“No pride for some of us without liberation for all of us.”
—Marsha P. Johnson (1945-1992)
There was no literature about queer Dalits in the English public until 2010 short essay appeared in a quarterly magazine in 2007. In August last year a controversy around the Amazon Prime series “Made In Heaven 2” once again brought public attention to this essay. A short film comment The essay published in Tehelka Magazine in June 2009 had read the idea of pride in this essay as:
“Baudh is among those who promote pride in being Dalit in their expectations of themselves and others.”
I am Baudh and this piece is about pride and my expectations from other queer Dalits, anti-caste Dalit groups and feminist scholars.
I am Baudh and this piece is about pride and my expectations from other queer Dalits, anti-caste Dalit groups and feminist scholars.
A well-known feminist sexuality researcher, Nivedita Menon wrote in 2009:
“In a strange (queer?) reversal then, [Baudh] begins first by coming out as a Dalit (a contradiction under normal circumstances in India) and only later as gay.
This statement represents a chronology and an implicit mutual exclusivity of being Dalit and gay. The mutual exclusivity was aptly reflected in anti-caste Dalit groups and queer activists. So there were no openly outed queers among the Dalits, and at that time there were no openly outed Dalits among the queers either.
Expectations of other queer Dalits
Shortly after publishing the essay, I met another queer Dalit. Coincidentally, we were part of an activist team that had taken on the care of a distressed same-sex couple in Punjab. This fellow activist knew that I was a Dalit because she knew about my essay. In a casual conversation over a drink, she told me that she is also a Dalit.
My joy knew no bounds. Until then, I had felt that I was the only Dalit among queers and the only queer among Dalits. Here was another queer Dalit sitting in front of me.
Source: FII
However, in a disappointing turn of events, this activist said that being a Dalit didn’t mean too much to her. I wondered if I was making a bigger deal out of it than it was. The casework took several months and we traveled back and forth to Punjab several times, but our conversation about being queer and Dalit was only that one time. I learned that it is unreasonable to expect all queer Dalits to be conscious of their caste and sexuality at all times.
Expectations of anti-caste Dalit groups
The 2007 essay attempted to integrate the two fields of sexuality and anti-caste scholarship. Although the idea of the essay comes from the field of sexuality studies, he acknowledged the Indian Institute of Dalit Studies (IIDS) for allowing him to use its library. More importantly, the essay began with a quote from Martin Macwan:
“Ghana Banyan Tree: The fight begins with me, but everyone is banned.” [a dense banyan tree: the struggle starts with me, but everyone joins in].’
In this quote, the banyan tree metaphorically represents interconnectedness and the idea that everything is connected – as its aerial roots grow and become new trunks. This idea was placed at the beginning of the essay to open up the possibilities of interconnected conversations. In another disappointing turn of events, the essay did not generate the expected interest. Rather, there was a puzzling silence from anti-caste Dalit groups.
Expectations of feminist sexologists
At first glance, the 2007 essay is a combined “coming out” as a Dalit and as a queer. The essay places no importance on chronology—coming out as one or the other—nor does the passing remark in feminist scholarship explain what this means. The comment was repeated another article by the same scientist in 2015:
“In a strange (queer?) reversal then, [Baudh] begins first by coming out as a Dalit (a contradiction under normal circumstances in India) and only later as gay.
So what? There are many ways to read the chronology of coming out. Caste could be a priority and sexuality could be secondary. This would imply that Dalitness is a central part of identity formation and that queerness is less central. Alternatively, it could mean that disclosures about caste represent the outermost layers and sexuality is closer to the core. In this sense, disclosures of being Dalit are less significant than disclosures of being queer. These are patterns. There could be other ways to interpret the chronology.
Like most people with multiple identities, my identity is expressed differently at different times and in different situations. Sometimes my identities are composite and sometimes they are not. In the 2007 essay, I did not engage much with the conceptual idea of coming out. It is neither the title nor the main argument. The essay introduces other important ideas – of similarities and differences – about being Dalit and queer.
Above expectations
In contrast to the silence of Dalit groups, the 2007 essay received a great response in civil society and the art community. It was part of the reading folder Sexuality Rights Institute and the Institute for Sexuality, Gender and Rights in India. The London-based Minority Rights Group International asked me to write a case study for them Annual report.
Source: FII
The case study generated ideas and materials for more creative expression through dramatic performances. I edited the audio recordings of this case study interview, played them through headphones, and recited them out loud – becoming a voice medium for someone who didn’t want to “come out.” This was done as part of self-financing Project OUTcaste. The project was started in 2011 at a friend’s art gallery in Delhi, Abadi Art. The staged performances were very well received queer communities.
Consistency of expectations
The silence of anti-caste Dalit groups was unacceptable to me. When the United Nations Human Rights Commission’s independent expert on minority issues, Gay McDougall, visited India in 2010, the United Nations Working Group on Human Rights (WGHR) and the National Campaign for Dalit Human Rights (NCDHR) organized a seminar on minorities. Problems and Social Exclusion in South Asia” in Gurgaon, India (December 18-19).
There were panel lectures on the plight of religious, national and ethnic minorities as well as the intersections of caste, gender and religion. No attention was paid to the intersection of caste and sexuality. I spoke about this omission in plenary. At the end of that session, someone from NCDHR approached me and invited me to speak on the next panel. I wasn’t prepared for this, but I accepted this rare invitation – from an anti-caste Dalit group – to speak on a topic they didn’t want to.
Proud Dalits
Eight years after the 2007 essay, Akhil Kang, Dhiren Borisa and Dhrubo Jyoti wrote one joint public performance on the Delhi Queer Pride stage in Jantar Manter in 2015. As Jyoti took the podium, he began with a collective self-identification of the trio as “proud Dalits,” Borisa recited a poem about silence, Kang and Jyoti read a joint statement.
Eight years after the 2007 essay, Akhil Kang, Dhiren Borisa and Dhrubo Jyoti wrote one joint public performance on the Delhi Queer Pride stage in Jantar Manter in 2015.
Nothing like this has happened again in the last nine years. However, there is also a growing visibility and voice of queer Dalit people in other ways. Sometimes it’s symbolic. Sometimes it’s narrowly identity-based. Queer Dalit voices need to be heard more often and in larger confrontations with the power structures that rule over us.
Source: FII
Pride is more than a month-long affair. It is for everyone who is silenced, rendered invisible and erased. Pride means opposing power, even when that power is wielded by someone who may be in the same subordinate group as us or a similar group. Pride is stubborn resistance and persistence. It must be asserted repeatedly.
This piece comes from Dr. Sumit Baudh’s upcoming book titled Law at the Intersection of Caste, Class and Sex.
