tag:theconversation.com,2011:/fr/topics/gay-and-lesbian-rights-15624/articlesGay and Lesbian Rights – The Conversation2023-06-23T09:09:00Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2081382023-06-23T09:09:00Z2023-06-23T09:09:00ZExpanding gay sex pardons to women won’t help most prosecuted lesbians<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533539/original/file-20230622-17-ulbw9m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=122%2C213%2C5343%2C3434&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/mature-female-couple-waving-pride-flag-1160297098">Stephm2506/Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>More than a decade after launching a scheme to <a href="https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/disregarding-convictions-for-decriminalised-sexual-offences">disregard and pardon convictions</a> for historic “gay sex” offences, the government has now announced the scheme will <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-65878427">apply to women</a>. But a look at the history of lesbians and bisexual women convicted for same-sex activity shows that this will do very little to right historic wrongs. </p>
<p>When the scheme was created in 2012, it was limited to cautions and convictions for buggery (anal intercourse) or gross indecency between men. Neither offence applied to sex between women. Anyone convicted of other offences on the basis of same-sex activity could not obtain a pardon or disregard. A disregard means that the offence is deleted from official records and is not disclosed during criminal record checks. Since 2017, a pardon has automatically been granted at the same time. </p>
<p>The new scheme includes any offence which has been abolished or repealed, where the “criminal” conduct was same-sex sexual activity. However, it does not do much to help women, because sex between women has never been a specific offence. (The exception is armed forces veterans <a href="https://www.gov.uk/government/organisations/lgbt-veterans-independent-review/about#background-to-the-ban-and-legal-context">convicted under military laws</a>, which were interpreted as prohibiting homosexual acts.) </p>
<p>Instead, prosecutors were inventive in their use of non-sexual offences, many of which remain in force today. I’ve detailed many of these cases in <a href="https://link.springer.com/book/10.1007/978-3-030-35300-1">my book</a> on lesbianism and criminal law.</p>
<p>Before same-sex marriage became legally recognised in 2013, some couples’ attempts to marry ended in court. They were charged with perjury, for making false statements to obtain a marriage certificate. <a href="https://transpont.blogspot.com/2021/02/a-lewisham-transgender-marriage-in-1954.html">A couple who attempted to marry in 1954</a> were convicted of this offence. The bridegroom was in fact a trans man, but the magistrates’ court considered the couple as lesbians and condemned their “unnatural passions”. Since perjury is still an offence today, they would not be entitled to a pardon. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/pardons-for-historic-homosexual-offences-are-welcome-but-we-still-need-to-address-the-legacy-of-criminalisation-174371">Pardons for historic homosexual offences are welcome - but we still need to address the legacy of criminalisation</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Less serious offences were rarely reported in the press, so there have probably been many more cases than we are aware of. In particular, minor displays of public same-sex affection have come before the courts as breaches of public order. </p>
<p>Breach of the peace has been used for centuries and as recently as 1980, a lesbian couple who kissed goodbye at a railway station were detained by police. They were later released without charge, but if they had been prosecuted, they would not be entitled to a pardon. </p>
<p>Breach of the peace has not been abolished, and is technically not a conviction since a person is not punished, but is “<a href="https://www.cps.gov.uk/legal-guidance/binding-over-orders">bound over to be of good behaviour</a>” – meaning they agree to behave for a set period, and will be punished if they do not. </p>
<p>An alternative is conviction under public order offences, whose broad definitions have been used to criminalise same-sex affection. In 1986, two men were convicted of “nuisances in thoroughfares” under the <a href="https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Vict/2-3/47/section/54">Metropolitan Police Act 1839</a> after kissing at a bus stop. This has been partially repealed, but similar offences under the <a href="https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1986/64/section/5">Public Order Act 1986</a> are still in force so pardons would not be available.</p>
<p>One sexual offence which was used to convict women has been repealed: indecent assault. The Sexual Offences Act 2003 replaced it with sexual assault offences. However, a woman would only be convicted of “indecent assault of a female” if the other person was under 16 or did not consent. Rightly, such behaviour remains criminal today. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Photo of champagne flutes raised in a toast, while two brides embrace in the background" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/533546/original/file-20230622-23-xhm9jg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Before 2004, lesbians’ attempts to marry often ended in court.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/group-flutes-champagne-held-by-company-2198228793">Pressmaster/Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This exclusion of women is not just an unfortunate oversight. It is part of a <a href="https://www.open.edu/openlearn/society-politics-law/law/lesbianism-and-the-criminal-law-england-and-wales">long history of silencing</a> the possibility of sex between women as a way of repressing it. In other words, legislators did not just forget to make it a crime or decide to tolerate it. They were vehemently opposed to it, but feared that if women heard about it then their own wives and daughters might try it. </p>
<p>For example, in a <a href="https://oro.open.ac.uk/55535/">1921 debate</a> on criminalising “gross indecency between females”, Lieutenant Colonel Moore Brabazon MP insisted that rather than execute or imprison lesbians (both “very satisfactory”), it was better “to leave them entirely alone, not notice them, not advertise them. That is the method that has been adopted in England for many hundred years.” Parliament has arguably continued “not noticing” women in the newly expanded disregard and pardon scheme. </p>
<h2>A flawed scheme</h2>
<p>The lack of consideration of women’s legal position is not the only problem with this scheme. Despite thousands of eligible convictions, there have been only <a href="https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/statistics-on-the-disregard-and-pardon-for-historical-gay-sexual-convictions/statistics-on-disregards-and-pardons-for-historical-gay-sexual-convictions">208 successful applications</a> by men. </p>
<p>The strict eligibility criteria poses many barriers for applicants, and as a result, two out of three applications have been rejected. To benefit from the scheme, applicants must provide documents and share details of often traumatic events. A caseworker then considers the case records and makes a decision. </p>
<p>But establishing the circumstances of a conviction can be difficult decades after the original events. Records may be missing or incomplete. They might omit details confirming that the activity would not be criminal today (for example, whether the other party was over 16 and consented). As the <a href="https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/1162391/013574_Disregards_Caseworker_Guidance_12.06.23.pdf">guidance to caseworkers</a> makes clear, applications can be rejected because of that missing information. </p>
<p>Access to a disregard and pardon is important in practice since criminal convictions can blight people’s lives. It is important in principle because it acknowledges the injustice of convictions based upon legal discrimination. </p>
<p>However, the scheme does not adequately meet these needs – and for women in particular, the recent reforms will not change that.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/208138/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Caroline Derry does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Sex between women has never been specifically outlawed.Caroline Derry, Senior Lecturer in Law, The Open UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2037672023-04-18T12:19:39Z2023-04-18T12:19:39ZKenya should decriminalise homosexuality: 4 compelling reasons why<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/520830/original/file-20230413-14-r1pv5c.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Activists agitate for equal rights for all in Nairobi, Kenya, in January 2020. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Tony Karumba/AFP via Getty Images</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Kenya has recently seen the <a href="https://kohljournal.press/health-and-freedom">increasing visibility</a> of sexual and gender minorities. However, this has been met with <a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2023/3/15/how-an-lgbtq-court-ruling-sent-kenya-into-a-moral-panic">a growing backlash</a>.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4uGzjZIzM8">Religious</a> and <a href="https://ntvkenya.co.ke/news/gachagua-on-lgbtq-those-are-satanic-beliefs/">political leaders</a> have been spreading homophobic and transphobic rhetoric. This has happened with the <a href="https://www.hrw.org/report/2015/09/28/issue-violence/attacks-lgbt-people-kenyas-coast">tacit approval</a> of a law enforcement apparatus that’s supposed to guarantee the right to equal protection. </p>
<p>The continued criminalisation of same-sex sexual relations among consenting adults in Kenya worsens social disparities and inequalities. It fuels socioeconomic and health vulnerabilities. </p>
<p>It <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/308163037_Freedom_Corner_Redefining_HIV_and_AIDS_care_and_support_among_men_who_have_sex_with_men_in_Nairobi_Kenya">deprives members of these minority groups</a> access to education, a livelihood, and basic services like housing and healthcare. Criminalisation pushes <a href="https://pure.uva.nl/ws/files/18012125/Thesis.pdf">sexual and gender minorities to the margins of society</a>. Research has shown that sexual and gender minorities are <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/308163037_Freedom_Corner_Redefining_HIV_and_AIDS_care_and_support_among_men_who_have_sex_with_men_in_Nairobi_Kenya">consistently targeted</a> for unfair dismissal from jobs or business opportunities. </p>
<p>The decriminalisation of same-sex relations among adults would lead to four positive outcomes: inclusive development for economic growth, improved health outcomes, the safety and security of sexual minorities, and an acceptance of diversity and equality. This view is based on our <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Emmy-Kageha">research on social exclusion</a>, with a focus on <a href="https://kohljournal.press/health-and-freedom">sexual and gender minorities</a>.</p>
<h2>Inclusive development for economic growth</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.worldbank.org/en/region/afr/brief/social-inclusion-in-africa">Social inclusion</a> is the process of improving the conditions for individuals and groups to participate in society. Social exclusion based on sexual orientation leads to lower societal standing. </p>
<p>This often leads to poorer outcomes in terms of income, human capital endowments and access to employment. People who are discriminated against tend to lack a voice in national and local decision making. </p>
<p>Decriminalisation of same-sex sexual relations would help address institutionalised stigma and discrimination. It would enhance access to equal opportunities by eliminating barriers to employment and other livelihood opportunities.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/lgbti-refugees-seeking-protection-in-kenya-struggle-to-survive-in-a-hostile-environment-182810">LGBTI refugees seeking protection in Kenya struggle to survive in a hostile environment</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p><a href="https://pure.uva.nl/ws/files/18012125/Thesis.pdf">Research</a> shows that sexual and gender minorities with access to income opportunities support their families financially. This is true even in cases where families aren’t accepting. People who are educated can also compete effectively in the job market. The exclusion of minorities, therefore, means <a href="https://open-for-business.org/kenya-economic-case">the loss of a workforce and their contribution to economic development</a>. </p>
<h2>Better health outcomes</h2>
<p>Social exclusion contributes to poor health among sexual and gender minorities. In 2020, <a href="https://www.unaids.org/sites/default/files/media_asset/2021-global-aids-update_en.pdf#page=6">1.5 million people</a> were newly infected with HIV. Those <a href="https://www.unaids.org/sites/default/files/media_asset/2021-global-aids-update_en.pdf#page=23">most vulnerable</a> to infection include people who inject drugs, transgender women, sex workers, men who have sex with men, and their sexual partners. </p>
<p>These key populations accounted for <a href="https://www.unaids.org/sites/default/files/media_asset/2021-global-aids-update_en.pdf#page=23">65% of HIV infections</a> globally. In sub-Saharan Africa, they accounted for <a href="https://www.unaids.org/sites/default/files/media_asset/2021-global-aids-update_en.pdf#page=24">39% of new infections</a>. </p>
<p><a href="https://open-for-business.org/about">Open for Business</a> is a global research coalition that seeks to address the backlash against the LGBTIQ+ community. In a <a href="https://open-for-business.org/kenya-economic-case">2020 report</a>, the group estimated that discrimination against sexual minorities costs Kenya up to Sh105 billion (US$782 million) annually in poor health outcomes. </p>
<p>Decriminalisation enhances access to healthcare. <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/17441692.2018.1462841">Our</a> <a href="https://kohljournal.press/health-and-freedom">research</a> shows, for example, better health such as decreased new HIV infections in societies that adopt laws that advance non-discrimination and decriminalise same-sex relationships. </p>
<h2>Enhancing safety and security</h2>
<p>In 2014, the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights adopted <a href="https://achpr.au.int/en/adopted-resolutions/275-resolution-protection-against-violence-and-other-human-rights-violations">Resolution 275</a>. The resolution expresses grave concerns about increasing violence and other human rights violations – including murder, rape and assault – of individuals based on sexual orientation or gender identity. </p>
<p>Safety and security are some of the <a href="https://www.article19.org/resources/kenya-murder-lgbtq-activist-urgent-reform/">biggest challenges</a> facing sexual and gender minorities in Kenya. The country has seen an escalation of <a href="https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2023/3/15/how-an-lgbtq-court-ruling-sent-kenya-into-a-moral-panic">negative rhetoric and violence</a> targeting sexual and gender minorities, and <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-64491276">related organisations</a>. Hate speech, verbal and physical abuse, sexual violence and police harassment <a href="https://www.reuters.com/article/uganda-lgbt-hatecrime-idUSL4N3584J1">have increased</a>. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/justiceforsheila-highlights-the-precarious-lives-of-queer-people-in-kenya-183102">#JusticeForSheila highlights the precarious lives of queer people in Kenya</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>In Kenya’s coastal city of Mombasa, for instance, sexual minorities <a href="https://www.the-star.co.ke/news/2023-03-16-gay-people-fear-for-their-lives-escape-mombasa-over-planned-demos/">fled</a> recent <a href="https://twitter.com/citizentvkenya/status/1636702221743079425?s=20">homophobic street protests</a>. A <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/334681176_Are_we_doing_alright_Realities_of_violence_mental_health_and_access_to_healthcare_related_to_sexual_orientation_and_gender_identity_and_expression_in_East_and_Southern_Africa_Research_report_based_on_">2019 report</a> on the experiences of the <a href="https://ccprcentre.org/files/documents/INT_CCPR_CSS_KEN_44420_E.pdf#page=6">LGBTIQ+ community in Kenya</a> found that 53% have been physically assaulted and 44% sexually assaulted. </p>
<p>The criminalisation of same-sex sexual relations among adults contributes to a climate of violence and discrimination. Moreover, criminalisation supports the perpetrators of violence who take the law into their own hands. </p>
<h2>Acceptance of diversity</h2>
<p>Sexual and gender minorities are socially excluded because of the <a href="https://theconversation.com/homosexuality-remains-illegal-in-kenya-as-court-rejects-lgbt-petition-112149">criminal label</a> the law imposes on them. This affects their self-acceptance and mental health. </p>
<p>Homophobic acts are widespread even in countries where <a href="https://theconversation.com/sam-smith-how-queerphobia-and-fatphobia-intersect-in-the-backlash-to-the-im-not-here-to-make-friends-video-199437">same-sex relations are legal</a>. However, decriminalisation helps facilitate some level of acceptance among minority groups and within wider society. </p>
<p><a href="https://ualr.edu/socialchange/2013/01/13/impact-of-the-decriminalization-of-homosexuality-in-delhi-an-empirical-study">Studies</a> <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9293432/">have found</a> that decriminalisation reduces societal violence. </p>
<h2>The way forward</h2>
<p>Same-sex relations, or sexual and gender minorities, <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/43904926">aren’t new</a> <a href="https://www.arcados.ch/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/MURRAY-ROSCOE-BOY-WIVES-FEMALE-HUSBANDS-98.pdf">in Africa</a>. They aren’t a <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/332192031_An_Exploratory_Journey_of_Cultural_Visual_Literacy_of_Non-Conforming_Gender_Representations_from_Pre-Colonial_Sub-_Saharan_Africa">foreign ideology</a>. </p>
<p>Social exclusion constitutes perhaps the most serious challenge towards attaining sustainable and inclusive development. The criminalisation of same-sex relations among consenting adults in Kenya’s penal code exposes the weaknesses of the constitution in ensuring inclusivity. The law must, therefore, be changed. </p>
<p>Repealing criminalisation clauses is an important step toward reducing stigma, violence and discrimination. It would certainly open a new chapter in the lives of sexual and gender minorities.</p>
<p>There’s also an urgent need to make sexual and gender minorities visible. Awareness campaigns can help debunk perceptions that they are “anti-religious” or “un-African”. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/what-does-the-bible-say-about-homosexuality-for-starters-jesus-wasnt-a-homophobe-199424">What does the Bible say about homosexuality? For starters, Jesus wasn't a homophobe</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>There’s an equally urgent need to identify all forms of discrimination against sexual and gender minorities under domestic and international laws. This will help address the root causes of inequalities.</p>
