005, pp. 144). As with many of the Western LGBT movements,
South Africa’s movement evolved over time from bar culture, to social support organizations, to political activism (Gevisser & Cameron, 1995, pp. 9). Moreover, it progressed from white, private, and male-dominated movement to a public, politicized, and inclusivist movement in the post-apartheid era (Louw, 2005, pp.
148).
South Africa’s LGBT movement emerged in the late 1960s in response to the police raids on white gay clubs and private parties in the Johannesburg suburbs
(Currier, 2010a, pp. 157). The affected white gay men and lesbians organized in an attempt to curb raids and decriminalize sodomy (Currier, 2010a, pp. 157). These organizations were composed of primarily white, middle class individuals and were embedded in the apartheid political structure (Louw, 2005, pp. 148). Consequently, while South Africa’s LGBT movement has existed for nearly half a century, its first iteration represented only a small minority of the country’s LGBT population.
The circumstances were very different for black LGBT people during the apartheid era. In many black townships, communities found it easier to understand gender-deviant boys as girls or as biologically mixed third sex—the idea of
“homosexuality” did not even exist (Donham, 1998, pp. 8). These individuals were met more with curiosity than intolerance. Nevertheless, certain LGBT cultural networks were present below the surface. For example, Donham chronicles the existence of a group of boys who dressed as girls, called skesanas, in Johannesburg- area townships (1998, pp. 8). He also finds gay culture in the all-male hostels that Lukow 15 provided temporary housing for laborers in the white-dominated economy (10).
Men in the hostels were separated from their rural families for extended periods of time and often took younger workers as “wives” (Donham, 1998, pp. 10). While
LGBT cultural elements existed in black communities, there were no formal organizations or activist activities at this time.
During the 1980s, LGBT politics moved into the national arena in conjunction with the antiapartheid movement (Louw, 2005, pp. 148). The first initiative to raise issue of LGBT rights in the burgeoning democratic movement was Lesbians and
Gays Against Oppression (LAGO), which was founded in June 1986 and later became the Organisation of Lesbian and Gay Activists (OLGA) in 1987 (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 269). OLGA’s membership was primarily white but its leaders were antiapartheid activists and “firmly embedded in the liberation struggle” (Louw,
2005, pp. 148). OLGA’s mission was “forming a non-racial South Africa free of all forms of oppression, including the oppression of lesbians and gay men” (Fine &
Nicol, 1995, pp. 269). The organization was formed in response to existing LGBT organizations’ failure to take an antiapartheid stance (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 270).
Moreover, its founders perceived “a need to present an organised challenge to the homophobic ethos which [they] experienced as prevailing within anti-apartheid organizations in which they were active” (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 270). OLGA was as an affiliate of a loose antiapartheid alliance called the United Democratic Front until its dissolution in 1991 (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 270).
The 1980s also saw the broadening of LGBT activism into black townships.
During the historic Delmas Treason Trial, well-known antiapartheid activist Simon Lukow 16
Nkoli publically came out as gay (Louw, 2005, pp. 148). He became a symbol for gay people in the antiapartheid movement (Donham, 1998, pp. 12) and went on to found the first mass-based LGBT organization in South Africa—the Gay and Lesbian
Organization of the Witwatersrand (GLOW) (Louw, 2005, pp. 148). Nkoli’s imprisonment also led progressive members of the international antiapartheid movement to introduce issue of gay rights to the African National Congress (ANC), which was a major influence on the ANC’s later decision to include gay rights in its human rights agenda (Donham, 1998, pp. 13).
GLOW was composed of both blacks and whites and was the principal LGBT organization in the Johannesburg area (Donham, 1998, pp. 3). Because GLOW was multiracial, it represented an attempt to upset the racism that marred both the
LGBT movement and South African society (Currier, 2011, pp. 30). GLOW joined the antiapartheid revolution but initiated public campaigns on own terms (Currier,
2011, pp. 30). GLOW represented a very different kind of LGBT activism than the white inside influencers of the 1960s-era organizations.
The End of Apartheid Brings Opportunity
The democratic movement in South Africa and the dissolution of the apartheid state allowed the LGBT movement to advance its claims for rights and greater inclusion on a number of fronts. The struggle for liberation reframed South
African identities, mobilized communities, and provided political opportunities as the government was reconstituted at the end of apartheid. Lukow 17
The success of the antiapartheid movement completely changed activists’ conceptions of their own identities. According to Gevisser and Cameron, who are both activists and scholars of the South African LGBT movement (1995, pp. 4-5):
Since the unbanning of the liberation movements in 1990, our identities
and aspirations have been unshackled. South Africans have explored,
argued, and exchanged ideas as never before. South Africa’s forty
million citizens are restaking claim to their future. The majority of
activists are adamant that the struggle for justice and true liberation in
this country must include a commitment to lesbian and gay
equality…Asserting a lesbian or gay identity in South Africa is thus more
than a necessary act of self-expression. It is a defiance of the fixed
identities—of race, ethnicity, class, gender, and sexuality—that the
apartheid system attempted to impose on all of us.
For black men in townships especially, identifying as gay was a recent phenomenon and tied up with larger historical transformation of “freeing South
Africa” (Donham, 1998, pp. 6). “The overlapping of the national and gay questions means that gay identity in South Africa reverberates…with a proud new national identity” (Donham, 1998, pp. 16). As a result of the antiapartheid movement and its radical reorganization of South African society, individuals outside of traditional heteronormative boundaries began to claim their LGBT identities as never before.
The antiapartheid movement also provided the LGBT movement with a salient mobilization structure. After black LGBT South Africans rose to claim their rights under their racial identity, they were already organized, energized, and Lukow 18 prepared to also claim rights under their LGBT identity. In the words of Gamson, “It is difficult to construct from scratch. If people already share a sense of moral indignation and injustice, think of themselves as a we in opposition to some they, and have shared models of people like themselves acting to change conditions, the raw materials are in place" (1995, pp. 111). LGBT activists successfully reframed the antiapartheid revolution as “their revolution” and helped integrate LGBT South
Africans of different races into the new South Africa (Currier, 2011, pp. 31).
As the apartheid structures crumbled, the changing political climate also gave LGBT activists new opportunities to advocate for inclusion in the new government. LGBT activist leaders like Simon Nkoli viewed national liberation as
“an opportunity for initiating social and political change that would benefit groups that are marginalized because of race and sexuality” (Currier, 2011, pp. 23-24).
According to Knotts, “LGBT rights were enshrined in the new South African constitution because the LGBT movement participated in the movement against apartheid. They were out in the streets with everyone else and were owed something in return” (6 March 2012). The reconfiguration of the country’s social structures provided an opportunity for inclusion while the LGBT movement’s participation in the antiapartheid coalition gave them the access they needed to effectively utilize that opportunity.
While Western LGBT movement literature emphasizes the formation of salient LGBT identities as the key factor for successful LGBT movements, the South
African movement tried to downplay the unique character of LGBT identity.
Instead, LGBT rights advocates sought to link their equality struggle to the Lukow 19 antiapartheid frame (Kende, 2009, pp. 150). According to Fine and Nicol (1995, pp.
275):
The strength of our cause in fighting for lesbian and gay rights is that
we are calling for the upholding of basic human rights. This makes our
call one of principle to be respected and implemented by any party or
coalitions of parties holding the future reins of political power and
claiming to uphold basic human rights.
Though recognizing LGBT identities was a piece of the puzzle, the South African
LGBT movement’s success was largely tied to its bonds with the dominant antiapartheid activist identity and its effective use of the unique opportunity brought by the drafting of a new constitution. Essentially, apartheid-era repression generated activist frames and organizational capacity in the democratic movement, which were then inherited by the South African LGBT movement.
The Fight for an Equality Clause
Though the participation of LGBT activists in the antiapartheid struggle gave the movement access to the ANC leadership, it still took significant lobbying and strategizing to get sexual orientation and gender identity included in the new constitution’s equality clause. The fight for inclusion began as early as September
1987, when an interview with ANC National Executive Committee member Ruth
Mompati quoted her saying that lesbians and gay men were “not normal” and “I cannot even begin to understand why people want lesbian and gay rights” (Fine &
Nicol, 1995, pp. 270). This incident resulted in a negative backlash from British anti-apartheid organizations as well as Dutch and Scandinavian groups and some Lukow 20 even threatened to withdraw their support for the ANC if Mompati’s statements were not retracted (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 270). In a matter of weeks, the ANC responded to these threats by offering a new interview with spokesperson Frene
Ginwala in which she stated (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 270-271):
ANC policy towards gays and lesbians and towards other groups in
South Africa which are discriminated against has to be the same,
because it is an issue of principle enshrined in our Freedom Charter.
