experiencing institutionalized homophobia

Unfortunately, Livingstone began on a low note for me. I was supposed to be meeting a friend there, Miles, who I had met at the conference in Cape Town and had been communicating with ever since. She was coming up from Zimbabwe and I wasn't sure how long it would have taken her to get to Livingstone from Harare, so when she wasn't there when I arrived, I didn't panic. When I hadn't heard from her two days later, though, I was really panicking, afraid that something had happened to her. Thankfully, one of my phone calls finally got through the terrible Zimbabwean network. It turned out that she had been denied entry at the border. Miles works for a gay and lesbian advocacy organization in Harare, and had wanted to bring me some samples of their publications, not thinking anything of it. At the border, her bag was searched; she was told that such materials were "un-Christian", questioned, and had to resort to bribing the officials to let her go. Needless to say, she wasn't allowed into Zambia. The irony is that she is a very religious person herself.

At first when I reached her, I was just relieved to hear that she was okay. Then I was angry about what happened. Angry that she was treated like a criminal. Angry that Christian values had been used to justify homophobia. And really sad that I wouldn't have the chance to see her again before leaving -- I had been eagerly looking forward to our visit.

I would be deluded if I didn't acknowledge that the same thing could have happened anywhere on the continent (except perhaps South Africa). Homosexuality is not embraced in Africa as a whole, but Zambia in particular is known to be quite a Christian, and quite a conservative country. I was extremely disappointed, but I can't say that I was shocked about what happened. I really admire Miles and others like her who continue to push for the rights of queer people in Africa, despite such encounters (and much, much worse incidents). It must be a hard and lonely journey, at times.

As someone who comes from the West, my own arguments for tolerance and acceptance can too easily be dismissed as foreign values. In discussions with people I've been quite close to (and thus comfortable enough with to bring up the topic), I've been told that my opinions are sinful, that equality for all people regardless of sexual orientation would corrupt proper values and destabilize the nation (seriously!). That's why it's so important for queer Africans, those who were born and raised here, to stand up and say, we're here. We exist. We're people too, and deserve as much dignity and respect as anyone. The problem is that the act of declaring one's presence opens the doors to ostracization, isolation and physical danger. For someone who has such deep connections to family, community and faith as many Africans do, it can be so painful and damaging to be told that you don't belong in any of those places anymore, to be shut out completely. I can't even imagine what it must be like.

It's difficult for me to conceptualize how queer rights in Africa might be achieved. I don't blame those who are living closeted for wanting to protect themselves from harm or death, from unemployment or disownment. These are the things that people might face, should they speak out. But I also know that unless people are exposed to different ideas about sexual orientation than what conservative ideology tells them, attitudes will never change. At least in major cities, gay and lesbian organizations do exist, even if their operations are underground at the moment. But how do they counter homophobic rhetoric without endangering themselves? Maybe they don't. Maybe their profiles are too low to make any difference in public opinion. Or maybe putting oneself in danger at some point is a prerequisite for radical social change. I don't know. But I do have hope that things will change, if slowly. The fact that these organizations exist at all is testament to the fact that some things have already changed. It'll be a long and difficult journey, but maybe, ten or twenty years from now, the attitudes that led to Miles being turned away will be a thing of the past.