<p>Decriminalisation of same-sex relations is imperative. It will help address widening disparities, inequalities in society and the gaps in social integration.</p>
<p><em>Nicholas Etyang, a senior policy advocacy officer at the African Population and Health Research Center, is a co-author of this article.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/203767/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Lucy Wanjiku Mung’ala is affiliated with Hivos, where she works as the strategy and impact lead - gender equality, diversity and inclusion. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Emmy Kageha Igonya does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The criminalisation of same-sex sexual relations among consenting adults in Kenya worsens social disparities and inequalities.Emmy Kageha Igonya, Associate research scientist, African Population and Health Research CenterLucy Wanjiku Mung’ala, PhD Researcher, University of AmsterdamLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1603562021-06-06T20:04:00Z2021-06-06T20:04:00Z9 in 10 LGBTQ+ students say they hear homophobic language at school, and 1 in 3 hear it almost every day<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404412/original/file-20210604-13-1rw5s7f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/horizontal-shot-happy-friends-hold-hand-1114617272">Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Bills in the <a href="https://www.ag.gov.au/rights-and-protections/consultations/religious-freedom-bills-second-exposure-drafts">federal</a> and <a href="https://www.parliament.nsw.gov.au/bills/Pages/bill-details.aspx?pk=3776">New South Wales</a> parliaments have sought to stop teachers talking about gender and sexuality diversity in the name of either religious freedom or parents’ rights.</p>
<p>If passed in its current form, the NSW <em>Education Legislation Amendment (Parental Rights) Bill 2020</em> would prohibit teachers from discussing gender and sexuality diversity. It would also make offering targeted, requested support to gender and sexuality diverse (often known as LGBTQ+) students grounds for revoking teachers’ accreditation. </p>
<p>At NSW universities, the bill will mean programs that educate student teachers about the existence of LGBTQ+ students and how best to support them at school would be at risk of losing their accreditation. The same goes for registered professional development of NSW teachers.</p>
<p>Such bills fail to acknowledge the daily realities for many LGBTQ+ youth. These young people experience one of the <a href="https://www.aidsdatahub.org/sites/default/files/resource/insult-inclusion-2015.pdf">highest rates of school bullying</a> in the Asia-Pacific and are almost <a href="https://d3n8a8pro7vhmx.cloudfront.net/lgbtihealth/pages/549/attachments/original/1620871703/2021_Snapshot_of_Mental_Health2.pdf?1620871703">five times more likely to attempt suicide</a> than their peers. </p>
<p>My recent report, <a href="https://researchdirect.westernsydney.edu.au/islandora/object/uws%3A59222">Free2Be … Yet?</a> — the second national study of Australian high school students who identify as gender and sexuality diverse — shows alarming rates of homophobic language used in Australian schools. And worse, it shows that, at least from the perspective of students, teachers rarely intervene. </p>
<h2>What LGBTQ+ students said</h2>
<p>The report presents findings from a national survey of 2,376 LGBTQ+ high school students, aged 13–18. The participants went to government, Catholic and independent schools. </p>
<p>The central aim of the research was to investigate the frequency of harassment and violence towards LGBTQ+ students at school. I also wanted to explore associations between elements of the school climate — with respect to gender and sexuality diversity — and the school well-being of these students.</p>
<p>Almost 30% of participants said they had personally experienced or witnessed physical harassment directed at LGBTQ+ students. This group told stories of violence at school, with limited teacher intervention or discussion about the issues. </p>
<p>Of 93% of students who said they had heard homophobic language at school, 37% heard this “almost every day”. Only 6% of students said adults “always” intervened to stop this language.</p>
<p>One year 9 girl who identifies as pansexual wrote:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>My classmates call everyone faggots all the time and the teachers just pretend they don’t hear it.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In some cases, students wrote about how the LGBTQ+ student was blamed for the event:</p>
<p>A year 12 boy who identifies as gay said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[A student] threw a rotten apple at the back of my head after telling me that the common room is for ‘normal straight people only’. The teacher present then told me I had to leave because I was causing trouble by being there.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>LGBTQ+ students who went to schools where peers used homophobic and transphobic language more often and with less intervention from adults reported feeling significantly less connected to their school. </p>
<p>They also said they were less confident their teachers could manage bullying and keep them safe. And they were less assured their teachers were personally invested in them and their academic success.</p>
<h2>A diverse-positive school climate</h2>
<p>A school climate that views gender and sexuality diversity positively is related to LGBTQ+ students’ sense of connection and personal investment in school. </p>
<p>In this survey, LGBTQ+ students scored worse than mainstream peers on nearly every measure of school-based well-being. This included their sense of connectedness to school, a <a href="https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2006-07986-028">known predictor of academic achievement</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two boys walking in a school corridor." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=704&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=704&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=704&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=884&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=884&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404426/original/file-20210604-25-n850lm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=884&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">LGBTQ+ students’ well-being at school can suffer depending on how the school sees diversity issues.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/rear-view-couple-school-students-walking-1067318834">Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>However, where LGBTQ+ students attended schools that explicitly named sexual orientation as a protected category in their harassment policy, those students’ school-based well-being exceeded those of their mainstream peers.</p>
<p>Around three-quarters of students who were in year 9 and above said it was “definitely” or “mostly” false they had learned about a range of gender and sexuality diverse identities in their health and physical education classes. </p>
<p>LGBTQ+ students who reported more inclusion of diversity issues in their curriculum had significantly better school-based well-being than LGBTQ+ students in schools with little to no inclusion.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, LGBTQ+ students with higher levels of these forms of well-being were significantly more likely to say they would attend university.</p>
<h2>Teacher attitudes make a difference</h2>
<p>The study also measured how LGBTQ+ students perceived themselves academically — known as “academic self-concept”. This is measured using eight items that include statements such as: “compared to others my age, I am good at most school subjects” and “it is important to me to do well in most school subjects”.</p>
<p>The survey then asked students to indicate how true it was that their “teachers talk about same-sex attraction (lesbian, gay or bisexual people or topics) in a positive way”. Response options ranged from “definitely false” to “definitely true”. </p>
<p>Looking at students’ mean (average) academic self-concept score against their ratings of teacher positivity, results show that where students viewed their teachers as more positive about same-sex attraction across each of the six response options, they also reported higher academic self-concept.</p>
<p><iframe id="JJMpP" class="tc-infographic-datawrapper" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/JJMpP/3/" height="400px" width="100%" style="border: none" frameborder="0"></iframe></p>
<p>Likewise, students were asked to indicate how frequently their teachers “do something or say something positive, like stop the student(s) or talk to them about using that language” when “negative language about lesbians, gays or bisexual people is used by students and a teacher or school staff member is present”. Response options ranged from “always” to “never”. </p>
<p>As the graph below shows, students who indicated that their teachers “always” intervened had the highest average academic self-concept, with students who indicated their teachers “never” intervened, reporting the lowest average academic self-concept.</p>
<p><iframe id="cPQq1" class="tc-infographic-datawrapper" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/cPQq1/3/" height="400px" width="100%" style="border: none" frameborder="0"></iframe></p>
<p>These results show more training and encouragement should be given to Australia’s teachers to speak out against homophobic and transphobic harassment and violence in ways that educate students and reduce its incidence. Such efforts, alongside positive inclusion, can enable LGBTQ+ students to reach their full potential.</p>
<p><em>If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or visit <a href="https://headspace.org.au/">Headspace</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/160356/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jacqueline Ullman receives funding from the Australian Research Council. </span></em></p>A recent report shows alarming rates of homophobic language used in Australian schools. And worse, it shows that, at least from the perspective of students, teachers rarely intervene.Jacqueline Ullman, Associate Professor in Adolescent Development, Behaviour and Wellbeing, Western Sydney UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1531902021-02-14T18:49:22Z2021-02-14T18:49:22Z‘You never know if you will be treated properly and with respect’: voices of LGBTIQA+ people who lived through disasters<p>When disaster strikes, not everyone is affected the same way. A growing body of <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/0966369X.2013.802673">research</a> shows the experiences of sexually and gender diverse people are frequently very different to those of heterosexual people.</p>
<p>Our <a href="https://researchdirect.westernsydney.edu.au/islandora/object/uws:53735/">research</a> in Australia and New Zealand sought to explore and make visible the experiences of lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and intersex people, among other sexual and gender identities.</p>
<p>People who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex or queer can have quite different experiences but are often incorrectly lumped together as one “community”. In fact, there are multiple communities.</p>
<p>For our research, we wanted to know how disasters <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/14649365.2016.1153137">affected</a> these people and communities, about their experiences with government and other support agencies and what positive experiences they’d had of resilience, <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/0966369X.2015.1136806">coping</a> and adapting.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/you-cant-talk-about-disaster-risk-reduction-without-talking-about-inequality-153189">You can't talk about disaster risk reduction without talking about inequality</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>‘You never know if you will be treated properly and with respect’</h2>
<p>It became clear LGBTIQA+ people are differently vulnerable in disasters and their aftermath. Fear, marginalisation, misunderstanding, exclusion and discrimination are all factors to contend with, on top of the other personally and financially devastating impacts of disaster.</p>
<p>Many LGBTIQA+ people do not openly reveal their sexual and gender identities. However, if your home is damaged or you need to evacuate to a public shelter shared with possibly hundreds of other people, your identity can become very obvious.</p>
<p>One <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2015.1136806">person</a> told us:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I wasn’t fully out at this time so I already had to hide things.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In many instances, becoming “visible” when disaster strikes resulted in verbal abuse or worse. One person <a href="https://ro.uow.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4684&context=sspapers&httpsredir=1&referer=">told us</a> that while videoing flooding, he was accused of being a paedophile.</p>
<p>Accessing support services can be stressful and problematic, with one person <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2017.1334632">telling</a> us:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It is always a bit of a concern outing myself.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A same sex couple hug." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383159/original/file-20210209-15-ldz51f.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">In many instances, becoming ‘visible’ when disaster strikes resulted in verbal abuse or worse.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/@kernieflakes?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText%22>courtney%20coles</a>%20on%20<a%20href=%22https://unsplash.com/s/photos/lgbt-wildfire?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Photo by courtney coles on Unsplash.</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Uncertainty can weigh heavily on some, as <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2015.1136806">one</a> person explained:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Discrimination when accessing mainstream services is always an issue – you never know if you will be treated properly and with respect.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Another <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2015.1136806">said</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I would have been concerned my relationship may not have been accepted in mainstream support services.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>One person <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2015.1136806">described</a> how</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I was concerned that if I needed direct contact assistance that I would have been either judged or misidentified concerning my gender.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A young man looks serious while an older relative stands in the background." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383163/original/file-20210209-23-1c1d79u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">If your home is damaged in a disaster or you lose work because of a pandemic, moving in with parents or other family isn’t always a simple solution.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>If your home is damaged, moving in with parents or other family isn’t always a simple solution, as stories from some people made clear:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I went home and was stuck in the house all week with my family because I
can’t drive and there was no public transport […] My family were not aware at
the time that I was dating anyone – and it wasn’t something I was going to
disclose – so it wasn’t something I could talk about.</p>
<p>I stayed with my cousins, who were quite conservative […] I had to shut off
some part of my identity for a little while. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>We also found an <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00918369.2016.1172901">absence of queer stories from most mainstream media coverage</a> contributed to a narrative that constructed disasters as experienced exclusively by heterosexual families.</p>
<h2>Unwelcoming spaces</h2>
<p>In evacuation shelters, bathrooms and toilets are usually divided in to “male” and “female” spaces. For some LGBTIQA+ people, being forced into a female/male bathroom space where their bodies become visible to others can be highly traumatic. That’s often due to previous experiences of discrimination, harassment and violence.</p>
<p>For transgender people — particularly those in a process of transitioning — single-sex, heteronormative public bathrooms can be utterly overwhelming. </p>
<p>Some people spoke of being blamed for disaster. One person <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2017.1334632">said</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>There were religious nutters saying the queers had caused the quakes.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the wake of flooding, one person <a href="https://ro.uow.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4684&context=sspapers&httpsredir=1&referer=">said</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>People were targeting groups of gay people in town as our ‘behaviour’ had
brought this upon the community as a whole. So I was told on many
occasions.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Floodwaters cut off a road." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383170/original/file-20210209-13-vtrrz3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Some spoke of being blamed for floods.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Emergency responses are sometimes <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S2212420916300097">outsourced to third party, faith-based Christian institutions</a>. It is worth noting such organisations have not always been consistently welcoming for LGBTIQA+ people.</p>
<p>More research is needed on the experiences and needs of LGBTIQA+ people (including those of faith) and how faith-based institutions might support LGBTIQA+-inclusive response and recovery.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two older men look into the distance while wearing masks." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=448&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=448&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=448&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=563&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=563&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383172/original/file-20210209-17-2kqqbg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=563&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The current COVID-19 pandemic is an example of how pandemics can be experienced differently by many LGBTIQA+ people.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Pandemics are disasters too</h2>