The raison d’être of the ANC’s existence is to fight discrimination and
deprivation of gays and lesbians cannot be excluded from that process.
Though this incident forced the ANC leadership to take a clear policy stance on
LGBT rights, this was only one step towards obtaining constitutionally guaranteed equality.
In 1989, the Organisation of Lesbian and Gay Activists (OLGA) began to formulate a response to the ANC’s draft Constitutional Guidelines, which excluded any mention of LGBT rights (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 270). Within the next year,
OLGA set up a working group to research and formulate recommendations, held meetings with various members of the ANC, and made extensive submissions to the
ANC’s Constitutional Committee (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 271). OLGA and other
LGBT activists argued that sexual orientation in conjunction with gender issues were a necessary piece of the development of social and economic rights for all
(Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 271). As a result of these lobbying efforts, LGBT nondiscrimination was included in the November 1990 draft Bill of Rights and came Lukow 21 to be viewed by many ANC leaders as a necessary part of any “genuinely democratic ethos” (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 272).
Despite this major victory, the LGBT movement still needed to undertake an enormous amount of education and lobbying work in order to convince ANC rank- and-file members to accept the equality clause. At this stage, the movement’s major strategy was coalition building. OLGA members attended gender and health workshops, networked with sympathetic groups like the Women’s Alliance in the
Western Cape, and raised the issue within own ANC branch and regional structures in an attempt to bring more awareness to the issue (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 272). In addition, OLGA began lobbying other parties and organizations across political spectrum (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp. 273). These activities garnered support for LGBT equality among external allies, further solidifying favor for including protections for
LGBT people in the new constitution.
At the ANC Policy Conference in May 1992, the ANC membership voted to formally recognize LGBT rights as part of its policy and included “the right not to be discriminated against or subjected to harassment because of sexual orientation” in its draft Bill of Rights. With this action, the ANC became the first mass-based movement in Africa to formally acknowledge to LGBT rights (Fine & Nicol, 1995, pp.
269). The equality clause that later appeared in the final version of the new South
African constitution, enacted in 1996, read as follows (Louw, 2005, pp. 142):
The state [nor any person] may not unfairly discriminate directly or
indirectly against anyone on one or more grounds, including race,
gender, sex, pregnancy, marital status, ethnic or social origin, colour, Lukow 22
sexual orientation, age, disability, religion, conscience, belief, culture,
language and birth.”
This victory set up a subsequent political opportunity for the South African
LGBT movement—an institutionalized, constitutionally protected guarantee of nondiscrimination—which opened the door for a decade of legal victories for LGBT rights.
The Movement Goes to Court
Once LGBT nondiscrimination became enshrined in the new South African constitution, the thrust of the LGBT movement’s advocacy efforts shifted to the legal arena. A coalition of LGBT organizations formed to “implement a progressive agenda of gay and lesbian rights litigation” (Louw, 2005, pp. 141). Edwin Cameron, an openly gay, Oxford-educated scholar, and Zachie Achmat, an AIDS activist and former male prostitute founded the National Coalition for Gay and Lesbian Equality
(NCGLE) in 1994 (Kende, 2009, pp. 135). The NCGLE’s strategy was to begin by challenging the anti-sodomy laws in order to establish some favorable decisions, raise public consciousness, and test the antiapartheid movement’s universalist rhetoric before delving into same-sex marriage issues (Kende, 2009, pp. 136).
In its first case, the NCGLE partnered with the South African Human Rights
Commission to argue before the Witwatersrand High Court that three crimes involving sodomy and unnatural acts were inconsistent with the constitution’s equality clause (Louw, 2005, pp. 145). The Court ruled in favor of the NCGLE in
1998 (Currier, 2009, pp. 27). The legal argument used in this decision has direct parallels with the widespread desire to leave behind the country’s discriminatory Lukow 23 past under apartheid. A portion of the Court’s decision reads, “Just as apartheid legislation rendered the lives of couples of different racial groups perpetually at risk, the sodomy offence builds insecurity and vulnerability into the daily lives of gay men” (Louw, 2005, pp. 147). Thus, the antiapartheid movement not only opened up an opportunity for the LGBT movement to be included in the new constitution, but also left a legacy that mandates protection for marginalized groups in the future.
By striking down the anti-sodomy laws, the High Court also established jurisprudence on LGBT rights to equality, dignity, and privacy (Louw, 2005, pp.
141). This provided the legal basis for a slew of cases over the next several years in which the Court ruled that “same-sex couples in permanent life partnerships” have the same rights to immigration, employment benefits, custody, and adoption as heterosexual couples (Louw, 2005, pp. 141). Each of these decisions was another step toward full equality for LGBT individuals.
Following these legal victories, the NCGLE started a “Recognise our
Relationships” campaign advocating for the right of LGBT couples to marry (Louw,
2005, pp. 153). LGBT activists and their allies pressured lawmakers and mobilized constituents to write letters supporting marriage equality (Currier, 2011, pp. 31).
Eventually, the South African Constitutional Court endorsed gay marriage in the
2005 case Minister of Home Affairs v. Fourie (Kende, 2009, pp. 142). However, the presiding justice suspended the implementation of the decision for one year to allow Parliament to establish a regulatory scheme (Kende, 2009, pp. 145-146). In
2006, South African lawmakers finally legalized same-sex marriage in a near unanimous vote after the LGBT conducted significant lobbying efforts to win over Lukow 24 reluctant members of Parliament (Currier, 2011, pp. 22). With the legalization of same-sex marriage, the South African LGBT movement has essentially exhausted all of its potential to advocate through the courts.
Though most South Africans disapprove of same-sex marriage, the country’s history of apartheid has allowed to the LGBT movement to pursue legal protections.
Many in the legal realm argue that it is “even more important in South Africa that the Constitutional Court act as a beacon for the rule of law, regardless of public opinion, given the nation’s history of official lawlessness” (Kende, 2009, pp. 151-
152). Because racial discrimination was institutionally protected for such a long period in South African history, many in the ruling ANC party feel obliged to protect minority rights even when it goes against the majority opinion. Additionally, due to the nation’s preoccupation with its myriad economic, health, and crime issues, there is a minimal likelihood of serious backlash on LGBT rights (Kende, 2009, pp. 152).
Since the marriage law passed in 2006, the LGBT movement has accomplished its goal of equality and nondiscrimination under domestic law.
Today’s Problems and Priorities
Though the South Africa LGBT movement has successfully achieved full legal equality, there is still more work to be done. Domestically, the movement must defend its victories from opponents and ensure that legal protections reach all LGBT
South Africans regardless of their socioeconomic status. Additionally, South African
LGBT organizations advise fellow activists regionally in an effort to spread LGBT equality outside its borders. Lukow 25
Thus far, the LGBT movement has succeeded in defending the legal gains it obtained in the decade after the new constitution came into force. According to
Thoreson’s 2008 study of the South African LGBT movement and its opponents, the
LGBT movement has been successful in maintaining political rights in the face of societal homophobia because of the country’s stable political alignments (pp. 679).
Since the ANC holds 70 percent of the seats in the National Assembly and faces no serious challengers, it can afford to support some unpopular policy stances, such as
LGBT rights (Thoreson, 2008, pp. 684). Though LGBT equality opponents have called for a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage, the alliance between the LBGT movement and the ANC, dating back to the antiapartheid coalition, ensures that LGBT rights will continue to be protected by the government for the foreseeable future (Thoreson, 2008, pp. 684). Consequently, the relationships and organizational capacity forged during the antiapartheid movement continue to serve LGBT activists.