<p>Climate change and environmental degradation has heightened <a href="https://theconversation.com/coronavirus-is-a-wake-up-call-our-war-with-the-environment-is-leading-to-pandemics-135023">the risk of pandemics</a>. The current COVID-19 pandemic is an example of how pandemics can be experienced differently by many <a href="https://theconversation.com/coronavirus-lockdown-lgbtq-people-face-hostility-and-loneliness-135974">LGBTIQA+ people</a> (especially those who are younger and in precarious work or housing). </p>
<p>The current pandemic forced some LGBTIQA+ people to move to the parental home after losing work. This can force people back into the closet as they try to fit into expectations of unwelcoming families — an incredibly stressful experience.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A same sex couple wake in the haze." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/383171/original/file-20210209-23-ogn8b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Across our research, we also encountered many examples of resilience, coping and adaptation.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Resilience and mutual support</h2>
<p>Across our research, we also encountered many examples of resilience, coping and adaptation. For example, online communities of support spontaneously emerged after some disasters, allowing people to advertise safe accommodation for others.</p>
<p>Some people spoke of relying on the LGBTIQA+ community for help:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I wasn’t going to leave my place but my LGBT friends (that live 10 houses
away) woke me in the middle of the night to inform me both ends of our road
had flooded in. We ended up getting my car out, through back yard access
and knocking down a fence.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The United Nations <a href="https://www.undrr.org/publication/sendai-framework-disaster-risk-reduction-2015-2030">states</a> disaster preparedness, response and recovery arrangements and services should be uniformly available to all, but sensitive to the unique needs different members of our community have. As our research makes clear, much work lies ahead if we are to achieve that goal.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/domestic-violence-soars-after-natural-disasters-preventing-it-needs-to-be-part-of-the-emergency-response-151838">Domestic violence soars after natural disasters. Preventing it needs to be part of the emergency response</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p><em>This story is part of a series The Conversation is running on the nexus between disaster, disadvantage and resilience. It is supported by a philanthropic grant from the Paul Ramsay foundation. You can read the rest of the stories <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/disaster-and-resilience-series-97537">here</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/153190/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Dale Dominey-Howes receives funding from the Australian Research Council, the Global Resilience Partnership and State and Federal disaster management sources. </span></em></p>When disaster strikes, not everyone is affected the same way. Research shows the experiences of sexually and gender diverse people are frequently very different to those of heterosexual people.Dale Dominey-Howes, Professor of Hazards and Disaster Risk Sciences, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1315982020-02-17T13:07:12Z2020-02-17T13:07:12ZDesmond Tutu’s long history of fighting for lesbian and gay rights<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/315038/original/file-20200212-61947-ufl55a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Robert Tshabalala/Business Day/Gallo Images/Getty Images</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/archbishop-emeritus-desmond-mpilo-tutu">Archbishop Desmond Mpilo Tutu</a> is mostly known to the world for his highly prominent role in the campaign against <a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/history-apartheid-south-africa">apartheid</a> in South Africa. This role was internationally recognised by the awarding of the <a href="https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/peace/1984/summary/">1984 Nobel Peace Prize</a>. </p>
<p>Tutu continued his activism even after the country’s democratic transition in South Africa in the early 1990s. Among other things, he served as chair of the country’s <a href="https://www.justice.gov.za/trc/">Truth and Reconciliation Commission</a> which sought to deal with the crimes and injustices under apartheid, and to bring about justice, healing and reconciliation in a wounded society. He retired as Archbishop of Cape Town in 1996.</p>
<p>In more recent years Tutu has become known for his strong advocacy on issues of sexuality, in particular the rights of lesbian and gay people. For instance, in 2013, he made global headlines with the clear and <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-23464694">succinct statement</a>, in typical Tutu fashion, that he:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>would rather go to hell than to a homophobic heaven.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Tutu is by far the most high-profile African, if not global, religious leader to support lesbian and gay rights. This has added to his international reputation as a progressive thinker and activist, especially in the western world. But his stance has been met with suspicion on the African continent itself. A fellow Anglican bishop, Emmanuel Chukwuma from Nigeria, even declared him to be “<a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=bsxXDwAAQBAJ&lpg=PP1&dq=Emmanuel%20Chukwuma%20%22spiritually%20dead%22&pg=PT8#v=onepage&q=spiritually%20dead&f=false">spiritually dead</a>”.</p>
<p>For distant observers, Tutu’s advocacy around sexuality might appear to be a recent phenomenon. For his critics, it might be another illustration of how he has tried to be the darling of white liberal audiences in the Western world. </p>
<p>In fact his commitment to defending gay and lesbian rights isn’t a recent development; it dates as far back as the 1970s. In addition, it is very much in continuity with his long-standing resistance against apartheid and his relentless defence of black civil rights in South Africa.</p>
<h2>Common thread</h2>
<p>Shortly after the end of apartheid in 1994, Tutu <a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=yYHcK6kWcPAC&lpg=PP1&dq=aliens%20household%20god%20gruchy&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q=worthy%20moral&f=true">wrote</a> that</p>
<blockquote>
<p>If the church, after the victory over apartheid, is looking for a worthy moral crusade, then this is it: the fight against homophobia and heterosexism. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Driving both struggles is Tutu’s strong moral and political commitment to defending the human dignity and rights of all people. Theologically, this is rooted in his conviction that every human being is created in the image of God and therefore is worthy of respect.</p>
<p>In the 1980s, Tutu and other Christian leaders had used the concept of ‘heresy’ to denounce apartheid in the strongest theological language. They famously stated that “<a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/sites/default/files/archive-files2/remar84.7.pdf">apartheid is a heresy</a>”, meaning that it is in conflict with the most fundamental Christian teaching. </p>
<p>Tutu also used another strong theological term: blasphemy, meaning an insult of God-self. In 1984, he wrote:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Apartheid’s most blasphemous aspect is … that it can make a child of God doubt that he is a child of God. For that reason alone, it deserves to be condemned as a heresy. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>More than a decade later, Tutu used very similar words to denounce homophobia and heterosexism. He wrote that it was “<a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=yYHcK6kWcPAC&lpg=PP1&dq=aliens%20household%20god%20gruchy&pg=PP14#v=onepage&q=ultimate%20blasphemy%20&f=false">the ultimate blasphemy</a>” to make lesbian and gay people doubt whether they truly were children of God and whether their sexuality was part of how they were created by God.</p>
<p>Tutu’s equation of black civil rights and lesbian and gay rights is part of a broader South African narrative and dates back to the days of the apartheid struggle. Openly gay anti-apartheid activists, such as <a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/dated-event/tseko-simon-nkoli-dies">Simon Nkoli</a>, had actively participated in the liberation movement, and had successfully intertwined the struggles against racism and homophobia. </p>
<p>On the basis of this history, South Africa’s <a href="https://www.gov.za/documents/constitution-republic-south-africa-1996">Constitution</a>, adopted in 1996, included a <a href="https://www.justice.gov.za/legislation/acts/2000-004.pdf">non-discrimination clause</a> that lists sexual orientation, alongside race and other characteristics. It was the first country in the world to do so, and Tutu had actively lobbied for it. </p>
<p>A decade later, South Africa became the sixth country in the world to <a href="https://www.brandsouthafrica.com/governance/services/rights/south-africa-legalises-gay-marriage">legalise same-sex marriage</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/315040/original/file-20200212-61966-m5e4cw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Reverend Mpho Andrea Tutu and Archbishop Emeritus of Cape Town Desmond Tutu attend an award gala in New York City.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Thos Robinson/Getty Images/Shared Interest</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Attitudes still need work</h2>
<p>Arguably, these legal provisions did not automatically translate into a change of social attitudes towards lesbian and gay people at a grassroots level. <a href="https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2018/11/south-africa-road-to-lgbtq-equality/">Homophobia remains widespread</a> in South African society today. </p>
<p>Tutu’s own church, the Anglican Church of Southern Africa, continues to struggle with gay issues. In 2015 his daughter, Mpho Tutu, had to give up her <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/jun/09/mpho-tutu-van-furth-its-painful-to-step-down-from-my-priestly-ministry">position as an ordained priest after she married a woman</a>. Tutu gave the newly wed couple a blessing anyway.</p>
<p>The question of same-sex relationships and the status of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex people continues to be controversial across the world. In this context, Tutu is an influential figure who uses his moral authority to help shape the debates. </p>
<p>His equation of racial and sexual equality is particularly important, as it foregrounds how the struggle for justice, equality and human rights are interconnected: we cannot claim rights for one group of people while denying them to others.</p>
<p><em>This article is an abbreviated version of a chapter about Desmond Tutu in the book Reimagining Christianity and Sexuality in Africa, co-authored by Adriaan van Klinken and Ezra Chitando, and to be published with Zed Books in London (2021).</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/131598/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Adriaan van Klinken receives funding for research projects from the Arts and Humanities Research Council in the UK, and from the British Academy. </span></em></p>Desmond Tutu is by far the most high-profile African, if not global, religious leader to support lesbian and gay rights, and he has done so since the 1970s.Adriaan van Klinken, Professor of Religion and African Studies, University of LeedsLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1317812020-02-13T17:08:02Z2020-02-13T17:08:02ZHow my research into 19th-century military music revealed progressive attitudes towards homosexuality in a farmer’s diary<p>Recently, quite by accident while looking for something completely different – information on British military music in the Napoleonic era, to be precise – I discovered a remarkable discussion of homosexuality in the diary of an early 19th-century Yorkshire farmer.</p>
<p>Reflecting on reports of the recent execution of a naval surgeon for sodomy, Matthew Tomlinson wrote on January 14 1810:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It appears a paradox to me, how men, who are men, shou’d possess such a passion; and more particularly so, if it is their nature from childhood (as I am informed it is) – If they feel such an inclination, and propensity, at that certain time of life when youth genders [develops] into manhood; it must then be considered as <em>natural</em> otherwise, as a <em>defect</em> in nature […] it seems cruel to punish that defect with death. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>This inference sparked solemn religious introspection, as Tomlinson struggled to understand how a just creator could countenance such severe penalties for a God-given trait: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>It must seem strange indeed that God Almighty shou’d make a being, with such a nature; or such a defect in nature; and at the same time make a decree that if that being whome <em>he had</em> formed, shou’d at any time follow the dictates of that Nature with which he was formed he shou’d be punished with death.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>As part of my doctoral research I’ve investigated many cases that reflect attitudes to sexuality in the armed forces of the period. There were many accusations of drummers working as prostitutes or rumours of their sexual involvement with officers. But this was something quite different.</p>
<p>A 45-year-old tenant farmer, Tomlinson resided at Dog House Farm on the Lupset Hall estate, a mile south-west of Wakefield in Yorkshire. His voluminous diaries chronicle local Luddite disturbances, agricultural life, and his attempts to find a second soulmate after the demise of his first wife. </p>
<p>A former Methodist, Tomlinson was an observant but ecumenical Christian – he wrote extensively on faith, love, death, and the political and economic affairs of his day. Although a few historians, including Katrina Navickas, have <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1179/174587011X12928631621276">quoted from Tomlinson’s diaries in the past</a>, his meditations on homosexuality have never previously been brought to light.</p>
<h2>A chance discovery</h2>
<p>I identified the passage quite by chance. Returning by train from a 2018 conference on military history in Leeds, I decided to stop in Wakefield on a whim to view Tomlinson’s diaries in the local museum, having noticed colourful quotations from them in a <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/1750-0206.12249">book by Ellen Gibson Wilson</a> on the Yorkshire election of 1807.</p>
<p>As it turned out, the diaries had little to say about military music – Tomlinson was disdainful of patriotic pageantry – but his reflections on homosexuality, which I spotted while paging through the journals, stood out to me as striking and unusual for the time. I later decided to reach out to specialists on 18th and 19th-century sexuality to discern if my instincts were correct. UK-based American researcher <a href="http://rictornorton.co.uk/eighteen/">Rictor Norton</a> and <a href="https://history.princeton.edu/people/fara-dabhoiwala">Fara Dabhoiwala</a> of Princeton University both generously shared their expertise, confirming the rarity and significance of my discovery.</p>
<p>The argument that same-sex relations were natural and innocuous was occasionally advanced in 18th-century England (in a <a href="https://read.dukeupress.edu/eighteenth-century-life/article-abstract/31/1/22/622/In-Search-of-Lost-Texts-Thomas-Cannon-s-Ancient">1749 tract by Thomas Cannon</a> for instance), while Enlightenment thinking on individual liberties and legal reform spurred calls for Britain to emulate its continental counterparts by abolishing the death penalty for homosexual acts. </p>
<p>Some men and women of the time who engaged in same-sex relationships viewed their sexual orientation as innate: Halifax landowner <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/37678">Anne Lister</a> justified her lesbian feelings as “natural” and “instinctive” <a href="https://theconversation.com/gentleman-jack-a-gripping-19th-century-tale-of-one-womans-bravery-in-sex-and-politics-116868">in her diary</a> in 1823. Utilitarian philosopher and social reformer <a href="http://www.columbia.edu/cu/lweb/eresources/exhibitions/sw25/bentham/">Jeremy Bentham even expressed support</a> for the decriminalisation of homosexuality in various writings from the 1770s to the 1820s, contending that sodomy statutes stemmed from “no other foundation than prejudice”.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/gentleman-jack-a-gripping-19th-century-tale-of-one-womans-bravery-in-sex-and-politics-116868">Gentleman Jack: a gripping 19th-century tale of one woman's bravery in sex and politics</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>But he did not dare publish such radical views. After all, this was an era when spreading false allegations of same-sex proclivities was considered by some commentators as akin to committing murder, such was the reputational ruin faced by the accused.</p>
<h2>‘Crime’ and punishment</h2>
<p>In an <a href="http://rictornorton.co.uk/eighteen/twicken.htm">age of rampant persecution</a>, homosexual men in Georgian Britain were regularly executed or publicly disgraced, brutalised by hostile crowds in public pillories and forced into exile overseas. Tomlinson’s own meditations appear in his private diary, an intimate record of his thoughts not intended for a wider audience.</p>
<p>While Tomlinson’s writings reflect the opinions of only one man, the phrasing implies that his comments were informed by the views of others. This exciting new evidence perhaps complicates and enriches our understanding of historical attitudes towards sexuality, suggesting that the revolutionary conception of same-sex attraction as a natural human tendency, discernible from adolescence and deserving of acceptance, was mooted within the social circles of a Yorkshire farmer during the reign of George III.</p>
<p>Tomlinson’s reflections were prompted by reports of the court-martial and execution of naval surgeon James Nehemiah Taylor, who was hanged from the yard-arm of HMS Jamaica on December 26 1809 for committing sodomy with his young servant. Newspapers across Britain and Ireland <a href="http://rictornorton.co.uk/eighteen/1810tayl.htm">published accounts of the case</a>, reminding their burgeoning readerships of the draconian state penalties for homosexual behaviour. </p>
<p>Contemporary media reporting on sodomy cases, often couched in the language of moral panic, both reflected and reinforced social stigma against same-sex intimacy. But Tomlinson’s writings suggests that not all readers uncritically accepted the homophobic assumptions they encountered in the press. Disheartened by the ignominious demise of an accomplished medical man, the diarist questioned the justice of Taylor’s punishment and debated whether so-called “unnatural” acts were truly deserving of such an appellation.</p>
<p>But Tomlinson’s musings are still very much the product of his time. Although the diarist seriously considered the proposition that sexual orientation was innate, he did not unequivocally endorse it. Erroneously believing homosexual behaviour was unknown among animals, Tomlinson still allowed for the possibility that homosexuality might be a choice and therefore (in his view) deserving of punishment, suggesting that capital sentences for sodomy be replaced by the still gruesome alternative of castration.</p>