One problem that needs a great deal more attention is the level of inequality among members of the LGBT community. According to Samba, “those who are wealthy have generally been able to buy their freedom and the sexual orientation clause simply meant they were able to buy this freedom more easily through appealing the law” (2009, pp. 310). This reality comes in stark contrast to LGBT individuals in rural areas who are often unaware of their legal rights (Samba, 2009, pp. 310). Moreover, the public visibility of the LGBT community can have different consequences for LGBT people depending on the individuals’ race, ethnicity, class, and nationality (Currier, 2010a, pp. 156). For example, black lesbians and gay men Lukow 26 in townships have a much higher risk of homophobic violence (Currier, 2010a, pp.
156). One of the most pressing problems is the phenomenon of “curative rapes” of lesbians in South African townships, in which rape is justified as a strategy to change lesbians’ sexual orientation. While the government’s minister of police and prisons acknowledges that “curative rape” is an issue, the heart of the problem is a lack of police enforcement on a local level (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Though the LGBT movement has achieved full legal equality at the national level, it still must work to ensure that these rights reach all members of South African society.
One of the organizations doing this work is the Lesbian and Gay Equality
Project, the most recent incarnation of the NCGLE (Samba, 2009, pp. 312). Most recently, the LGEP has partnered with the Civil Society Development Fund to mobilize against homophobic hate crimes in townships. This program aims to get hate crimes on the national policy agenda and uses strategic litigation to get justice for victims of hate crimes (“Welcome to the Equality Project”). This focus gives the
LGEP an outlet for its legal expertise. Moreover, because the LGEP was founded during the democratic transition, it represents one of the many ways that the organizational capacity generated during the antiapartheid movement continues to provide support to the modern LGBT community.
The South African LGBT movement also provides support to other LGBT activists in the region. One organization that works on this issue is Behind the Mask, which utilizes “strategies of amateur journalism and marketing to increase the visibility of the organization, LGBT people, and LGBT movements in Africa and forge ties with other grassroots organizations” (Currier, 2010a, pp. 157). Behind the Lukow 27
Mask’s primary vehicle for activism is its website, which provides a platform for the
LGBT community to communicate via online chatting and up-to-date news articles about LGBT issues throughout the continent (Currier, 2010a, pp. 159). Moving forward, Behind the Mask hopes to develop a network of correspondents throughout Africa in an effort to show LGBT people abroad that they are not alone
(Currier, 2010a, pp. 160). Thus, now that the South African movement has accomplished its goal of full legal equality, it has begun to reallocate some of its resources to helping fellow activists in the region achieve their own rights.
The LGBT movement has made great progress in South Africa—moving from
LGBT as a criminalized identity to full equality in a mere twenty years. While a number of factors contributed to this success, it was the organizational capacity inherited from the antiapartheid movement and the political opportunity provided by the post-apartheid restructuring of the South African state that truly mattered for the LGBT movement.
UGANDA
Repression—The Status Quo
Though Uganda rose to international notoriety for its repression of LGBT people with the introduction of the so-called “Kill the Gays” Bill in 2009, the country was a hostile place for LGBT people even before the Anti-Homosexuality Bill was conceived. First and foremost, repression of the LGBT community stems from the state. The Ugandan Penal Code criminalizes homosexual acts, prescribing punishments ranging from seven years to life in prison depending on the particular Lukow 28 section of the Code used to prosecute an individual (Englander, 2011, pp. 1267).
While people are rarely convicted because of the high level of proof needed for conviction (Ssebaggala, 2011, pp. 47), this does not mean that LGBT people are not in danger. Prior to the introduction of the Bill, if you were publically perceived to be a homosexual, you were likely to be arrested and tortured, even if you were not formally charged with violating the law (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). For example, in September 1999, the Ugandan state-owned newspaper New Vision reported that President Museveni called on the police to round up all of the homosexuals in Kampala (Tamale, 2007, pp. 25). According to Frank Mugisha, the director of Sexual Minorities Uganda, “Here, lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people suffer brutal attacks, yet cannot report them to the police for fear of additional violence, humiliation, rape or imprisonment at the hands of the authorities” (22 Dec 2011).
Police violence is not the only danger for the Ugandan LGBT community. For example, LGBT people have been “forcibly confined in medical institutions and subjected to electroshock treatment (Englander, 2011, pp. 1277). Additionally, freedom of speech is often curtailed in the LGBT community. For instance, in
October 2004, another Ugandan newspaper, The Monitor, reported that a Ugandan radio station was fined for simply hosting LGBT people on a talk show (Tamale,
2007, pp. 30). The Uganda government actively pursues sanctions on its LGBT citizens in a variety of ways.
However, state repression of the LGBT community reflects a wider disapproval of homosexuality across Ugandan society. Evan Fowler, an American Lukow 29 who worked in Uganda for a period of time remembers that homosexuality was a taboo subject and recalls an incident in which a university-educated friend told her,
“Thank God you aren’t gay” (3 April 2012). Additionally, a 2007 Stedman poll showed that 95% of Ugandans are “against” homosexuality (Ssebaggala, 2011, pp.
51). Generally speaking, homosexuality is seen as “one aspect of Uganda’s moral decline” (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 112) and LGBT rights are viewed “not as human rights, but as invented rights” (Knotts, 6 March 2012). This high level of societal condemnation makes it extremely difficult to be publically LGBT in Uganda.
Moreover, religious leaders and media coverage reinforce these existing homophobic views. American evangelicals often encourage Ugandan pastors to use homophobic rhetoric to rally their own congregations and even provide talking points and source material for this purpose (Englander, 2011, pp. 1273).
Archbishop Henry Orombi, the head of the Church of Uganda, even broke away from the U.S. Episcopal Church because of its position on homosexuality and is frequently quoted speaking out on the topic (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 112). Also, “high-profile born-again pastors,” such as Pastor Martin Ssempa who leads the Faith Rainbow
Coalition against Homosexuality, speak from the pulpit about the evils of homosexuality (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 112). The statements of prominent leaders like Orombi and Ssempa are often highlighted in media coverage of LGBT issues.
Though homosexuality existed and was, on some level, tolerated in pre- colonial Uganda, certain traditional values make the practice seem particularly abhorrent to mainstream Ugandans. According to Sadgrove et. al. (2012, pp. 117): Lukow 30
The threat that homosexuality is deemed to pose to the future of
Uganda is heavily focused on the vulnerability of the traditional family,
undermined by the actions of homosexuals who reject their reproductive
potential and thus defy their responsibility to produce future Ugandan
generations.
Historically, marriage and childbearing have been seen as a practical arrangement that “secures the inheritance and transfer of land and resources within the kinship group,…and [brings] new parts of the community into economic as well as social relationship with each other” (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 119). This means that
LGBT individuals that eschew marriage are perceived as prioritizing their own interests over those of their family (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 119). According to
Bishop Senyonjo, some Ugandans take the link between homosexuality and procreation so far that they think that homosexuality is a Western conspiracy to reduce the number of people in Africa (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 118). This widespread suspicion of homosexuality makes any overt claiming of rights very difficult. Overall, the combination of state and social repression has historically deterred the LGBT community from engaging in public, visible activism.
Beginnings of the Ugandan LGBT Movement
Nevertheless, norms of privacy in conjunction with a stable level of repression allowed LGBT Ugandans to carve out safe spaces for themselves outside of the public eye. In the words of Ssebaggala, “For Ugandans, the sex they don’t hear about—gay or straight—doesn’t happen” (2011, pp. 48). In an address to a
Ugandan youth group in 2009, President Museveni even alluded to the Lukow 31 permissibility of homosexuality as long as it is relegated to the private realm, saying,
“We used to have very few homosexuals traditionally. They were not persecuted but were not encouraged either because it was clear that is not how God arranged things to be” (Ssebaggala, 2011, pp. 50). In order to fulfill the social expectation to get married and have children, many LGBT Ugandans identify as “bisexual” and live double lives with both a heterosexual spouse and homosexual extra-marital encounters (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 118). The importance of privacy in Ugandan culture permitted this sort of activity as long as the traditional role of spouse and parent was fulfilled.
Those LGBT organizations that did exist prior to the Anti-Homosexuality Bill tended to keep a low profile and quietly engaged in health and service provision for marginalized individuals. Many organizations were founded because of the lack of safe space for LGBT young people (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Still, there were a few brave individuals who were willing to speak out. In a 2007 essay entitled “No Human Being Should be Deprived of Love,” Ugandan Bishop
Christopher Senyonjo calls for tolerance and acceptance of LGBT people, saying “Let us give ear to the homosexuals so that we can live together in peace and love”
(Tamale, 2007, pp. pp. 16). Regardless, many members of the LGBT community thought it was dangerous and counterproductive to make public claims for LGBT rights.
Sexual Minorities Uganda (SMUG) is one of the few formal LGBT advocacy groups that existed prior to the Anti-Homosexuality Bill and arguably the most vocal. SMUG is a coalition of smaller LGBT groups that was formed around 2003 Lukow 32
(Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). In 2007, SMUG held its first public action— a press conference and rally attended by more than 30 LGBT activists, many of whom wore masks to protect their identities, who demanded acceptance and an end to discrimination (Tamale, 2007, pp. 124). One small early victory achieved by
SMUG activists came from the Ugandan courts. After the home of SMUG’s then- director, Victor Mukasa, was raided by police on the grounds of suspected homosexual activity, the organization filed a lawsuit claiming that the raid was an invasion of privacy and won (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Aside from this minor success, the LGBT movement in Uganda was not able to accomplish much before 2009. However, the underground network of LGBT spaces and organizations provided a base from which the LGBT community was able to respond to the Anti-
Homosexuality Bill.
The Anti-Homosexuality Bill Changes the Game
The introduction of the Anti-Homosexuality Bill in 2009 was a turning point for Ugandan LGBT activists and has shaped everything that the movement has experienced since. While the LGBT community had previously been able to survive within the private sphere, the Bill’s harsh punishments threatened the very existence of LGBT Ugandans. Moreover, the introduction of the Bill brought increased attention to the issue of homosexuality and with it an upswing in homophobic rhetoric and violence within Ugandan society. However, this sudden swell in repression did not drive LGBT Ugandans further underground. Instead, the
LGBT community began to feel as if they had nothing to lose and activism actually increased. Lukow 33
In October 2009, MP David Bahati introduced the Anti-Homosexuality Bill in the Ugandan Parliament with the goals of “[strengthening] the nation’s capacity to deal with emerging internal and external threats to the traditional heterosexual family, [protecting] the legal and religious values of Ugandans, and [protecting] children from being raised by parents in homosexual relationships” (Englander,
2011, pp. 1274). The Bill includes extremely harsh penalties, punishing anyone who
“engages in homosexuality” with life in prison and mandating the death penalty for
“aggravated homosexuality” (Englander, 2011, pp. 1263). It also makes it a criminal offense for any Ugandan not to report a known homosexual to the police, thereby criminalizing landlords with LGBT tenants and teachers and parents of LGBT children (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 104). In addition, the Bill criminalizes the distribution of homosexual literature, prohibits the ratification of any international agreement that provides rights to LGBT people, and bans organizations that promote homosexuality (Englander, 2011, pp. 1274). Clearly, this represents a significant potential increase in state repression compared to the relatively unenforced existing anti-homosexuality laws.
Though the Anti-Homosexuality Bill has been reintroduced in every legislative session since 2009, it has never been brought up for an official vote
(Knotts, 6 March 2012). Nevertheless, the Bill’s introduction alone has caused a very real increase in repression within Ugandan society. According to Englander, the Bill sparked greater homophobia “with citizens, politicians, and the media branding LGBT people as unAfrican, threats to children, and less than human”
(2011, pp. 1264). Violence has escalated, “including beatings, disappearances, Lukow 34 corrective rapes of lesbians, vigilante squads, and preachers calling out ‘homos’ in their own pews” (Englander, 2011, pp. 1264).
The evangelical community has been particularly active in promoting homophobic discourse. In fact, the Bill’s language was directly influenced by the
American fundamentalist group “The Family,” of which bill sponsor MP Bahati is a member (Knotts, 6 March 2012). When Bahati was asked what the connection is between The Family and the Anti-Homosexuality Bill, he said, “There is no
‘connection.’ They are the same thing” (Englander, 2011, pp. 1271). In the words of one anonymous civil society source, “the influence of American evangelicals has led to a whole new level of public aggression against homosexuals in Uganda” (Civil
Society Source 2, 30 March 2012). However, the role of religious leaders does not end with the Bill itself. They have also been vocal advocates of homophobia within families and society at large. For example, in January 2010 The Monitor reported that Rev. Johnson Twinomujuni of the Uganda Bible Institute Mbarara urged parents to get actively involved in fighting homosexuality (Tumushabe, 29 Jan. 2010).
The media has also fanned the flames of homophobia since the introduction of the Bill. According to Sadgrove et. al., “The dominant tone of Uganda’s state media reporting over the draft bill has framed the ‘threat’ posed by increasing lesbian and gay activism and presence in the country in relation to concerns over
‘Uganda’s moral decadence’ and ‘moral bankruptcy,’” (2012, pp. 105) and
“Newspaper debates about homosexuality in Uganda reveal and reflect profound social anxieties over the changing nature of sexual norms and discourses” (111). Lukow 35
Overall, there has been an upsurge in volume of press coverage on homosexuality since the Bill’s introduction (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 112).
Uganda also has an increasingly competitive print media market with several dozen newspapers. This situation incentivizes providing sensationalist accounts in an attempt to attract increased readership (Sadgrove et. al., 2012, pp. 111). For example, in 2010 Uganda’s Rolling Stone magazine published an article entitled “Top
Homos” that incited violence against LGBT activists by publishing their photos and addresses with a headline reading, “Hang Them” (Englander, 2011, pp. 1273).
Prominent activist and SMUG advocacy director David Kato, who was outed in the article, was brutally killed soon after (Rice, 27 Jan 2011). Consequently, the
Ugandan media not only increased homophobic rhetoric but also spurred violence directed at the LGBT community.
Though the situation was quite repressive in Uganda before the introduction of the Anti-Homosexuality Bill, enforcement of the law barring homosexuality was spotty and cultural norms of privacy allowed most LGBT people to go about their daily lives in relative safety. However, the Anti-Homosexuality Bill now jeopardizes the day-to-day survival of the LGBT community. According to Englander, “In
Uganda, homosexuality has been criminalized for decades, and such state-sponsored inequality has therefore been institutionalized. The Bill, however…loudly announced a new level of intolerance toward homosexuality” (2011, pp. 1277). By wrenching up potential state repression and homophobic rhetoric, the Bill actually spurred the LGBT movement into higher levels of activism. Lukow 36
According to an anonymous civil society source, many LGBT activists now say that they are actually thankful for the bill because it strengthened the movement
(Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Knotts observes that, if the bill was not so bad, LGBT people “would have laid low and not rocked the boat, but the oppression was so fierce and the bill was so threatening” (6 March 2012). Before the bill, LGBT activists had “gotten complacent” (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Since the bill was first introduced in 2009, the Ugandan movement has transitioned from primarily providing health services and safe spaces into developing true advocacy campaigns aimed at the protection of LGBT rights and the decriminalization of homosexual behavior.
One of the most significant gains for the LGBT movement since the introduction of the Anti-Homosexuality Bill is a newfound ability to find allies in other issue areas. While mainstream human rights organizations used to avoid speaking out against homophobic rhetoric and repression for fear of endangering their own missions, the severe nature of the proposal had convinced many that they cannot remain silent. For example, Mark Kiyamba, a Unitarian Universalist minister in Kampala and vocal advocate for LGBT equality, originally said that he could not work on LGBT issues because it was too dangerous (Knotts, 6 March 2012). When asked what changed his mind, he stated simply, “I read the bill” (Knotts, 6 March
2012). Once he realized how severe the punishments were and that accepting LGBT congregants could lead to his own arrest, he became one of the LGBT movement’s greatest champions (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Lukow 37
Similarly, LGBT activists have been building relationships with organizations that focus on women’s rights, environmental issues, and health rights—especially because doctors would be banned from treating LGBT people under the Bill (Civil
Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Recently, LGBT and sex worker organizations have also started to come together to start a broader conversation on sexuality in
Ugandan society (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012). These diverse allies in the broader human rights community have given the LGBT movement a support system in the face of severe state repression.