<h2>Wider implications</h2>
<p>Tomlinson’s meditations thus prove ultimately inconclusive, but nonetheless provide rare and historically valuable insight into the efforts of an ordinary person of faith to grapple with questions of sexual ethics more than two centuries ago. His comments anticipate many of the arguments deployed successfully by the LGBT+ and marriage equality movements in recent decades to promote acceptance of sexual diversity. </p>
<p>Tomlinson’s remarkable reflections suggest that recognisably modern conceptions of human sexuality were circulating in British society more widely – and at an earlier date – than commonly assumed.</p>
<p>I am thrilled to be able to share this exciting and historically significant new evidence with a wider audience, particularly during LGBT+ History Month. I hope the find will inspire other historians and students to engage more fully with the rich collections available in local and regional archives, while serving as a reminder of the serendipity inherent in historical research. </p>
<p>Sometimes the most interesting and important discoveries are the ones you weren’t even looking for.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is an edited version of an article published by the <a href="http://www.ox.ac.uk/news/arts-blog/how-i-made-remarkable-discovery-lgbt-history-mistake-0">University of Oxford’s arts blog</a>.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/131781/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Eamonn O'Keeffe receives funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council for his DPhil at the University of Oxford. </span></em></p>Matthew Tomlinson deplored the execution of a naval surgeon for sodomy, writing that the death penalty was cruel and unfair.Eamonn O'Keeffe, PhD Researcher in History, University of OxfordLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1165682019-05-17T10:44:32Z2019-05-17T10:44:32ZSame-sex couples have been in American politics way longer than the Buttigiegs have been married<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272580/original/file-20190503-103075-6tfwz0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Sophonisba Breckinridge and Edith Abbott</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://photoarchive.lib.uchicago.edu/db.xqy?one=apf1-00008.xml">University of Chicago Photographic Archive, apf1-00008, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library/Bernard Hoffman, photographer</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/">CC BY-NC</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Since openly gay South Bend, Indiana, Mayor <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/14/us/politics/pete-buttigieg-announcement.html">Pete Buttigieg announced his bid for the presidency</a>, news outlets have been full of <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2019/04/06/politics/chasten-buttigieg-on-the-trail/index.html">stories about Buttigieg and his husband</a>. </p>
<p>By highlighting the novelty of an out presidential candidate, such stories obscure the long participation of <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/21/style/lgbtq-gender-language.html">LGBTQ</a> people in American politics. </p>
<p>U.S. history is full of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Partner-Molly-Dewson-Feminism-Politics/dp/0300046219">examples</a> of politically active people in same-sex relationships. As I discuss in <a href="https://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/catalog/82kcs3yk9780252042676.html">my forthcoming book</a>, Edith Abbott and Sophonisba Breckinridge were one such couple. </p>
<h2>‘A life partnership’</h2>
<p>Breckinridge and Abbott met in 1903 at the <a href="https://academic.oup.com/jah/article-abstract/78/1/357/758012?redirectedFrom=fulltext">University of Chicago</a>, one of the first U.S. universities to admit women to graduate programs. </p>
<p>Breckinridge earned her doctorate in political science in 1901 and a law degree in 1904; Abbott completed her doctorate in political economy in 1905. </p>
<p>In 1908, the two women joined forces at the Chicago School of Civics and Philanthropy, where they became <a href="https://www.academia.edu/27628670/Gender_and_Professionalization_in_the_Origins_of_the_U.S._Welfare_State_The_Careers_of_Sophonisba_Breckinridge_and_Edith_Abbott_1890_1935">pioneers in the new profession of social work</a>. At the same time, they formed a <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0886109912437496?journalCode=affa&">close, personal relationship</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=833&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=833&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=833&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1046&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1046&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274992/original/file-20190516-69169-rns7yw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1046&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Sophonisba Breckinridge.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2014686759/">George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress)</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Looking back on that pivotal period in their lives and careers, <a href="https://swk305.community.uaf.edu/files/2013/06/3againsttime.pdf">a former student mused</a>: “I wonder if they foresaw that they were starting a life partnership that would enrich their personal lives and make their professional careers so intertwined that they would always be thought of together.” </p>
<h2>Advocates for public welfare</h2>
<p>For 40 years, Abbott and Breckinridge conducted social science research and promoted social welfare policy at both the state and the national level. </p>
<p>In Illinois, they used <a href="https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/012285645">research on Chicago’s Juvenile Court</a> to promote the nation’s first <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gender-Politics-Welfare-Reform-1997-06-21/dp/B01F9GAAD6">“mothers’ pension”</a> program. Established in 1910, the program provided financial support for single mothers and their children. </p>
<p>In 1920, they co-founded the <a href="https://ssa.uchicago.edu/history">University of Chicago’s School of Social Service Administration</a>, the nation’s first social work program affiliated with a research university. </p>
<p>Working closely with the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Right-Childhood-Childrens-Welfare-1912-46/dp/0252065778/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=a+right+to+childhood&qid=1557272721&s=gateway&sr=8-1">U.S. Children’s Bureau</a>, a federal child welfare agency established in 1912, they made the school a platform to promote public welfare policy at the national level. </p>
<p>Breckinridge and Abbott conducted <a href="https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/102366088">studies of state welfare programs</a> for the Children’s Bureau. They also promoted its innovative programs, including the <a href="https://images.socialwelfare.library.vcu.edu/items/show/102">Sheppard-Towner Act</a>, which provided federal funding for health care for poor women and their children between 1921 and 1929.</p>
<p>Staffed and led by women – including Abbott’s sister, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Grace-Abbott-Reader-ebook/dp/B0170ZQCKY/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=grace+abbott&qid=1557852986&s=gateway&sr=8-1">Grace Abbott</a> – the agency functioned as a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Creating-Female-Dominion-American-1890-1935-ebook/dp/B000SBKYVQ">“female dominion”</a> in American government. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=806&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=806&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=806&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1013&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1013&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/274999/original/file-20190516-69169-1fcoo0k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1013&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Edith Abbott.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Edith_Abbott.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Responding to the Great Depression</h2>
<p>When the nation plunged into the <a href="https://socialwelfare.library.vcu.edu/eras/great-depression/american-social-policy-in-the-great-depression-and-wwii/">Great Depression</a>, Abbott and Breckinridge focused their attention on national policies.</p>
<p>Breckinridge agonized over the plight of poor Americans. Years later, in a letter to Abbott, one of their former students vividly recalled a remark Breckinridge made about “being so troubled sleeping in her good warm bed. She seriously thought that she really ought to give it to someone who needed it, when the need was so dire and so widespread.”</p>
<p>In their journal, the Social Service Review, Abbott and Breckinridge called attention to “the inadequacy of private relief” and asserted that “federal aid” was “clearly necessary in this emergency.” They demanded <a href="https://www-jstor-org.weblib.lib.umt.edu:2443/stable/30009774?seq=1#metadata_info_tab_contents">“national funds for a national crisis.”</a></p>
<p>In 1931, they launched a study of the <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/30010392?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">Chicago Renters’ Court</a>, which heard cases in which tenants were subject to eviction for nonpayment of rent. They used evidence from this study to advocate for federal relief for impoverished Americans. </p>
<p>In her <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sisters-Memories-Abbott-Writings-Sister-ebook/dp/B013LO4EIU">memoirs</a>, Abbott maintained that Colorado Sen. Edward Costigan’s inspiration for the nation’s <a href="https://heinonline-org.weblib.lib.umt.edu:2443/HOL/Page?men_tab=srchresults&handle=hein.journals/guild5&id=144&size=2&collection=journals&terms=1931%7CCostigan%20Bill%7CLaFollette&termtype=phrase&set_as_cursor=3">first federal relief bill</a> was a conversation he had about homelessness in Chicago with her and her sister in the summer of 1931. </p>
<p>“Our schools are full of hungry children, our streets are full of tired and resentful men,” Abbott told Costigan. “The Renter’s Court,” she continued, “was a nightmare —- women crying, children crying, everyone in despair.” </p>
<p>Breckinridge gave Costigan evidence that he presented in <a href="https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/001339337">Senate hearings</a> on proposed relief legislation to fund public work projects and provide direct assistance to destitute citizens. </p>
<p>Abbott also <a href="https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015004725282;view=1up;seq=5">testified</a> on behalf of Costigan’s proposed legislation. Calling attention to the shortcomings of state programs, she asserted that “the science of social welfare” demonstrated the need for “a national system” in order “to take care of all the people who must have care.” </p>
<p>The <a href="https://socialwelfare.library.vcu.edu/eras/great-depression/federal-emergency-relief-act-of-1933/">Federal Emergency Relief Act</a> was passed in 1933. It provided federal funding for both work-relief programs and direct financial assistance for needy Americans. </p>
<p>The <a href="https://socialwelfare.library.vcu.edu/eras/great-depression/federal-emergency-relief-administration/">new agency created by the act</a> then hired Breckinridge to supervise a <a href="https://quod.lib.umich.edu/n/ncosw/ACH8650.1935.001/267?rgn=full+text;view=image;q1=what+we+have+learned">national program</a> to train the first generation of federal public welfare workers. </p>
<h2>Promoting the Social Security Act</h2>
<p>Abbott and Breckinridge were long-standing advocates of what Breckinridge called a <a href="https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/100478723">“national minimum”</a> standard of living guaranteed by the federal government. </p>
<p>After <a href="https://www.britannica.com/event/United-States-presidential-election-of-1932">Franklin D. Roosevelt’s election in 1932</a>, Breckinridge and Abbott joined a powerful <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Suffrage-Women-New-Deal/dp/0674069218">“women’s network”</a> of female New Dealers that included first lady <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Eleanor-Roosevelt-Defining-Years-1933-1938-ebook/dp/B00AFYO5ES/ref=sr_1_8?crid=WCGF0B5BYXB9&keywords=eleanor+roosevelt+biography&qid=1557853110">Eleanor Roosevelt</a>, Secretary of Labor <a href="http://francesperkinscenter.org/life-new/">Frances Perkins</a> and Democratic Party insider <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Partner-Molly-Dewson-Feminism-Politics/dp/0300046219">Mary W. Dewson</a>. The two used their connections with this group and with the Children’s Bureau to advance their aim of creating a comprehensive welfare state. </p>
<p>As Abbott explained in an article published in <a href="https://www.ebsco.com/products/magazine-archives/the-nation-magazine-archive">The Nation</a> in 1934, a “comprehensive plan” for social welfare should provide “adequate dignified relief for all in need.”</p>
<p>Abbott and Breckinridge worked with members of Roosevelt’s <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/reports/ces/cesbasic.html">Committee on Economic Security</a>, created in 1934 to design what would become the <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/35actinx.html">Social Security Act</a>, which laid the groundwork for the modern welfare state, including <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/35actiii.html">unemployment insurance</a> and <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/35actii.html">old age insurance</a> – now commonly referred to as “Social Security.” </p>
<p>Breckinridge and Abbott helped draft the child welfare portions of the bill. They promoted a new federal program, modeled on “mothers’ pensions,” which became <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/35activ.html">Aid to Dependent Children</a> (later Aid to Families with Dependent Children). They also supported new federally funded programs to provide <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/35actv.html">health care and financial support for poor and disabled children</a>.</p>
<p>Breckinridge dubbed the day that Roosevelt signed the Social Security Act, August 14, 1935, “the great date of the decade.” Breckinridge was immediately invited to join an <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=4jU3BKQlyRQC&pg=RA13-PA156#v">advisory committee</a> to oversee the act’s child welfare programs. </p>
<p>When Breckinridge was asked if she would be willing to attend the inaugural meeting of the committee at her own expense, she responded: “I think that I would crawl on hands and knees if it were necessary to try to be of service in connection with the Security Program!”</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=635&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=635&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/275001/original/file-20190516-69209-10wdhtb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=635&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Food bank interior, King County, Washington, ca. 1934.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://digitalcollections.lib.washington.edu/digital/collection/fera/id/132">Federal Emergency Relief Administration Photographs, University of Washington Libraries</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>‘What a pair!’</h2>
<p>Abbott and Breckinridge never held political office. Nonetheless, they made their mark on public policy. <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/history/fbane.html">Frank Bane</a>, the first executive director of the Social Security Board (1935-1938), paid tribute to their partnership. </p>
<p>“In setting up the various relief administrations and Social Security, it was Edith Abbott with Sophonisba and a few others who gave us the greatest help,” he reflected. “Edith and Sophonisba – as the University of Chicago called them, A and B. – what a pair!”</p>
<p>Abbott and Breckinridge were not “out” as we now understand it, but neither were they “in the closet.” Rather, as was <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B003ZUY0Y4/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1">common</a> during their lifetimes, their contemporaries acknowledged their relationship without labeling them lesbians. </p>
<p>After Breckinridge’s death in 1948, Abbott received a flood of condolence letters praising the women’s partnership. Many pointed out that the couple’s personal relationship enhanced their political efficacy. As <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=rWwbAQAAIAAJ&focus=searchwithinvolume&q=zimmerman">Edna Zimmerman</a>, the state superintendent for child welfare in Illinois, put it: “You and she have shared a common lot these many years and your labors in behalf of human welfare have borne rich fruit.” </p>
<h2>Suffrage to civil rights</h2>
<p>The Buttigiegs belong to a long tradition of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Right-Side-History-Years-Activism-ebook/dp/B07H469G98/">LGBTQ political engagement</a>. </p>
<p>Lesbians played a key role in both the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Believe-Women-Lesbians-America-History-ebook/dp/B003ZUY0Y4/">suffrage movement</a> and the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Partner-Molly-Dewson-Feminism-Politics/dp/0300046219">New Deal</a>. Gay men led the <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=VNKwvIWU5T8C&pg">1934 Longshoremen’s Strike</a> in California; <a href="https://qspirit.net/bayard-rustin-gay-saint/">Bayard Rustin</a>, who later became a gay rights activist, was Dr. Martin Luther King’s chief strategist in the movement for African American civil rights.</p>
<p>Abbott and Breckinridge’s personal and political partnership offers just one example of the longstanding contributions of LGBTQ people to American politics.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/116568/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Anya Jabour receives funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities.</span></em></p>Long before Chasten Buttigieg became a ‘not-so-secret weapon’ in his husband Pete Buttigieg’s presidential campaign, another same-sex couple profoundly reshaped American social policy.Anya Jabour, Regents Professor of History, University of MontanaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/908882018-02-28T11:40:05Z2018-02-28T11:40:05ZNebraskans who support and oppose ‘religious freedom’ laws actually share many of the same values<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/208173/original/file-20180227-36700-1pmsljv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">In the case of wedding cake.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">AP Photo/David Zalubowski</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Religious freedom legislation highlights political division in the U.S., pitting conservative Christians against LGBTQ people and their allies. </p>