The Anti-Homosexuality Bill also spurred a transformation within the LGBT movement. According to a civil society source, the organizations have “grown and matured over the last few years” (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). The older
LGBT activists came from a different generation and became burnt out, but this moment of movement change and growth has recruited a new cadre of younger activists coming from the university level, partly spurred by the crisis brought by the Anti-Homosexuality Bill (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012). While many of the new activists are inexperienced, this has nonetheless forced the movement to innovate and modernize.
The introduction of the Anti-Homosexuality Bill also precipitated the formation of the Coalition for Human Rights and Constitutional Law, a group of
LGBT organizations and allied mainstream human rights organizations that “[serve] as the voice and the face of movement” (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). The organization has two directors, one gay and one straight, and is “one of the movement’s biggest achievements so far” (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Lukow 38
The Coalition’s first case was a lawsuit against Rolling Stone magazine for its “Top
Homos” article, in which the magazine was found liable for violation of privacy and incitement to violence (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Additionally, the Coalition is working on putting together a legal challenge on the grounds that the Anti-
Homosexuality Bill is unconstitutional and threatens everyone’s rights (Civil Society
Source 2, 30 March 2012). The formation of the Coalition for Human Rights and
Constitutional Law represents a trend toward professionalization in the LGBT movement, spurred by the increased repression.
Despite these positive changes, the level of repression also takes a toll on
LGBT activists and puts their lives in danger. As previously mentioned, SMUG activist David Kato was murdered in January 2011 after his picture and address were published in a magazine (Rice, 27 Jan 2011). More recently in February 2012, a workshop organized by LGBT human rights defenders was invaded and shut down by the Minister for Ethics and Integrity Rev. Simon Lokodo (“Sexual Minorities
Uganda Outraged,” 15 Feb. 2012). Kasha Jacqueline Nabagasera, the Executive
Director of SMUG partner organization Freedom and Roam Uganda, was arrested after she challenged the raid (“Sexual Minorities Uganda Outraged,” 15 Feb. 2012).
Violations of LGBT activists’ rights of speech, expression, and association continue to be relatively common in Uganda.
State repression also has an effect on the internal dynamics of the LGBT movement. Widespread homophobia tempers the rhetorical options available to the movement. For example, in a February 2012 interview with The Monitor, Ugandan
Law Society (ULS) President James Mukasa Sebugenyi went to great pains to Lukow 39 emphasize that the “ULS is not promoting homosexuality in Uganda but calling for the observance and protection of the rights of homosexuals as human beings, a minority group and as citizens of Uganda” (Kigongo, Ndagire and Tumwebaze, 24
Feb 2012). More significantly, the “frequency of backlash and blackmail” makes it difficult for people to trust one another within the LGBT movement (Civil Society
Source 2, 30 March 2012). Additionally, the constant threat of violence drives many important activists to flee the country and seek asylum abroad (Civil Society Source
2, 30 March 2012). Though the introduction of the Anti-Homosexuality Bill has spurred the LGBT movement to grow and innovate, the repression still takes an enormous toll on the Ugandan LGBT community.
Today’s Problems & Priorities
In early 2012, the Anti-Homosexuality Bill was reintroduced for a fourth time. To counter this, members of SMUG are conducting one-on-one conversations with Members of Parliament in an attempt to garner their support (Civil Society
Source 1, 19 March 2012). Additionally, the Coalition for Human Rights and
Constitutional Law is preparing a legal challenge because the new version of the bill was not held open for public comments as required by Ugandan law (Civil Society
Source 1, 19 March 2012). In March of 2012, SMUG also filed a lawsuit against
American evangelist Scott Lively in U.S. federal court, accusing him of violating international law and inciting violence against the Ugandan LGBT community
(Goodstein, 14 March 2012). The lawsuit is currently pending and it is unclear what effect this may have on the progress of the Anti-Homosexuality Bill. With this Lukow 40 exception, LGBT activists think that behind the scenes advocacy is the most effective strategy to combat the bill (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012).
While lobbying against the Anti-Homosexuality Bill is important, the LGBT movement has many other priorities. One of the movement’s current focuses is building religious coalitions with progressive churches. As previously mentioned,
Anglican Bishop Christopher Senyonjo, a longtime LGBT rights supporter, is conducting conversations with other clergy to teach them about the movement and its true aims (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Additionally, Muslims in
Uganda tend to be quite moderate, so there is potential for religious support from the Islamic community (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). Because some of the loudest voices opposing LGBT rights stem from fundamentalist religious leaders, having allies within the faith community is a powerful potential strength for the
LGBT movement in eventually claiming legal rights.
Education is another of the movement’s highest priorities. Some LGBT groups are organizing small, quiet campaigns to work with individual families and teach them about the needs of LGBT people (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012).
Others are conducting more public education campaigns in an attempt to de-mystify
LGBT people and dispel the conflation of gender identity and sexual orientation
(Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012). These campaigns often take the form of open conversations allow participants to ask questions and get information in a less direct way (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012). Local activists are trying to
“reclaim homosexuality as an African thing” and promote the idea that LGBT people exist in Uganda as in every other society (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012). Lukow 41
While repression and homophobia prevents the movement from trying to influence public opinion in a massive way, these forms of low-key education have the potential to slowly modify public opinion over time.
Moving forward, the movement is also using health policy as an entry point for advocating LGBT rights. Many LGBT organizations provide health services and information and connect LGBT people with friendly health providers (Civil Society
Source 2, 30 March 2012). Activists then work with health workers to advocate for more inclusive healthcare policies (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012).
Currently, Freedom and Roam Uganda is also conducting a survey of health providers to find out their attitudes and what info they need to better serve the
LGBT population (Civil Society Source 2, 30 March 2012).
Overall, the LGBT movement’s long-term goal is the decriminalization of homosexuality in Uganda (Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). The Coalition for
Human Rights and Constitutional law began a decriminalization campaign early this year, but had to put it aside when the Anti-Homosexuality Bill was reintroduced
(Civil Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). The strategy is to mount a challenge to the homosexuality ban in constitutional court in partnership with the Ugandan Law
Society. The Ugandan Constitution “guarantees freedom of expression thought, conscience, and belief” and “provides for equal protection under the law,” which can be used to the advantage of LGBT activists (Englander, 2011, pp. 1279). However, it is likely to take the Coalition several years to build and file a compelling case (Civil
Society Source 1, 19 March 2012). While this strategy has potential, the Ugandan constitution does not have nearly the same protections that are guaranteed in the Lukow 42
South African constitution. Consequently, the window of opportunity for Ugandan
LGBT activists is much smaller than it was for their South African counterparts.
GHANA
LGBT Culture in Ghana
As in South Africa and Uganda, homosexuality is met with disapproval by much of Ghanaian society. However, certain aspects of Ghanaian culture make it possible for LGBT relationships to exist without detection. Serena Owusua Dankwa has observed that the cultural norms of the Akan, Ghana’s dominant ethnic group, help “create niches for same-sex intimacy” (2009, pp. 192). These norms include discretion, a feeling that prohibits the public display of affection between sexual partners, and indirection, the practice of not directly addressing sensitive issues like sex (Dankwa, 2009, pp. 193-194). Since most Ghanaians avoid talking about sex,
LGBT Ghanaians can avoid sensitive topics even with close friends and family members. Moreover, Twi, the language of the Akan, does not have pronouns that distinguish between genders; only context indicates whether someone is referring to a “he” or a “she” (Dankwa, 2009, pp. 198). As a result, Ghanaians with same-sex partners can use veiled language to avoid detection.
Female same-sex relationships are more tolerated in Ghana than male relationships. Kwame, a straight Ghanaian man, reports that he has some lesbian friends but definitely does not associate with gay males (Owusu, 5 April 2012). Tess
Perselay, an American who studied in Ghana, indicates that some women would tell you after they knew you for a while that they were lesbians (5 April 2012). Lukow 43
Dankwa’s study of Ghanaian female same-sex relationships finds that casual norms of physical touch within female social spaces “enables a continuum of social and erotic intimacy” (2009, pp. 199). Actions such as holding hands, sitting on each other’s laps, or touching a woman’s breasts are “not socially sanctioned or associated with sexual practices” in Ghana (Dankwa, 2009, pp. 200). These norms allow lesbians to pursue same-sex relationships in ways that are not open to
Ghanaian men.
As in Uganda, many LGBT Ghanaians also get married and have kids as a form of social cover (Portman & Ruijgrok, 1993, pp. 166). In Ghana and much of
West Africa, marriage is an important sign of status and prosperity and not being married by a certain age is regarded as a failure (Portman & Ruijgrok, 1993, pp.
166). Though LGBT Ghanaians often follow the cultural expectation to get married, they may have other same-sex lovers on the side (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Since many Ghanaians with same-sex partners do not actually identify as homosexual
(Portman & Ruijgrok, 1993, pp. 165), this arrangement typically does not conflict with one’s role as spouse and parent. According to Dankwa, same-sex “erotic context is not discursively named or understood as a social identity” in Ghana
(2009, pp. 192). Moreover, “as long as one lives up to the social expectations of a respectful [family member] and follows moral codes of social conduct, such as being discrete, [one] can count on their family’s passive complicity” (Dankwa, 2009, pp.
202). Thus, the absence of a salient LGBT identity and the existence of cultural norms like discretion historically allowed LGBT Ghanaians to pursue same-sex relationships with minimal interference. Lukow 44
In addition to these cultural norms, a significant LGBT subculture persists underneath the surface of Ghanaian society. Within certain “free spaces,” particularly in large cities, LGBT Ghanaians are able to embrace their identity.
There are a number of gay clubs in Accra and an LGBT radio show that broadcasts from a hotel where open same-sex mixing is tolerated (Knotts, 6 March 2012).
According to Evan Fowler, another American who studied in Ghana, “Everyone acknowledges the gay section of Accra where there is gay culture and gay clubs. It’s not huge but people know about it.” Within her circle of performing arts friends,
Evan met one “really flamboyant guy” and people “seemed to generally accept him” within that group (3 April 2012). Tess also reports that she frequently saw cross dressers at the beach, though they seemed to “just be performing” (Perselay, 5 April
2012). Tess says that homosexuality in Ghana is “hidden, no one really talks about it” (Perselay, 5 April 2012). Even as far back as 1993, “gay men often [carried] on their sexual activities outside their own neighborhood” and “friends [visited] each other at [gay] bars, cinemas, and cruising areas” (Portman & Ruijgrok, 1993, pp.
168-169). This phenomenon of “free spaces” is not unlike the underground networks that Simi and Futrell (2004) identify in the American white power movement. Within these specific safe groups and establishments, LGBT Ghanaians are able to be open about their sexual orientation. However, this behavior is not tolerated and even openly condemned in wider Ghanaian society.
Social Sanctions and State-Sponsored Repression
While Ghanaian culture norms seem to promote an unspoken tolerance of homosexual activity, society is becoming more and more hostile toward LGBT Lukow 45 people. Eva Meyerowitz, who did fieldwork among the Akan in the 1940s, reported that “men who dressed as women and engaged in sexual relations with other men were not stigmatized at all, but accepted” (Greenberg, 1990, pp. 87). Many scholars have traced the modern rejection of homosexuality to the influence of Western religious values, in particular the “rise of the Pentecostal-Charismatic churches”
(Opokuwaa, 2005, pp. 131; Dankwa, 2009, pp. 194). According to Astrid Bochow, churches have actually created “sexuality as a subject of public discourse, if only in its negation” (Dankwa, 2009, pp. 194). Evan says, “Ghanaian culture is so steeped in
Christianity that it is hard to say anything about gays and lesbians without being alienated from a religious perspective” (Fowler, 3 April 2012). Traditionally, sex was simply not discussed openly in Ghana, allowing the topic of homosexuality to be dismissed as a private matter. Now, Western religious rhetoric has increasingly opened up space for the public condemnation of LGBT people and actions.
The social stigma of homosexuality is easily observed in modern Ghana.
Evan’s female Ghanaian roommate warned her that she should not say, “I love you,” to female friends for fear of being perceived as a lesbian (Fowler, 3 April 2012).
Additionally, a male Ghanaian friend of Evan’s told her that is important to “keep active vigilance” in order to keep others from thinking that you are gay (Fowler, 3
April 2012). Kwame says, “People in Ghana think homosexuality is very bad. If they see you, they’ll stigmatize you and warn people off from you. If you go to a hotel, sometimes they will have policies that say that two men cannot stay in one room and two women cannot stay in one room” (Owusu, 5 April 2012). Though certain Lukow 46 safe spaces continue to exist, Ghana is becoming more and more outwardly hostile to LGBT people.
The media has contributed greatly to the growing anti-LGBT sentiment in
Ghana. Media reports frequently link HIV/AIDS, sexually transmitted infections, and even tuberculosis to homosexuality (Adom, 19 July 2011). Religious leaders are often quoted denouncing homosexuality. For example, a recent article in the
Ghanaian media cites Rev. Titus K.Awotwi Pratt, Bishop of the Methodist Church of
Ghana, who says, “homosexuality and lesbianism are social evils and should not be entertained in society” (“Homosexuality and lesbianism,” 9 March 2012).
Government officials also utilize the media to espouse hateful rhetoric. For instance,
MP David Tetteh Assuming used a media interview to express his disgust at
“campaigns seeking respect and tolerance for gay and lesbian rights” and his belief that “they are treading on dangerous grounds and they could face lynching the in future” (Sky, 17 June 2011). He even called on the police to be more assertive and raid “homosexual joints” (Sky, 17 June 2011). Such fear-inducing media reports only fan the flames of the homophobia that already exists in Ghanaian society.
This vitriolic rhetoric has convinced some Ghanaians to take matters into their own hands. In March 2012, two lesbians had a marriage ceremony in the
James Town neighborhood of Accra under the guise of a birthday party (“Woman
Marries Woman,” 20 March 2012). After word got out about the event, a number of youth in the area “[declared] war on all suspected gays and lesbians” (“Woman
Marries Woman,” 20 March 2012). A second lesbian marriage ceremony was later raided and “every suspected lesbian stripped naked and chased out of town with Lukow 47 sticks and whips.” (“Woman Marries Woman,” 20 March 2012). While incidents like this are not common, it does demonstrate that being openly LGBT in Ghana is dangerous.
The increasing social stigma also has significant long-term repercussions for
LGBT Ghanaians. Many LGBT young people are kicked out of school and are not fully literate, which contributes to the LGBT population’s comparatively low socioeconomic status (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Moreover, most Ghanaians are highly dependent on family structures, so losing contact with and the support of one’s family is “one of the worst things that can happen” (Portman & Ruijgrok, 1993, pp.
166). Consequently, being openly homosexual in Ghana often leads to both social isolation and economic insecurity.
Though society as a whole is relatively inhospitable to LGBT Ghanaians, there is relatively little state-sponsored repression compared to Uganda. Legally, there is a lot of ambiguity about how LGBT people and actions should be addressed.
Ghanaian law forbids “unnatural carnal acts” but legal scholars disagree about how homosexual behavior fits into that classification (Throckmorton, 10 Aug. 2011).
Even if the prohibition does include homosexual acts, the offense would only be considered a misdemeanor along the same lines as prostitution (Knotts, 6 March
2012). The situation for LGBT people in Ghana is significantly less dangerous than the pervasive threat of arrest in Uganda.
Despite the comparative tolerance of Ghanaian law, the state still represses
LGBT people in other ways. For example, the customs area at the Accra airport has a sign that says, “homosexuals and pedophiles are not welcome” (Knotts, 6 March Lukow 48
2012). It is also common for police officers to blackmail LGBT people and threaten to expose them if they do not pay (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Additionally, there have been occasional crackdowns on LGBT Ghanaians. In 1992, there were reports of gay men being imprisoned and tortured (Tielman & Hammelburg, 1993, pp. 283). More recently in 2003, a circuit court in Accra jailed four men for engaging in homosexual activities (“Ghana Rights Groups Warn,” 22 July 2011). Nevertheless, the vague nature of the law has prevented mass arrests.
Though anti-LGBT rhetoric is on the rise, an increase in state repression is unlikely in the near future. The norm in Ghana is that politics does not and should not interfere with individuals’ private lives. According to Portman and Ruijgrok, “as long as people don’t criticize or rebel against elites, they are relatively free to do as please, especially in the area of sexuality” (1993, pp. 168). Recently, the Ministry of
Education’s HIV/AIDS Secretariat has started training teachers to educate students about homosexuality and its adverse consequences, such as supposed links between homosexuality and sexual abuse and STIs, in order to “check the spread of HIV/AIDS in children” and protect so-called traditional Ghanaian values (Henya, 6 Dec. 2011).