<p>As sociologists who study <a href="https://www.emilykazyak.com/">sexuality</a> and <a href="http://kelsyburke.com">conservative Christianity in the U.S.</a>, we decided to investigate whether and why people support or oppose these religious freedom laws with our co-author, Mathew Stange. Our <a href="http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/2378023118760413">recent study</a> asks specifically about laws that protect business owners who refuse to serve gays or lesbians. This is the focus of the ongoing Supreme Court case <a href="http://www.scotusblog.com/case-files/cases/masterpiece-cakeshop-ltd-v-colorado-civil-rights-commn/">Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission</a>. The case will decide the legality of a wedding cake baker’s refusal to make a cake for a same-sex couple.</p>
<p><iframe id="Uya3Y" class="tc-infographic-datawrapper" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/Uya3Y/1/" height="400px" width="100%" style="border: none" frameborder="0"></iframe></p>
<p>In our recently published study of over a 1,000 Nebraskans, we found that a clear majority of respondents, 64 percent, oppose laws that allow business owners to deny services to gay men or lesbians based on religious beliefs. Our poll, <a href="https://www.prri.org/research/lgbt-transgender-bathroom-discrimination-religious-liberty/">like national ones</a>, found that these laws do not reflect broad support.</p>
<p>Why, then, do these bills continue to pass in state legislatures if most Americans do not actually agree with them? </p>
<p>Based on our research, we argue that one factor is that people on both sides of the issue rely on appeals to the American values of rights, freedom and capitalism to justify their position. </p>
<h2>Rights and equality</h2>
<p>One shared rationale among respondents on both sides is the idea that Americans have a fundamental right to freely live their lives. </p>
<p>People who oppose religious freedom laws emphasized an individual’s right to be free from discrimination. Many drew parallels to discrimination on the basis of race, arguing, as one respondent did: “Businesses discriminating against LGBT people is no different than half a century ago when businesses discriminated against blacks. Supporting civil rights means everyone gets to sit at the lunch counter.” </p>
<p>On the other side, people who support religious freedom laws focused on the freedom and rights of business owners. Many referenced the slogan “No shirts, no shoes, no service,” indicating that business owners can refuse service for a number of reasons. Some supporters explicitly talked about religious freedom. One respondent said an “owner of business should be able to conduct business in accordance with his religious convictions – to be true to himself.” </p>
<p>We found that both sides stressed the importance of freedom and rights, but had different ideas about whose rights were most important.</p>
<h2>The free market</h2>
<p>Both sides also drew on the significance of the free market and capitalism. When justifying their opinions, people on both sides pointed to an economy of abundant choices and to businesses weighing the potential risks and rewards in terms of profit.</p>
<p>People who support religious freedom legislation believe that there are many businesses willing to serve gays and lesbians. One person explained, “The issue is not denial of service, it is exercise of conscience. The ‘services’ are readily available elsewhere.” </p>
<p>People who oppose religious freedom legislation emphasized that businesses should be concerned with profit above all else. They made statements like: “The idea of business is to make money; to refuse a money making transaction is stupid” and “As a business owner, you don’t turn away business.” Both sides value capitalism and the free market, but had different ideas about whose actions mattered.</p>
<h2>Nebraska compared to the nation</h2>
<p>Even though this sample from Nebraska doesn’t represent national attitudes, it is an important case study to learn about how people make sense of religious freedom legislation targeting gays and lesbians. Nebraska is <a href="http://www.pewforum.org/religious-landscape-study/state/nebraska/political-ideology/">more politically conservative than the national average</a>. However, the state is comparable to the rest of the nation when it comes to <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s13178-015-0213-x">attitudes about LGBTQ rights</a> and fairly average when it comes to <a href="http://www.pewforum.org/religious-landscape-study/state/nebraska/">religiosity</a>.</p>
<p>White evangelical Christians, who often <a href="http://www.jacksonfreepress.com/news/2016/apr/02/roll-call-who-voted-and-against-anti-lgbt-house-bi/">lead efforts to pass religious liberty legislation</a> and who are <a href="https://www.prri.org/research/lgbt-transgender-bathroom-discrimination-religious-liberty/">more likely to support it</a> than other religious groups, make up about <a href="http://www.pewforum.org/religious-landscape-study/#geography">25 percent of the population in Nebraska and the country</a>. </p>
<p>At stake in debates over religious freedom is who deserves protection from the government. Our study shows that opponents to these laws believe gays and lesbians have rights in need of protection. Supporters of religious freedom bills believe the rights of religious people, conservative Christian business owners more specifically, are potentially threatened in an era of increasingly greater acceptance of gay and lesbian visibility and relationships. </p>
<p>Yet LGBTQ people are arguably the underdog: Whereas the First Amendment makes illegal attempts to fire or refuse housing for someone based on religion – Christian or otherwise – <a href="http://www.lgbtmap.org/equality-maps/non_discrimination_laws">it is legal in 28 states</a>, including Nebraska, to fire a person or refuse housing to someone based on sexuality or gender nonconformity. The logic surrounding debates over “religious freedom” muddies what these bills codify into law under the guise of shared values about rights, equality and the free market.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/90888/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>More than 1,000 Nebraskans were asked about laws that protect business owners who refuse to serve gays or lesbians. People on either side of the issue made appeals to rights, freedom and capitalism.Emily Kazyak, Associate Professor of Sociology and Women's and Gender Studies, University of Nebraska-LincolnKelsy Burke, Assistant Professor of Sociology, University of Nebraska-LincolnLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/922462018-02-26T22:55:35Z2018-02-26T22:55:35ZEnsuring equity for LGBTQ Canadians on the road<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207922/original/file-20180226-140217-12rb969.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C4896%2C2741&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Some LGBTQ Canadians who travel for work may purchase an extra laptop or cell phone to ensure no personal photos or contacts are on their devices. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bambi Corro/Unsplash</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Within the Pyeongchang 2018 Olympics, there have been obvious advances for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and queer (LGBTQ) people and their allies. LGBTQ Olympians from several countries, including <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2018/feb/14/lgbt-athletes-history-winter-olympics-pyeongchang">Canadian gold medal-winner Eric Radford</a>, competed openly. <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/radio/thecurrent/the-current-for-february-9-2018-1.4527912/gay-at-the-games-how-canada-is-hosting-pride-house-a-safe-space-for-lgbt-athletes-at-the-olympics-1.4528002">Canada House served as Pride House</a>, a safe and welcoming space for LGBTQ athletes. Out U.S. gay athletes were blunt about their view that Mike Pence was an inappropriate representative for their country at the games. </p>
<p>But only four years prior, the Sochi Olympics of 2014 were preceded by the introduction of a <a href="https://www.hrw.org/news/2013/06/23/russia-reject-discriminatory-bill">new law in Russia</a>, the host country, that stepped up discrimination against gay people. </p>
<p>LGBTQ athletes and their allies were confronted with a problem. On the one hand, the games are governed <a href="https://stillmed.olympic.org/Documents/Olympic%20Charter/Olympic_Charter_through_time/2013-Olympic_Charter.pdf">by a charter that deems any form of discrimination incompatible with belonging to the Olympic Movement.</a> On the other hand, the Sochi games would be held in a country where LGBTQ people were not welcome. </p>
<p>The assurance of non-discrimination is part of an <em>equity</em> discourse. The idea that there is an inherent goodness to international engagement relates to a second discourse: <em>Internationalization</em>. </p>
<p>For me, as a lesbian in an academic environment, those two discourses led to a question about my daily life. For the past four years, I have investigated how equity and internationalization come together for LGBTQ people. I turned to my own work setting to explore how LGBTQ people navigate the expectations and complications that come with internationalization in the post-secondary sector.</p>
<h2>The business of equity</h2>
<p>In Canada, equity regularly appears as a concept in company policies and plans. Typically, discrimination or harassment based on race, gender or sexual orientation is prohibited. These standards are in line with <a href="http://www.qp.alberta.ca/documents/Acts/A25P5.pdf">provincial and federal human rights codes</a> and expected in most Canadian organizations. </p>
<p>At the University of Calgary, where I work, there is an <a href="http://www.ucalgary.ca/policies/files/policies/employment%20equity%20policy%20.pdf">Employment Equity Policy</a> and a <a href="http://www.ucalgary.ca/hr/diversity_equity_strategy">related strategy</a>, among other statements and offices meant to support LGBTQ people.</p>
<p>That expectation is not shared globally, though. There are many countries where being gay is a punishable offence, sometimes even a capital offence. </p>
<p>Certainly, discrimination against LGBTQ people has not vanished in Western societies and post-secondary institutions. In fact, <a href="https://doi.org/10.3102/0013189X10362579">the few studies that exist on LGBTQ academics</a> show that despite institutional efforts and advances, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/00918369.2011.605744">LGBTQ people continue to experience barriers on campus.</a></p>
<p>Like other organizations, post-secondary institutions are extending their reach globally. This happens through recruitment of students outside Canada, study exchanges, study abroad programs, field research and satellite campuses. On an even more basic level, there are international conferences to attend and international publications to include in courses. </p>
<p>While internationalization is <a href="https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-94-6091-906-0_2">portrayed as crucial in helping students develop intercultural skills</a>, some are concerned that it is about business more than education. What happens when business priorities clash with equity priorities? Equity is too easily sacrificed.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=458&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=458&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=458&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=575&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=575&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207715/original/file-20180223-108119-38efg0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=575&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">LGBTQ Olympians from several countries, including Canadian gold medal-winner Eric Radford competed openly in 2018.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">PAUL CHIASSON / The Canadian Press</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>The borders of inclusion and safety</h2>
<p>I interviewed 34 faculty members, students and staff based at post-secondary institutions in British Columbia and Alberta. When I asked participants to discuss the intersection of equity and internationalization for LGBTQ people, they talked about different types of tensions.</p>
<p>First, they identified a tension between inclusion and exclusion. A second tension they spoke about was between safety and risk. A third was between the freedom to come out and the expectation to pass. </p>
<p>Many programs, centres and policies have fostered inclusive campus cultures and communities: Hiring policies, women’s, gender and queer studies programs, centres for LGBTQ students, participation in pride parades. These activities do not mean that exclusion has disappeared, though. Trans people’s battles for gender-neutral bathrooms or processes to change name and gender on student records illustrate the persistence of exclusion.</p>
<p>Internationalization can heighten exclusion and risk. For example, participants often thought twice about participating, or decided not to participate, in a conference if it meant travelling to a country where it was illegal to be gay. While embraced by senior administrators and some faculty members, activities located in such countries seemed off-limits to some LGBTQ participants. </p>
<p>The impacts of exclusion and risk can surface in institutional communities, as well as in opportunities to build networks and projects with colleagues elsewhere. For students and junior scholars, the decision to forego international activities can create a risk to career development.</p>
<p>When participants did decide to travel to countries that were cracking down against LGBTQ people, they had to consider how to present themselves. Border crossings, where officials question travellers about their plans and their relationships with companions, were noted as particularly nerve wracking. </p>
<p>Even if they were out at work or in their classes, many participants accepted that travel to certain places entails stepping back into the closet. Doing so can create stress: A denial of their identity means a compromise of their values. It may also generate tension at home, as deciding to travel without a partner or to remove a wedding band can signal a diminishing of important relationships.</p>
<p>Some participants who travel regularly in their jobs take protective measures. They may purchase an extra laptop or cell phone to ensure no personal photos or contacts are on their devices in the event of a border inspection. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207901/original/file-20180226-120971-rufzr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Some participants who travel regularly in their jobs take protective measures: deciding to travel without a partner can signal a diminishing of important relationships.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Opening opportunities</h2>
<p>Despite these exclusions, risks and barriers, participants recognized that equity and internationalization discourses can converge. </p>
<p>Faculty members or staff in internationalization offices noted that, for international students who identity as LGBTQ, being able to study in Canada can help them figure out who they are and how they might live. </p>
<p>One participant talked about Canadian and international LGBTQ and ally students working together for a class activity on social justice and globalization. That activity became a way to deepen their learning about “<a href="https://www.routledge.com/Intersectionality-and-Beyond-Law-Power-and-the-Politics-of-Location/Grabham-Cooper-Krishnadas-Herman/p/book/9780203890882">intersectionality</a>:” the idea that people’s multiple, interacting identities inform experiences of privilege and marginalization. </p>
<h2>A path forward</h2>
<p>As I write up my findings for a book, some advances seem to have been made. </p>
<p>At the Pyeongchang Olympics, the LGBTQ atmosphere was much improved over the games in Russia when the Pride House was banned. “I could have never imagined that this whole LGBTQ aspect would have happened [at these games,]” <a href="https://www.thestar.com/sports/olympics/2018/02/20/at-pyeongchang-olympics-canadas-pride-house-provides-a-place-to-belong.html">Eric Radford told the Toronto Star</a>. “I just feel lucky that I get to be a part of that.”</p>
<p>In terms of advances in academia, some participants mentioned their institutions’ support to establish networks where LGBTQ people and allies can socialize, learn and generate ideas. Although still uncommon, gender-neutral bathrooms are available. Policies are being updated, with gender identity increasingly added as a prohibited ground for discrimination.</p>
<p>Still, in many institutions, internationalization work and equity work are based in different offices, each with its own staff and priorities. At times, those priorities can converge but, at other times, they diverge.</p>
<p>Internationalization holds opportunities, but opportunities come at a cost. On the whole, the opportunities of Canadian post-secondary internationalization seem to carry different, likely higher, costs for LGBTQ people than for straight people.</p>
<p>The solutions to these challenges are not easy. One obvious step is for equity and internationalization offices to work more closely together. </p>
<p>Several participants suggested developing a protocol — a sort of checklist — to ensure that equity concerns about proposals are flagged. </p>
<p>In the work of internationalization, exclusion and risk should not be apportioned unfairly to LGBTQ people. The aim should be to make equity assurances — whether in athletics or in scholarship — a gold standard rather than gold-plated.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/92246/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kaela Jubas received funding for the project discussed in this article from University of Calgary Research Grants Committee. </span></em></p>How do LGBTQ people navigate international business, scholarship or sports competition when traveling to countries hostile to LGBTQ people?Kaela Jubas, Associate Professor in Adult Learning, University of CalgaryLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/919052018-02-22T06:39:18Z2018-02-22T06:39:18ZEssays On Air: On the Sydney Mardi Gras march of 1978<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/206486/original/file-20180215-124899-1db4bz.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Marchers at the 1978 Mardi Gras parade. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sally Colechin/The Pride History Group</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>On a cold Saturday night in Sydney on June 24, 1978, a number of gay men, lesbians and transgender people marched into the pages of Australian social history. I was one of them.</p>
<p>On today’s episode of <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/essays-on-air-48405">Essays On Air</a>, the audio version of The Conversation’s <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/friday-essay-22955">Friday essay</a> series, Conversation editor Lucinda Beaman is reading <a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-on-the-sydney-mardi-gras-march-of-1978-54337">my essay on the Sydney Mardi Gras march of 1978.</a></p>
<p>On the eve of the 40th anniversary of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, it’s worth revisiting the events of that night and reflecting on the remarkable lesson that, for oppressed minorities, there comes a time when enough is enough. </p>
<p>Much has been achieved, but it would be a major mistake to relax and assume that history is progressively improving.</p>
<p>Join us as we read to you here at Essays On Air, a podcast from The Conversation.</p>
<p>Find us and subscribe in <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/essays-on-air/id1333743838?mt=2">Apple Podcasts</a>, in <a href="https://play.pocketcasts.com/">Pocket Casts</a> or wherever you get your podcasts.</p>
<p><em>Today’s episode was edited by Sybilla Gross.</em></p>
<h2>Additional audio</h2>
<p>Snow by <a href="http://freemusicarchive.org/music/David_Szesztay/Cinematic/Snow">David Szesztay</a></p>
<p>Tom Robinson, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AxaSGdVUdV4">Glad to be gay</a>.</p>
<p>Mavis Staples, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcDpmzQh3YU">We shall not be moved</a></p>
<p>Podington Bear, Memory Wind, from <a href="http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Podington_Bear/Fathomless_-_Ambient/Memory_Wind">Free Music Archive</a></p>
<p>David Szesztay, Flash, from <a href="http://freemusicarchive.org/music/David_Szesztay/">Free Music Archive</a></p>
<p>David Szesztay, Looking Back, from <a href="http://freemusicarchive.org/music/David_Szesztay/20170730112627760/Looking_Back">Free Music Archive</a></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/91905/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Mark Gillespie is affiliated with The '78ers</span></em></p>On a cold Saturday night in Sydney on June 24, 1978, a number of gay men, lesbians and transgender people marched into the pages of Australian social history. I was one of them.Mark Gillespie, English for Academic Purposes Specialist, Anthropologist, Centre for English Teaching, University of SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/874462017-11-15T05:08:13Z2017-11-15T05:08:13ZThe road to same-sex marriage support has been long – and the fight isn’t over yet<p>Today’s same-sex marriage survey results represent a moment of extraordinary change. It is well within living memory that homosexuality in Australia was considered a crime, a sickness and a threat to the nation itself. The final Australian state to decriminalise male homosexuality was Tasmania, as recently as 1997. Plenty of gay men still remember the fear of prison terms that shadowed their lives. </p>
<p>Plenty of lesbians still remember that, although their sex lives were never criminalised, the police and the courts found ways to oppress and harass them nonetheless. Many LGBTIQ people still carry the emotional and physical scars of brutal medical interventions designed to fix something that was never broken.</p>
<p>And yet, from the birth of the Australian lesbian and gay rights movement at the end of the 1960s, through the growing inclusivity of LGBTIQ activist politics in the decades since, we have somehow reached a point in November 2017 where millions of heterosexual Australians have chosen to tick a box saying “yes”.</p>
<p>In the process, they have helped a once demonised, pathologised and criminalised minority take a major step towards equality.</p>
<h2>Fighting for recognition</h2>
<p>There is a long history of Australian same-sex couples understanding their <a href="http://www.auswhn.org.au/blog/marriage-between-women/">relationships</a> as marriages and <a href="http://www.auswhn.org.au/blog/marriage-histories/">fighting</a> for legal recognition. But for many of the lesbian and gay activists who built the early rights and liberation movements, marriage wasn’t part of their agenda.</p>
<p>Feminist <a href="http://www.auswhn.org.au/blog/not-the-marrying-kind/">critiques</a> of marriage as a mechanism of patriarchal oppression inspired many activists to condemn the very idea of wedlock. But I don’t think it is too much of a stretch to argue that the outcome of this survey began, at least in part, in the <a href="https://cv.vic.gov.au/stories/a-diverse-state/out-of-the-closets-into-the-streets/consciousness-raising-groups/">consciousness-raising</a> groups, protests and parties of the 1970s movement.</p>
<p>Perhaps the greatest success of early activists was convincing queer people that they deserved better; to stop listening to the harmful lies that told them they were sick, their desires were shameful and they were destined for sad and lonely lives. Instead, queer people were told to come out, be proud and change the world.</p>
<p>This created happier lives for many LGBTIQ people, of course. But it also dramatically shifted how the straight world understood this evil “other”. It is much harder to fear homosexuals once you’ve discovered that the lovely women who live next door are more than just roommates. That the blokes who run the local newsagency are more than simply business partners. A generation of kids has grown up with gay uncles and trans cousins in a world where the idea of “queer” represents an expansion of possibilities rather than a terrifying threat.</p>
<p>This change didn’t come from nowhere. It is a direct consequence of people who burst out of the closet in the 1970s, then turned around and smashed the damn thing to pieces.</p>
<p>The other consequence of the early movement was a tradition of organising and campaigning that has stood the community in good stead throughout this survey.</p>
<p>I don’t want to romanticise this activist history. The LGBTIQ community has never been a neatly united entity, harmoniously reaching for common goals. Some <a href="https://www.vice.com/en_au/article/nn94xd/some-on-the-radical-queer-left-still-think-gay-marriage-is-bad-for-the-lgbtq-community">queer activists</a> still argue that marriage is a force of oppression and see this campaign as a capitulation rather than a victory.</p>
<p>But for me, a great joy in the last few months has been watching the campaign run alongside grassroots actions ranging from street marches to flying rainbow flags off balconies. All of these acts are part of a powerful tradition and elements of one of the great social movements of Australian history.</p>
<h2>Bigotry continues</h2>
<p>There are, of course, many good people who voted “no”, and who will be saddened by the outcome of this survey. For many older Australians, for example, I can imagine that any change to marriage feels like a loss. I hope they will come to understand that this change will not impact them at all.</p>
<p>Sadly, the “no” campaign was dominated by arguments soaked in bigotry. Although attitudes to lesbian and gay couples have seen extraordinary change in recent decades, trans people still seem to comprise a scary “other” that is all too easily demonised. As a result, same-sex marriages were barely mentioned by the “no” campaign except as some kind of slippery slope that would <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/lanesainty/battle-of-the-mums">supposedly lead</a> to more freedoms for trans individuals.</p>
<p>Also all too often, an element of the “no” campaign was the idea that LGBTIQ people are a threat to children. This deeply harmful rhetoric has a <a href="http://www.auswhn.org.au/blog/child-in-anti-lgbt-campaigns/">long history</a> in Australian life. “No” campaigners have demonised LGBTIQ parents and placed at risk the safety of <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/health/2017-10-23/marriage-debate-puts-kids-at-risk/9075384">children</a> in rainbow families. And they have risked exacerbating the vulnerability of young LGBTIQ people in schools.</p>
<p>Our celebrations are bitter-sweet. The majority of Australians have rejected these hurtful arguments, and yet the campaign has revealed how much work there is left to be done. </p>
<p>Trans and gender non-conforming people, in particular, deserve a greater voice and the support of the rest of their community, as do LGBTIQ school students. Also needing our continued activism are the gay refugees now trapped on <a href="http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/338468/gay-detainees-on-manus-fear-for-their-future">Manus Island</a>. These men were forced to flee Iran to find safety. They have been placed by the Australian government in a country in which homosexuality remains illegal.</p>
<h2>The personal is political</h2>
<p>Feminist and gay liberation activists in the 1970s embraced the slogan “the personal is political”, so permit me a personal reflection on this political moment. I’ve been surprised by how much this campaign has affected me. I’m a middle-aged gay man with an amazing partner and incredibly supportive family, friends and colleagues. I imagined that the “no” campaign would simply wash over me.</p>
<p>But I’ve been deeply hurt by so much of what has been said about people I love. I worry for the impact I’ve seen this campaign have on families. I’m angry that the validity of my relationship was considered an open question. I’m furious that every homophobe who has ever spat offensive words at me and threatened me with violence has been given an opportunity to place further judgement.</p>
<p>But I’m also incredibly proud. My community has fought a campaign that was overwhelmingly positive. Our straight and cisgender (those whose gender and biological sex align) allies have stood alongside us, offering their support in ways that I’ve found truly moving. And the majority of Australians has cared enough about this issue to find a letterbox and send in their “yes” vote. There is much to feel good about in that.</p>
<p>And so this goes back to the parliament, where it should have been resolved in the first place, and the next battle for LGBTIQ activists begins. It is only since 2013 that LGBTIQ people have been protected under federal anti-discrimination laws. It is now up to the prime minister to reject any marriage bill that diminishes these protections. Right now, it is the least he can do.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/87446/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Scott McKinnon was a volunteer participant in an advertisement for Australian Marriage Equality.</span></em></p>Given that only 20 years ago Tasmania decriminalised male homosexuality, the same-sex marriage survey result represents an extraordinary change. But there is still work to be done.Scott McKinnon, Vice-Chancellor's Postdoctoral Research Fellow, University of WollongongLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/854212017-11-01T13:05:36Z2017-11-01T13:05:36ZAfrican commission turns 30, but threats to its independence remain real<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/192808/original/file-20171101-19861-11rf2uf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A political body of the AU is second-guessing a legal body in its interpretation of the African Charter, on the basis of prejudice against LGBTI people.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">REUTERS/Antony Njuguna</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The African Union’s longest serving human rights body, the <a href="http://www.achpr.org/">African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights</a>, is celebrating 30 years since its inauguration. Regrettably, celebrations have been stifled by an unresolved challenge to its autonomy. What’s at stake is the commission’s ability to do its job of making sure that AU member states comply with its main human rights treaty, the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights <a href="http://www.chr.up.ac.za/index.php/documents-by-theme/african-charter-achpr.html">(African Charter)</a>.</p>
<p>The crisis has its origins in April 2015 when the commission granted observer status to the South African based NGO <a href="https://www.cal.org.za/">Coalition of African Lesbians</a>. Being given observer status gives an NGO the right to participate in the commission’s sessions. It’s usually a rather routine affair – more than 500 NGOS have been given the status. </p>
<p>The Coalition of African Lesbians case was out of the ordinary because it was the first time an openly lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender organisation had been granted observer status. </p>
<p>Every six months, the African Commission submits a report of its activities to the AU’s executive council, a political body consisting of the ministers of foreign affairs of member states. The report is tabled for the executive council’s “consideration”. The current situation arose when the council took the unprecedented step of telling the commission to reverse one of its findings in the activity report related to human rights. </p>
<p>When the executive council “considered” the commission’s report it directed it to withdraw Coalition of African Lesbian’s observer status. The executive council argued that granting observer status to the coalition was not “in line with … fundamental African values, identity and <a href="https://au.int/sites/default/files/decisions/31762-ex_cl_dec_873_-_898_xxvii_e.pdf">good traditions</a>.</p>
<p>The conclusion is inescapable – a political body of the AU is second guessing a legal body in its interpretation of a legal text, the African Charter, on the basis of prejudice against lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender people.</p>
<p>The council’s decision was not only unprecedented, it is also deeply troubling given the commission’s role as the watchdog of human rights on the continent. Its mandate is to interpret the African Charter without fear or favour. If politicians are allowed to dictate how it does its job, the commission will no longer be autonomous and independent. And its role of supervising states will be eroded badly. </p>
<p>The commission has a great deal to be proud of. Over the past three decades it has advanced the rights of individuals and groups in AU member states when their rights were at risk, and provided remedies to many of them. It also held states accountable for human rights violations. And it contributed to building a culture of human rights among governments and civil society, providing a forum where they could discuss human rights.</p>
<h2>Court’s failure to defuse the crisis</h2>
<p>To make matters worse, the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights recently missed an opportunity to defuse this looming crisis. One of the court’s functions is to give advice about the interpretation of AU legal texts. Making use of this opportunity, the Coalition of African Lesbians and another NGO, the Centre for Human Rights at University of Pretoria, approached the court in an attempt to defuse the situation. They asked it to answer the question whether the executive council may, as part of its competence to "consider” the commission’s report, overrule the commission’s decisions <a href="http://www.chr.up.ac.za/images/files/news/news_2015/Request%20for%20an%20advisory%20opinion%20to%20African%20Court%20by%20CHR%20and%20CAL%202%20November%202015.pdf">resolved</a>.</p>
<p>We submitted the request in line with the court’s protocol which allows “African organisations recognised by the AU” to submit request for advisory opinions. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, the court adopted a very narrow approach in its <a href="http://www.chr.up.ac.za/images/files/news/news_2017/002-2015-African%20Lesbians-%20Advisory%20Opinion-28%20September%202017.pdf">finding</a>. It held that the two NGOs were not “recognised by the AU”, and therefore not entitled to make a request to get the dispute resolved. This is despite the argument that they <em>are</em> recognised because they both enjoy observer status with the African Commission. </p>
<p>In effect, the court decided that only NGOs that have entered into a formal memorandum of understanding with the AU Secretariat (AU Commission) are entitled to approach the court with advisory requests. </p>
<h2>What next?</h2>
<p>Ideally, the court needs to resolve what is essentially an intra-AU constitutional dispute. But the court does not act at its own initiative.</p>
<p>There are two realistic possibilities to get the court to issue an advisory opinion. The Commission itself, and any other AU body such as the African Committee of Experts on the Rights of Welfare of the Child, could approach the court with a request for an advisory opinion. Or an NGO that’s got a memorandum of understanding with the AU Secretariat could submit such a request. But to get there will require these bodies – or a qualifying NGO – to take action on an issue that some of their members may see as politically too controversial and risky. </p>
<p>If the court’s advisory role is not brought into play, the executive council and the African commission will remain on a collision course that may seriously jeopardise the protection of human rights within the AU. If the matter is left unresolved, one of two things will happen: either the commission will have to give in and withdraw observer status for the Coalition of African Lesbians, seriously undermining its authority and legitimacy. Or it will have to defy the executive council. The consequence of this could be that it sees support – financial and other – cut. Such cuts are likely to diminish its role of protecting the rights of people living on the continent. </p>
<p>It is in the best interest of everyone in AU member states that this matter be resolved in a way that defuses the potential for conflict between the two bodies.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/85421/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Frans Viljoen is affiliated with the Centre for Human Rights, Faculty of Law, University of Pretoria. </span></em></p>A dispute between the African Union’s executive and the commission responsible for overseeing human rights could weaken the protection of peoples’ rights.Frans Viljoen, Director and Professor of International Human Rights Law, Centre for Human Rights, University of PretoriaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/837962017-09-17T19:42:30Z2017-09-17T19:42:30ZOn marriage equality, Australia’s progressive instincts have been crushed by political failure<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/186119/original/file-20170915-9038-h1z6dg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Australia is way behind comparable countries on the marriage equality debate, thanks largely to a failure of leadership.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">AAP/Paul Miller</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>After speaking recently at a writers’ festival, I was asked about what in Australia’s history could account for our failure to legislate same-sex marriage. It was not easy to answer. How could one argue that there was a strain of social or moral conservatism in Australia that could not be found, in an even more virulent form, in the history of <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-32858501">Ireland</a>? Or indeed the <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-21943292">United States</a>, or any number of other countries able to resolve this issue with less fuss than we have?</p>
<p>A conventional way of answering might be that homophobia has been especially virulent in Australia because of the distinctive patterns of the nation’s masculinity. That is still a common stereotype of Australia, if not quite as powerful as almost half a century ago, when Monty Python produced its famous Bruce sketch on the philosophy department at the University of Woolloomooloo, with its “No poofters” tagline.</p>