However, this seems to be the extent to which the government is willing to get involved in the debate about homosexuality. Absent a significant shake-up in
Ghanaian politics, it is unlikely that homosexuality will be made “more illegal” in the near future.
In the summer of 2011, LGBT issues in Ghana were forced into the spotlight.
The Ghana AIDS Commission conducted a study to map the sexual habits of vulnerable populations in order to better target its HIV prevention programs Lukow 49
(Knotts, 6 March 2012). The Commission announced in its report that 8,000 male respondents admitted to having sex with other men (Knotts, 6 March 2012). This statistic was leaked to the press and was “a profound shock” to many Ghanaians who think that homosexuality does not exist in their country (Knotts, 6 March
2012). This led Paul Aidoo, the minister of Ghana’s western region, to call for mass arrests of LGBT people and ask landlords to report their homosexual tenants
(Knotts, 6 March 2012). While the media frenzy lasted for a few weeks, no one was arrested and the situation returned to normal eventually (Knotts, 6 March 2012).
Kwame says that in the Ashanti region where he lives, “They didn’t publicize it much…it wasn’t big news” (Osuwu). While this incident led to a tense month for the
Ghanaian LGBT community, it has not had a lasting impact on the level of repression.
Despite the increasingly hostile rhetoric, Knotts says of being gay in Ghana,
“…you don’t feel that your life is in danger. It shuts off opportunities, but you are not killed” (6 March 2012). Lauretta Lamptey, the head of Ghana’s Commission for
Human Rights and Administrative Justice, has even stated that LGBT people enjoy certain constitutional protections, saying, “Homosexuals have rights as individuals that don’t need to be legislated…against non-discrimination, against defamation”
(Throckmorton, 10 Aug. 2011). These circumstances differ significantly from the situation in Uganda, where LGBT people are consistently threatened by both state and society.
Lukow 50
Nascent LGBT Organizing
The small amount LGBT activism and organizing in Ghana is nearly invisible to the general population. Kwame claims that no gay organizations exist Ghana
(Owusu, 5 April 2012) and Evan never heard anything about LGBT politics or organizing during her time in Accra (Fowler, 3 April 2012). The few organizations that do work on LGBT issues usually have a second agenda that is the stated focus, such as public health or HIV/AIDS counseling, and LGBT rights rhetoric is subtle and nearly nonexistent (Knotts, 6 March 2012). Knotts, a lobbyist for African LGBT rights at the United Nations, believes that the lack of repression in Ghana means that there has not been an impetus for LGBT people to organize (6 March 2012). This situation contrasts drastically with Uganda, where dozens of organizations actively and relatively vocally advocate for LGBT rights.
When Portman and Ruijgrok studied LGBT culture in West Africa in 1993, there were no LGBT organizations in the entire region, only informal networks of friends (1993, pp. 169). None of the gay men that Portman and Ruijgrok interviewed considered themselves activists; instead, they sought individual solutions for the social stigma such as moving to the city or abroad (1993, pp. 169).
Official organizing would require that LGBT people come out of the closet and become “known publically as a homosexual” (Portman and Ruijgrok, 1993, pp. 169).
One gay Ghanaian man said, “Nobody will have the courage to destroy his own life; if you want to live happily, be discreet about your sex life” (Portman & Ruijgrok, 1993, pp. 169). In 1993, it was not necessary for LGBT Ghanaians to organize because Lukow 51 they were able to pursue their own private lives relatively free of interference as long as they did not violate other cultural and social norms.
However, the increasing anti-homosexual rhetoric in Ghana has driven a small amount of LGBT organizing. The Centre for Popular Education and Human
Rights (CEPEHRG), headed by MacDarling Cobinnah, is perhaps the only organization in the Ghana that has worked on LGBT issues for any length of time. It was formed with the aim of combating the impact of AIDS in Ghana and achieving universal access to HIV prevention (“CEPEHRG”). The group’s website lists “human rights, gender sensitization, HIV/AIDS, democracy/good governance, and partnership” as its primary focuses (“CEPEHRG”). CEPEHRG bases all of its work on the “provision of human rights awareness through popular education” and the organization’s current programs include young people’s human rights workshops, a program called “sisters of the heart” that aims to empower women, an
STI/HIV/AIDS drop-in center in Accra, safe sex education, library services, film festivals, and theater performances (“CEPEHRG”). In 2008, CEPEHRG was honored with a United Nations Development Programme Red Ribbon Award for its work on
HIV/AIDS prevention (“CEPEHRG”).
Due to widespread homophobia in Ghana, CEPEHRG is not vocal about its work with the LGBT community, though its website does mention that the organization is “committed to the promotion of sexual minority rights in Ghana”
(“CEPEHRG”). CEPEHRG quietly works to ensure that men who have sex with men
(MSM) receive HIV prevention services and provides safe spaces for LGBT
Ghanaians. Cobinnah, CEPEHRG’s director, is also frequently quoted in Western Lukow 52 media reports about LGBT issues in Ghana. Nevertheless, this mission is not broadcast widely and general HIV/AIDS prevention is CEPEHRG’s public face.
The only organization in Ghana that is public about its connections the LGBT community is the newly-created Coalition Against Homophobia in Ghana (CAHG), of which MacDarling Cobinnah is also the spokesperson (“Ghana Rights Groups Set Up
Taskforce,” 8 Aug. 2011). After the media frenzy about homosexuality in Ghana in the summer of 2011, several unnamed human rights organizations joined together to form CAHG in order to “address issues of homophobia within institutions and the
Ghanaian society” (“Ghana Rights Groups Set Up Taskforce,” 8 Aug. 2011). Cobinnah said of the media frenzy, “There is a lot of fear and panic in the gay community at the moment.” (“Ghana Rights Groups Warn,” 22 July 2011). This fear spurred sympathetic human rights groups to respond to the hateful media rhetoric and provide an alternative voice.
CAHG’s goal moving forward is to create a “friendly rapport” with the media and “educate people about the rights of LGBT people to privacy and human dignity”
(“Ghana Rights Groups Set Up Taskforce,” 8 Aug. 2011). Cobinnah’s vision for CAHG is an organization that follows media stories about LGBT issues and responds to them appropriately. CAHG also aims to promote sensitivity to LGBT issues within other Ghanaian human rights and HIV/AIDS prevention organizations, because many are as steeped in homophobia as the rest of Ghanaian society. Additionally, the group intends to develop a security and protection plan for group members and organize a speaker’s bureau to train Ghanaians in other regions to respond to the Lukow 53 media on LGBT issues, though CAHG does not have any funding for these endeavors yet (“Ghana Rights Groups Set Up Taskforce,” 8 Aug. 2011).
Interestingly, though both CEPEHRG and CAHG are involved with the LGBT community, neither organization has been active in calling for rights as the LGBT organizations in South Africa. CAHG’s mission includes education about “the rights of LGBT people to privacy and human dignity,” but goes no further. At the moment,
Ghana’s LGBT organizing landscape looks very much like that of Uganda before the
Anti-Homosexuality Bill was introduced: a number of organizations that quietly work on LGBT health issues but little vocal activism. Thus, if anti-LGBT rhetoric and repression continue to increase, more LGBT rights organizations may emerge as they did in Uganda.
FINDINGS
The restructuring of the South African state after apartheid crumbled created a key opportunity for activists to ban LGBT discrimination in the new constitution.
This event provided the basis for all of the progress that has been made since, allowing the LGBT movement to pursue a legal strategy in the courts and utilize its connections to the ruling ANC party to claim further legal recognition. The newfound openness of the South African state also made LGBT advocacy work itself legal. While Ugandan groups have to worry about state harassment and repression simply due to their existence, the South African movement was able to work with the government as a partner in combating homophobic laws. Lukow 54
While identity—especially the activation of an activist identity during the antiapartheid movement—played a role in the mobilization of the South African
LGBT movement, it was not the primary factor as indicated in the Western literature. While identity formation may provide the deciding factor for LGBT movement success in the already open and democratic political systems of the West, this theory does not hold up in an African context. Though all three cases began with similar levels of social homophobia and the same baseline legal prohibitions of homosexuality from the British common law, it was the unique opportunity of post- apartheid state reconfiguration that enabled all of the ensuing victories for the
South African movement.
This moment of opportunity is absent from the other two cases. Though activists in Uganda have tried to use the courts to pursue their goals, they lack a similar constitutional guarantee of equality. Instead, the Ugandan case for equality must be built off of more general nondiscrimination and privacy provisions. Until recently, the combination of predictable levels of repression, cultural norms of privacy, and safe spaces prevented LGBT Ghanaians from organizing at all. Thus, the
LGBT movements in Uganda and Ghana have not been nearly as successful as South
African groups in claiming rights from the state.
However, in both Uganda and Ghana, repression has led directly to the reinvigoration of their respective LGBT movements. Since the introduction of the
Anti-Homosexuality Bill in 2009, Ugandan activists have begun to embrace a more public brand of advocacy and recruited a slew of like-minded human rights and health organizations as new coalition partners. Even Ghana’s relatively small Lukow 55 incident in the summer of 2011, when Minister Paul Aidoo called for the arrest of all
LGBT people, resulted in the creation of a new advocacy organization—the Coalition
Against Homophobia in Ghana. The evidence from each of these cases suggests that severe increases in the level of state repression spur the LGBT community to organize in unprecedented ways in spite of potential danger.
Moreover, the landscape of LGBT activism in Ghana today is comparable to the LGBT movement in Uganda prior to the introduction of the Anti-Homosexuality
Bill in 2009. Both movements consisted of small, quiet groups that focused on the provision on safe spaces and health services. For the most part, the LGBT community preferred to carry on privately within certain safe spaces. Additionally, both countries have experienced an increase in homophobic religious rhetoric over the past decade. Consequently, one expects that if the situation in Ghana deteriorates further and repression increases, the LGBT movement may experience an explosion of growth similar to that of Uganda.
Finally, though LGBT movements in South Africa, Uganda, and Ghana are each operating in very different political contexts, the one point of similarity across all three cases is the prominence a right to privacy. It was a key idea in the decision of many of the South African legal victories. Privacy rights were also cited explicitly in the Ugandan LGBT movement’s successful lawsuit against Rolling Stone magazine.
Even in Ghana, where the LGBT movement has not yet used the courts, the Coalition
Against Homophobia in Ghana mentions a right to privacy as one of its primary goals. This continental correlation suggests that using a right to privacy frame instead of importing the West’s “LGBT rights are human rights” rhetoric may be Lukow 56 more successful in the context of African culture and norms, particularly since a political opportunity comparable to the end of apartheid is unlikely to arise in
Uganda or Ghana any time soon.
The salience of a “right to privacy” in these cases also suggests that further investigation into non-Western cases could be valuable. Despite the existing literature’s focus on framing, this particular frame has gone entirely unaddressed.
Nevertheless, it appears to be integral to the LGBT rights debate in South Africa,
Uganda, and Ghana. This finding, combined with the importance of political opportunity and the counterintuitive effect of repression in these African cases, indicates that the existing body of LGBT movement literature does not apply outside of the oft-cited Western context and that serious revision is need to create truly robust LGBT movement theory. Lukow 57
WORKS CITED
Adom, Ben A. (19 July 2011). “The Case for Homosexuality and HIV/AIDS.” Ghana News Agency.
Maria Marshall (Eds.), Queer Mobilizations: LGBT Activists Confront the Law (pp. 21-37), New York: New York University Press. Currier, Ashley. (2010a). “Behind the Mask: Developing LGBTI Visibility in Africa.” In Amy Lind (Ed.), Development, Sexual Rights, and Global Governance (pp. 155-168), New York: Routledge. Currier, Ashley. (2010b). “The Strategy of Normalization in the South African LGBT Movement.” Mobilization, 15 (1), 45-62. Currier, Ashley. (2011). “Decolonizing the Law: LGBT Organizing in Namibia and South Africa.” In Austin Sarat (Ed.), Special Issue: Social Movement/Legal Possibilities (pp.17-44), Bingley, UK: Emerald Group Publishing. Dankwa, Serena Owusua. (2009). “‘It’s a Silent Trade’: Female Same-Sex Intimacies in Post-Colonial Ghana.” Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender Research, 17 (3), 192-205. Donham, Donald L. (1998). “Freeing South Africa: The ‘Modernization’ of Male- Male Sexuality in Soweto.” Cultural Anthropology, 13 (1), 3-21. Einwohner, Rachel L. (2006). “Identity Work and Collective Action in a Repressive Context: Jewish Resistance on the ‘Aryan Side’ of the Warsaw Ghetto.” Social Problems, 53 (1), 38-56. Engel, Stephen M. (2001). The Unfinished Revolution: Social Movement Theory and the Gay and Lesbian Movement. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Englander, Daniel. (2011). “Protecting the Human Rights of LGBT People in Uganda in the Wake of Uganda’s ‘Anti-Homosexuality Bill, 2009.’” Emory International Law Review, 25, 1263-1316. Epprecht, Marc. (2005). “‘Hidden’ Histories of African Homosexualities.” Canadian Woman Studies, 24 (2), 138-144. Fine, Derrick and Julia Nicol. (1995). “The Lavender Lobby: Working for Lesbian and Gay Rights Within the Liberation Movement.” In Mark Gevisser and Edwin Cameron, Defiant Desire (pp. 269-277), New York: Routledge. Fowler, Evan. Interview. 3 April 2012. Futrell, Robert & Pete Simi. (2004). “Free Spaces, Collective Identity, and the Persistence of U.S. White Power Activism.” Social Problems, 51 (1), 16-42. Lukow 59
Gamson, William A. (1992). Talking Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gevisser, Mark and Edwin Cameron. (1995). “Defiant Desire.” In Mark Gevisser and Edwin Cameron, Defiant Desire (pp. 3-13), New York: Routledge. “Ghana Rights Groups Set Up Taskforce Against Homophobia.” (8 Aug. 2011). Behind the Mask.
Kriesi, Hanspeter, Ruud Koopmans, Jan Willem Duyvendak, and Marco G. Guigni. (1992). “New Social Movements and Political Opportunities in Western Europe.” European Journal of Political Research, 22, 219-244. Kurzman, Charles. (1996). “Structural Opportunity and Perceived Opportunity in Social-Movement Theory: The Iranian Revolution of 1979.” American Sociological Review, 61, 153-170. Louw, Ronald. (2005). “Advancing Human Rights Through Constitutional Protection for Gays and Lesbians in South Africa.” In Helmut Graupner and Phillip Tahmindjis, Sexuality and Human Rights: A Global Overview (pp. 141- 162), Binghamton, NY: Harrington Park Press. McAdam, Doug, John McCarthy, & Mayer Zald. (1996). “Introduction.” In Comparative Perspectives on Social Movements: Political Opportunities, Mobilizing Structures and Cultural Framings (pp. 1-20). New York, NY: Cambridge University Press. McAdam, Doug, Sidney G. Tarrow, & Charles Tilly. (2001). Dynamics of Contention. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Mgbako, Chi. (3 May 2011.) “Africa’s LGBT Rights Movement.” Huffington Post.
A Global View of Lesbian and Gay Liberation and Oppression (pp. 165-170), Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books. Rice, Xan. (27 Jan 2011). “Ugandan gay rights activist David Kato found murdered.” The Guardian.
Taylor, Verta. (1989). “Social Movement Continuity: The Women’s Movement in Abeyance.” American Sociological Review, 54 (5), 761-775. Taylor, Verta, Katrina Kimport, Nella Van Dyke, & Ellen Ann Andersen. (2009). “Culture and Mobilization: Tactical Repertoires, Same-Sex Weddings, and the Impact on Gay Activism.” American Sociological Review, 74 (6), 865-890. Thoreson, Ryan Richard. (2008). “Somewhere over the Rainbow Nation: Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Activism in South Africa.” Journal of Southern African Studies, 34 (3), 679-697. Throckmorton, Warren. (10 Aug. 2011). “Ghana’s LGBT Population Safe From Persecution, But Not Prosecution.” Religion Dispatches.
Cover photo credit: “Global Gaze: Understanding the Gay Rights Struggle in Africa.” The New Gay.