<p>This explanation would point to the legacy of frontier masculinity: aggressively heterosexual, contemptuous of effeminacy in men (associated with “pommies” and “poofters”, sometimes seen as embodied in the same person), hostile to lesbianism as a standing insult to antipodean manhood (“she clearly hasn’t met a real Aussie bloke”), and misogynistic towards women in general – “the doormats of the western world”, according to feminist historian <a href="http://historyrfd.net/isern/381/dixson.htm">Miriam Dixson</a>. Hard-drinking. Hard-swearing. Anti-intellectual. Matey.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qgKUHtcZEXc?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>Russel Ward, a colleague of Dixson at the University of New England, called this image <a href="http://trove.nla.gov.au/work/9284258">“the Australian Legend”</a>, tracing its origins to the convict system and wool industry. Interestingly, Ward wondered aloud in his groundbreaking book whether the fabled mateship of such men was sublimated homosexuality. That was rather daring for 1958, but Ward was a veteran of the Australian version of the English public school – he was the son of a schoolmaster and later taught himself – and he had been employed in army psychological testing during the war. And he knew his Freud. So, even as he celebrated the Australian virtues as embodied in his noble bushman, Ward hinted that this rough and ready façade might obscure a more complicated story.</p>
<p>When gay history emerged in Australia in the 1980s, there was a fascination with the phenomenon of mateship, as well as an awareness of what Ward had done with it. These historians asked pointed questions about intimate relationships between men in Australia’s past. Through court records, and press reports, letters and diaries, they found plenty of sex between men, that “mates” were sometimes lovers, that the sexual desires of bushmen were not unerringly directed towards women, whether white or black.</p>
<p>The historians found men who passed as women and women who passed as men; in some instances, it was obvious that such deception was a cover for same-sex relations. And in at least one <a href="http://latrobejournal.slv.vic.gov.au/latrobejournal/issue/latrobe-69/t1-g-t9.html%E2%80%8B">well-publicised case</a>, this involved same-sex marriage before its time. Women lived together in intimate, loving and sexual relationships, long before the word “lesbian” was in use. In the rapidly-growing cities, there were early traces of a male homosexual subculture.</p>
<p>Research into such matters, not coincidentally, occurred at a time when the gay and lesbian movement had emerged to claim its rights. Much effort went into the repeal of the old laws against sodomy, which had once been a hanging offence. Britain’s famous <a href="http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/cabinetpapers/themes/before-after-wolfenden-report.htm">Wolfenden report</a>, recommending decriminalisation of homosexual acts between consenting males in private, was published in 1957, and the <a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/sexual-offences-act-1967-40972">Sexual Offences Act</a> implementing this recommendation for England and Wales – with some continuing restrictions – was passed in 1967.</p>
<p>It was a further five years before South Australia implemented a limited form of decriminalisation in 1972, followed by more thoroughgoing legislation in 1975. But New South Wales had to wait until 1984 and Tasmania as late as 1997. In many jurisdictions, discriminatory age of consent laws remained in place, these being set at a higher level for homosexual than heterosexual sex. New South Wales only moved to deal with this issue in 2003.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=214&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=214&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=214&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=269&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=269&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/186118/original/file-20170915-8975-10msps3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=269&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Women write pro-suffrage slogans on a wall, some time between 1900-1910.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">National Library of Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Australia – and New Zealand too – had once seen themselves as pioneers in progressive legislation. If women were indeed the “doormats of the western world”, it was not reflected in attitudes to education, which increasingly emphasised the need for girls to be well-taught, even if they are still <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-09-13/victorian-schools-to-let-girls-wear-shorts-or-pants/8939934">battling for the right to wear shorts</a>. Nor was it reflected in voting rights. The early arrival of <a href="http://www.australia.gov.au/about-australia/australian-story/austn-suffragettes">women’s suffrage</a> – in 1893 in New Zealand and across Australia by 1909 – was a major achievement and well in advance of most countries.</p>
<p>Seen in an international context, Australia now seems a laggard rather than the pioneer it once was. And it is surely deficiencies in our recent democracy rather than deeper historical or cultural issues that lie at the heart of our failure to resolve the issue of same-sex marriage. Australia is not a natural laggard, although it sometimes follows rather than leads. But on marriage equality it largely follows, a pattern perhaps increasingly characteristic of our culture and society, and evident in everything from internet speeds through to our carbon-copy debate over statues.</p>
<p>Neither major political party has a record on marriage equality of which it can be proud. A few individual politicians have been active, but the parties, as institutions, have notably failed to provide leadership. This is partly a function of the inordinate influence that minorities with unrepresentative moral and social views exercise through these parties’ factional systems. But it is also a failure of leadership.</p>
<p>On marriage equality, people who call themselves leaders have trailed behind public opinion rather than doing anything to influence it. But it is dangerous for democracies when they lapse into this pattern. Citizens come to believe that what is best about their country exists despite rather than because of their political system. This attitude, even when it is unjustified, produces national stroppiness and erodes trust and confidence. In short, it helps generate the kind of disaffection that the surveys tell us is now increasingly characteristic of Australian democracy.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/83796/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Frank Bongiorno does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Historically, Australians have been leaders rather than followers on progressing social issues. But more recently, our leaders have trailed behind public opinion.Frank Bongiorno, Professor of History, ANU College of Arts and Social Sciences, Australian National UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/817112017-08-08T10:18:22Z2017-08-08T10:18:22ZWhy you should think twice before you talk about ‘the LGBT community’<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/180410/original/file-20170731-22134-1kyzepl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Living in a rainbow of chaos.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>What does the phrase “LGBT community” mean to you? Chances are if you don’t identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual or trans yourself, you might think about what you’ve seen on TV – so <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0185102/">Queer as Folk</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2372162/">Orange is the New Black</a>, or <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0330251/">The L Word </a>, to name a few TV hits. It might also bring to mind images of brightly coloured rainbow flags or Pride parades.</p>
<p>But just stop for a minute and think about how often you’ve heard someone talk about “the heterosexual community”? Rarely I imagine – but the term “LGBT community”, or sometimes “gay community”, is frequently used by pretty much everyone. </p>
<p>This might not sound like a big deal – after all it’s just a phrase used to identify a large group of people, right? But herein lies the problem, because after carrying out <a href="http://www.gaytimes.co.uk/news/82107/research-suggests-that-the-term-lgbt-community-can-be-problematic/">my latest research</a>, which involved over <a href="http://www.lgbtcommunityresearch.co.uk/">600 LGBT participants</a> from across the UK, I’m not sure that community is a very suitable word for such a diverse group of people.</p>
<p>And as I explain in my new book, <a href="https://www.routledge.com/Exploring-LGBT-Spaces-and-Communities-Contrasting-Identities-Belongings/Formby/p/book/9781138814004">Exploring LGBT spaces and communities</a>, the term “LGBT community” can be understood in many different ways, and can mean many different things to many different people.</p>
<h2>A sense of place</h2>
<p>In <a href="http://www.lgbtcommunityresearch.co.uk/">my research</a>, people often said they experienced the “community” part of the phrase as an actual physical space. This could be a particular geographical area such as Brighton or San Francisco, or could relate to places frequented by LGBT people – such as bars and clubs – often referred to as “the scene”.</p>
<p>People I spoke to also reported experiencing this community aspect as part of a virtual space – such as online, or even in an imagined sense – in that LGBT people were thought to share “something”.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=529&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=529&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=529&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=664&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=664&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180413/original/file-20170731-22126-1nz2cdm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=664&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Gay disco: the heart of a community?</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shuttertstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>People revealed how they often had fears or negative expectations of wider society. And that this is in part why they invest in the idea of an LGBT community – as somewhere where they could feel safe and understood. </p>
<p>But the term does not capture differences and complexities of experience.
It can also wrongly suggest some form of shared experience, which for some people can be frustrating because it seems to ignore their experiences of inequality or discrimination within – or exclusion from – so-called “LGBT community”.</p>
<h2>LGBT and beyond</h2>
<p>Then there is also the issue of the acronym “LGBT” itself, as it excludes a lot of people – such as those who identify as queer or intersex. And it was clear in my research that some people feel less welcomed within this acronym. Even those who do feature within these four letters – notably bisexual and trans people – can often feel marginalised by lesbian and gay people, and like that they don’t really belong to such a “community”. </p>
<p>People also spoke about their quest to find this “community” – with many trying and failing to discover such a thing. The idea of an LGBT community suggests that people who identify in this way should feel part of something. If they don’t it can compound negative experiences. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/180415/original/file-20170731-22136-16axubm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Not everyone’s experience of sexuality or gender is the same.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Many participants in my research also talked about experiencing discrimination from other LGBT people relating to their age, body, disability, ethnicity, faith, HIV status, or perceived social class. So although the phrase implies that LGBT people somehow automatically belong to a ready made community – this is simply not the case. </p>
<h2>A group of people</h2>
<p>It is clear then that community belonging is not a given just because people share a gender or sexual identity. And this is why the notion of “LGBT community” is problematic. As someone I interviewed argued:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>The idea doesn’t exist, it’s a kind of big myth – a bit like saying there’s a brown-eyed community or a blonde community.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In this way, then, the use of the term “LGBT community” could alienate some people and even risks deterring LGBT (and other) people from engaging with services aimed specifically at them. As another participant said: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I find anyone who uses this language dubious and with doubtful intention. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>This is not to say that we should abandon the phrase altogether, but often using “LGBT people” would be more accurate – and would not risk alienation felt by an already (at times) marginalised group of people.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/81711/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Eleanor Formby receives funding from, currently, the Government Equalities Office and the British Academy/Leverhulme, and previously the Arts and Humanities Research Council and the Department for Education.</span></em></p>The term ‘LGBT community’ can be understood in many different ways, and can mean many different things to many different people.Eleanor Formby, Senior Research Fellow in Sociology and Education, Sheffield Hallam UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/761562017-04-24T21:57:03Z2017-04-24T21:57:03ZWitch-hunts and surveillance: the hidden lives of queer people in the military<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166391/original/file-20170424-12662-1ibj2bi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A rainbow wreath laid by defence forces at a contemporary Anzac Day service. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Spellman/Defence Gay and Lesbian Information Service</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Last year, I interviewed a man who had joined the Royal Australian Navy aged 19 in 1967, as Australia’s involvement in the Vietnam War escalated. He had a family tradition of military involvement, with a father who had also served in the navy, and he signed up for what was to be an initial nine-year stint.</p>
<p>The man’s military career came to an abrupt end against his will after six years of service in 1973 when he was discovered to be homosexual. He described to me a process of extensive interrogation by military police, his home being searched, his partner being intimidated and his ultimate discharge from the navy.</p>
<p>He remembered thinking “all they were interested in was getting me out and preventing pollution”. The time from his initial interrogation to being discharged took just five days.</p>
<p>Officially, gay men and lesbian women were banned from serving in the army, airforce and navy until 1992, when Prime Minister Paul Keating had the political courage to overturn the ban. Until then, it was argued that homosexuality threatened military cohesion and morale. By contrast, the US kept its “don’t ask don’t tell” policy, which officially barred entry for gays and lesbians to the military while allowing them to join as long as they didn’t disclose their sexuality, for more than two decades. </p>
<p>Before 1992 in Australia, those who did serve were forced to hide their sexuality, facing discharge if their homosexuality was exposed. The <a href="https://www.crikey.com.au/2010/09/15/let-them-serve-defence-drops-ban-on-transgender-soldiers/">ban on transgender service</a> lasted even longer, a further 18 years. The contribution of intersex personnel (those born with aspects of both sexes) is still to be fully unearthed.</p>
<p>Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex (LGBTI) service personnel have largely been written out Australia’s military history. But researchers are now correcting the record.</p>
<p>Notable and important exceptions to the historical silence on LGBTI military service include the meticulous archival research of Yorick Smaal and Graham Willett, who have shown an <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/national/a-secret-history-of-sexuality-on-the-front-20121220-2bp9m.html">extensive history of gay service</a> in the Australian military during the second world war. </p>
<p>Historian Ruth Ford has similarly shown that lesbian women have served since WWII, for as long as women were permitted to take on service roles. I am now working as part of a team with Noah Riseman and Willett, recording the history of the thousands <a href="http://www.lgbtimilitaryhistory.com.au">LGBTI personnel who served since 1945</a>. </p>
<p>These soldiers did their duty as they were asked, making the many sacrifices that are required in the military – spending time away from friends and families, and forsaking the casual comforts taken for granted by most civilians. Most importantly, all made the sacred and firm commitment to defend Australia with their lives. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=352&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=352&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=352&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=442&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=442&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166419/original/file-20170424-24654-usdi2m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=442&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The defence forces first marched in uniform in the 2013 Sydney Mardi Gras.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Commonwealth of Australia</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>They did all this when gay men were treated as criminals under the law and when lesbians were punished as deviants who might somehow contaminate the services. Simply being identified as homosexual or transgender was enough to negate your ability and your sacrifice in the view of the defence forces.</p>
<p>As we conduct our research, we are hearing stories from individuals who managed to hide their sexuality or their gender identity and served out their time in their military in silence. </p>
<p>For some, the strain of having to live a double life became too much, forcing them to leave so they could live a more open life. Others managed to carefully compartmentalise their lives and remain undetected by military officials.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166421/original/file-20170424-12629-xvui9d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Army personnel gather before the 2013 Mardi Gras.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Commonwealth of Australia</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Service and sacrifice</h2>
<p>We are also hearing heartbreaking stories of people who had invested time and energy into building a life in the military, only to have this all taken from them when their sexuality was exposed or when they needed to transition to live life as their authentic gender. What emerges is a harrowing history of capacity lost as a result of pointless discrimination.</p>
<p>These men and women are courageous not just because of their military sacrifice, but also because they served knowing they were still considered unequal. Within the military, many were subjected to witch-hunts, surveillance, homophobia and dishonourable discharge, with all the future challenges that would present, ranging from limited employment opportunities to ongoing stigma in a homophobic society. Transgender personnel were treated with ignorance and denied the opportunity to serve in the capacities and at the levels they were worthy.</p>
<p>I spoke with one woman who joined up to serve in the Women’s Royal Australian Army Corps at the age of 18 in 1979. Even as a child, she knew that for her it was always going to be a life in the military. Rising rapidly through the ranks, she ended up with a top security clearance and eventually trained eight platoons at Kapooka. </p>
<p>Her career came to an end after ten years, though, when her identity as a lesbian was exposed and her top-secret security clearance was revoked along with her opportunity to serve out her current role in the army. She says simply of this time, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I was so shattered.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>As our interview came to an end, this woman told me how happy she was that LGBTI soldiers feel free and able to serve proudly in uniform today. She feels that, slowly, Australians are becoming increasingly aware that Anzac Day is a day to remember the contribution of all of those who served their country – regardless of their sexuality, gender identity or race. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/166390/original/file-20170424-12658-knomn7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Spellman/Defence Gay and Lesbian Information Service</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>On Anzac morning in cities across Australia, service personnel will lay wreaths to commemorate generations of LGBTI military service. It is now possible to acknowledge dual identities - as service personnel and as LGBTI people. Knowing more about the background to this makes us realise how remarkable this truly is. Learning from this history is a vital step in celebrating all our citizens fairly and equally.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/76156/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Shirleene Robinson's research receives funding from the Australian Research Council. </span></em></p>Until 1992, being a gay or lesbian soldier was illegal in Australia. New research is unearthing the heartbreaking stories of people who devoted their lives to the military but were discharged when their sexuality was exposed.Shirleene Robinson, Associate Professor and Vice Chancellor's Innovation Fellow, Macquarie UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/421352015-06-15T04:04:32Z2015-06-15T04:04:32ZUniversity residences aren’t yet a happy home for same-sex students<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/84687/original/image-20150611-11398-zmyff3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Some students say they are too frightened to bring a same-sex partner back to their residence.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">From www.shutterstock.com</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>This article is part of a series The Conversation Africa is running on issues related to LGBTI in Africa. You can read the rest of the series <a href="https://theconversation.com/africa/topics/lgbti-africa">here</a>.</em></p>
<p>A large body of research <a href="http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1300/J035v12n01_06">shows</a> that lesbian, gay and bisexual people are often able to express their sexuality and confirm their sexual identity for the first time when they go to university.</p>
<p>Having a safe, accepting and conducive environment in which to “come out” is critical for a person’s well-being. South Africa has very <a href="http://www.ibtimes.co.uk/south-africa-progressive-lgbt-rights-gays-still-battle-social-reform-1471213">progressive laws</a> protecting gays, lesbians, bisexual and transgender people. However, the country’s young people frequently come from homes where non-heterosexual desires are <a href="http://www.hsrc.ac.za/uploads/pageContent/1607/Pride%20and%20Prejudice.pdf">not supported</a>. </p>
<p>Many universities have formal policies that declare their commitment to inclusivity and non-discrimination. But research conducted at Rhodes University shows that lesbian, gay and bisexual students experience systematic exclusion in everyday campus life.</p>
<p>We were interested in experiences of residence life because residences are, firstly, a place where students spend large periods of their time – they are homes away from home. Secondly, university residences are often <a href="http://scholarworks.boisestate.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1001&context=pubadmin_facpubs">sites of tension</a> and conflict. </p>
<p>After examining literature from many different disciplines we distilled the essential features of “homeness” as incorporating comfort, privacy, security, acceptance, companionship and community. These are all essential to human flourishing. We wondered how lesbian, gay and bisexual (LGB) students experience residence life and whether they are afforded or denied these home comforts.</p>
<h2>Not a home for all</h2>
<p>In university residences, the dominant expectation is that everyone will be heterosexual. This means that LGB students are excluded from everyday conversations. For example, when everyone is talking about dating, participants reported that they often keep quiet. If they do enter the conversation it interrupts the comfortable flow of story swapping and suddenly turns the spotlight of public attention agonisingly onto themselves. </p>
<p>LGB students find themselves being careful about what they say, who they are seen with and who they bring home – the very antithesis of what we associate with feeling comfortable and at home. </p>
<p>Everyday rituals like taking a shower are major hurdles to overcome when one is gay and in an environment where one fears encountering a lack of understanding. One participant spoke of experiencing an “acute awareness that I was lesbian when I went to the showers”.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>… and I was like ‘Oh my goodness they think I will be checking them out’ and I worried I was making them uncomfortable by being there. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>What makes this particularly poignant is that the young woman is trying not to intrude on the sense of comfort, privacy and security of the majority in the residence. She realises this is a natural and accepted expectation of being at home – yet she herself is denied these rights.</p>
<p>The sense of being constantly the object of scrutiny and surveillance means that LGB students can never let down their guard – kick off their shoes, as it were – and just make themselves at home. Many end up isolating themselves and feeling that there is something wrong with them.</p>
<p>They engage in a constant internal questioning: “Should I bring a girl over? If I do, what will they say, how will they react?” Some participants experienced high levels of anxiety – as one put it, “shit your pants fear” – at the risk of being exposed as homosexual. </p>
<h2>Coming home</h2>
<p>When home is experienced as comfortable it fulfils the fundamental human need for recognition, acceptance and being welcomed by others. The flipside of belonging is ostracism – being ignored, judged or excluded. We have a long way to go before our campus environments are places where people are simply afforded the equal right to just, as one participant put it, “live our lives”. </p>
<p>There is much that institutions can do to infuse their non-discrimination and inclusion policies into day-to-day practice. Those in formal positions of leadership and authority have an enormous role to play in creating institutional environments in which it’s possible for all to feel equally welcomed. Institutions need to be calling their office bearers and employees at every level to account for what they are doing to promote inclusion. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Author’s note: I would like to acknowledge the work of Chipo Munyuki, a Master’s student, in collecting the data discussed in this article.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/42135/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Louise Vincent receives funding from the Andrew Mellon Foundation and the National Research Foundation. </span></em></p>How do lesbian, bisexual and gay students experience life in a South African university residence? Sadly, with a great deal of fear.Louise Vincent, Professor of Political Studies, Rhodes UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/385552015-03-24T09:44:43Z2015-03-24T09:44:43ZFor transgender students, a divided pool of college options<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/75744/original/image-20150323-17678-18gm2g0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">There is a high rate of assault on transgender students in schools.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/gazeronly/8640231431/in/photolist-eavrMr-on3uov-ojNwfD-o46CPe-omGDJe-omhc1T-ojPd28-o3sb4A-okJJSe-cco9jd-bV1TMB-c6AoWh-omhdAM-o3j1Kx-c6Aq2A-c8rthh-c8rsR1-cccUQN-omRS2T-o3rNFN-c6AoGb-ok6cRb-on6xPw-bV1Twz-bUQEuP-ojgwU7-ojgyES-ohLNqw-o4NP8k-c6Aqib-o6463c-o3MEu7-ojKdiS-okxq27-o32F5n-okhJnp-o4gaTR-o4feux-okxbdY-o45pn9-o3sbRh-o3t4it-c6AoSu-c8ZuPf-c6ApHC-bV1TKX-omyAGD-bV1TG2-c7FEHd-bV1TCB">torbakhopper</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>When Jayce, a student at George Fox University, a Quaker school in Oregon, made plans last year to live in the dorm with his friends, he had little awareness of the hailstorm of controversy that would erupt. </p>
<p>School administrators immediately informed Jayce that he could not live in a dorm with his male friends and would, instead, be <a href="http://www.msnbc.com/msnbc/doe-grants-religious-exemption-quaker-school-discriminate-transgender-student">required to live</a> in a single campus apartment because he was born biologically female. Despite having completed his gender reassignment according to Oregon law he was to be <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/07/25/us/transgender-student-fights-for-housing-rights-at-george-fox-university.html?_r=0">treated as female</a> for the purposes of housing. </p>
<p>Jayce contacted the Department of Education (DOE) to file a complaint against the school. However, he was quickly told that they had no jurisdiction over his case. The college had, just days earlier, requested (and received) a <a href="https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2014/07/14/two-legal-cases-illustrate-growing-tensions-over-rights-transgender-students#sthash.1b40whlY.dpbs">religious exemption</a> from DOE’s newly minted regulations outlawing transgender discrimination, joining a growing community of religious universities hoping to opt out of serving transgender students. </p>
<h2>Single sex colleges welcome transgender students</h2>
<p>At the same time that some religious colleges were shoring up their resistance to transgender students, women’s colleges were employing an opposite approach. <a href="http://time.com/3734174/wellesley-college-transgender-students-lgbt/">Wellesley</a> just recently joined the ranks of a growing cadre of elite single-sex colleges (<a href="https://oaklandnorth.net/2014/10/02/mills-college-takes-on-the-nuances-of-transgender-admits">Mills</a> and <a href="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/updates/transgender-applicants-welcome-mount-holyoke-womens-college/%20among%20others">Mount Holyoke</a>) who have altered their policies to welcome transgender students identifying as female. </p>
<p>How this shift will pan out for transgender students has yet to be determined. In the past, numerous legal and policy questions have come up in higher-ed over transgender students. Important among these are their safety and welfare on college campuses.</p>
<p>Transgender students face significant obstacles even though many of the issues seldom receive attention. Even when LGBTQ issues get discussed, they are largely centered on same-sex marriage and employment discrimination. <a href="http://www.washingtonmonthly.com/magazine/may_june_2013/features/under_the_gaydar043855.php?page=all">Little</a> public attention is paid to other forms of rights violations. </p>
<p>Studies show transgender students are harassed and assaulted at disturbingly high rates during the course of their education in K-12 settings. The 2011 <a href="http://www.thetaskforce.org/static_html/downloads/reports/reports/ntds_full.pdf">National Transgender Discrimination Survey</a> (NTDS) shows that almost 80% are harassed while still in school, and over 30% physically assaulted. Harassment at the hands of teachers and other school staff is not uncommon either. </p>
<h2>Which bathrooms should transgenders use can cause anxiety</h2>
<p>While harassment and assault rates decrease to 35 and 5%, respectively, in college, significant challenges still remain: with 20% of the NTDS survey participants reporting being denied housing that accommodated their identified gender and five percent being denied campus housing altogether, discrimination persists. </p>
<p>In this environment, even the most <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/28/alex-wilson-transgender-student_n_3826543.html">basic decisions</a> — which bathroom to use or where to live — can set-off anxiety and opposition on campuses. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=414&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=414&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=414&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=521&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=521&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/75743/original/image-20150323-17699-192kt7o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=521&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A growing cadre of women’s colleges have altered their policies to welcome transgender students identifying as female.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lavendercrayons/15367720697/in/photolist-ppZzXF-ppYWgE-pEkr1Y-pGqW4z-pEkqYd-oKzpAG-amhea9-7AAsUw-GVLtN-7HpUKw-GVPsF-GVPiD-GVHM4-GVM3M-GVKcN-GVJ2Y-GVLPy-GVKQr-GVL5i-GVLdZ-GVGKh-GVJrw-GVHFJ-GVHRL-7AsBNA-GVHd5-GVHkQ-GVLa3-GVMfM-GVHW2-GVHHn-GVGxy-GVMGy-GVMsC-GVMSG-GVPH4-GVKz3-GVGXw-GVH4C-GVMf9-GVJDa-GVLAK-cg648Q-7AsBqw-a2CUkR-3UQy1e-e64WEY-d1sdpL-2iuw6-cccUFE">CarolynEBrown</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">CC BY-NC-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Thus, for now, within the single-sex setting, the forecast is hazy. </p>
<p>On the one hand, single-sex colleges have a history of thinking about gender as more than a simple assignment of male or female. </p>
<p>For example, <a href="http://www.mills.edu/diversity/Final-Report-on-Transgender-Inclusion-4-25-13.pdf">Mills College</a> articulates: “Womanhood takes many forms, and our enrolled women students include those who were assigned the sex of female at birth as well as those who were not.” They assert a far broader definition of “female” than has traditionally been employed in higher-ed.</p>
<p>Such colleges may also have a more diverse mission than their single-sex status would imply. “Women’s college is a bit of a misnomer,” explains Julia Marciano an undergraduate at Smith —- an all women’s college that ignited significant national <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2014/06/transgender_students_at_women_s_colleges_wellesley_smith_and_others_confront.html">pushback</a> two years ago when they rejected a transwoman’s application because federal financial aid documentation listed her as male. “They’re places for minority genders, where those genders can flourish, learn, and feel safe,” says Marciano. </p>
<h2>Debate in single-sex colleges over admitting transgenders</h2>
<p>But, on the other hand, there are also those who, while being sympathetic to transgender students, fear that any policy or practice that dilutes the focus on women (for instance, using gender-neutral pronouns or electing female-to-male students to leadership positions) would undermine the purpose of all women’s colleges to provide a safe and affirming space for women. </p>
<p>Indeed, in a world where women continue to experience economic, social and political degradation, this mission has value. Perhaps in response to this fear, after Mount Holyoke extended admissions to transgender students, some students requested transfers out of the college. </p>
<p>But transgender student advocates, like Marciano, assert that this perspective misstates the experiences of <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2014/06/transgender_students_at_women_s_colleges_wellesley_smith_and_others_confront.html">transgender students</a>. “It’s not men who are applying. It’s women, with experiences of being women.” </p>
<p>These debates will continue, and transgender students – those at religious colleges, single-sex schools, and schools in between – will remain centerstage. Some are reaping the benefits, but many still contend with significant risks.</p>
<h2>At least we are breaking the silence</h2>
<p>College hostilities impose high risks with tragic consequences. Suicide, depression and drug abuse are much more prevalent among transgender students because of the <a href="http://www.campuspride.org/store/products/2010-state-of-higher-education-for-lgbt-people/">discrimination</a> they experience. </p>
<p>Even at schools like Mount Holyoke, which offer a far less restrictive definition of gender compared to other colleges, the fight for equality has its drawbacks. Transgender students, like Briar Harrison, still must fight <a href="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/updates/transgender-applicants-welcome-mount-holyoke-womens-college/">misrecognition</a> and are increasingly battle-fatigued.</p>
<p>“If I go to class, and a professor uses the wrong pronouns for me,” explained Harrison, “I have a choice: I can sit quietly and not say anything, but it’s going to trigger me. It’s going to distract me and cause me to feel anxious, depressed, and take me out of the frame of mind I need to be in to learn. If I choose not to fight it, it will never get better. But at the same time, fighting is tiring.”</p>
<p>And even with a college education, transgender individuals are more likely to <a href="http://www.thetaskforce.org/static_html/downloads/reports/reports/ntds_full.pdf">live in poverty</a> or experience workplace discrimination because of their gender identity. </p>
<p>Perhaps the most easily observed outcome of the recent push and pull between religious and single-sex colleges over transgender students is that we are now at least <em>talking</em> about gender identity and the blatant bigotry experienced by those who dare to challenge their assigned sex or gender norms. </p>
<p>In the race for greater acceptance of LGBTQ individuals, those who identify as transgender have traditionally played third or fourth fiddle to the visible, public and increasingly successful efforts to advance gay and lesbian rights. Now they are demanding (and receiving) critical, and long overdue, public acknowledgment.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/38555/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alison Gash does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Transgender students have a higher suicide rate on college campuses due to the harassment they experience. Now women’s colleges, such as Wellesley, are showing the way forward.Alison Gash, Assistant Professor, Political Science , University of OregonLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.