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Sunday, Jan 19, 2020
Home / India News / Section 377: The fight for LGBT rights has just begun

Section 377: The fight for LGBT rights has just begun

In a historic verdict, the Supreme Court on Thursday decriminalised homosexuality between consenting adults by declaring Section 377, the penal provision which criminalised gay sex, as ‘manifestly arbitrary’.

india Updated: Sep 07, 2018 13:22 IST
Dhrubo Jyoti
Dhrubo Jyoti
Hindustan Times, New Delhi
LGBTQ community people, with a rainbow flag, celebrate the Supreme Court verdict which decriminalises consensual gay sex, in Bengaluru.
LGBTQ community people, with a rainbow flag, celebrate the Supreme Court verdict which decriminalises consensual gay sex, in Bengaluru.(PTI Photo)

In 1884, an unusual case came up in the then colonial Allahabad high court. For months, the police had been tailing a person named Khairati on the suspicion that he was a “eunuch” after being tipped off that on a visit to his ancestral village, he was found dancing and singing dressed as a woman.

The police arrested him on the suspicion that he was a “habitual sodomite” and subjected him to a medical examination, which recorded that the examinee showed the “characteristic mark of a catamite (a Victorian term for a man kept for homosexual desires) and noted that the anal orifice was “shaped like a trumpet”.

He was prosecuted under Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, becoming the first recorded case under the law and set the ground for numerous similar convictions in colonial India stemming from suspicion, rumours and anonymous tip-offs.

One hundred and thirty four years later, India finally repealed the colonial law that criminalised same-sex relationships. The four concurring judgments touches upon the fundamental rights of LGBT people to live with dignity, get access to healthcare, and how constitutionalism trumped majoritarian morality.

But what is unlikely to change is the social life of sexuality, which ensured Khairati’s walk, voice and gait marked him as a criminal to the police, and which continues to inscribe deviance on to the bodies of people who look, or talk, or walk differently. It doesn’t take a law to do that; the mere presence of prejudice is enough, which is why transgender people are booked under a variety of laws, including those against assembly in public and beggary, and not just Section 377.


From protests in 1998 against the screening of Deepa Mehta’s ‘Fire’ to the SC finally scrapping Section 377 in 2018, here‘s a brief history of queer activism in India
1998 Fire sparks protests Shiv Sena activists vandalise posters of Deepa Mehta’s film ‘Fire’ during a protest against its screening in New Delhi. The film starred Shabana Azmi and Nandita Das and depicted them as being in a relationship. The protests also triggered a public debate on homosexuality and freedom of speech in India.
2008 Delhi’s 1st Queer Pride People participate in the Delhi’s first Queer Pride March in 2008. The march happened while the Delhi high court was hearing a petition filed by the Naz Foundation against Section 377. A year later, the high court read down Section 377.
2013 Activists protest LGBT activists protest against Supreme Court’s judgement on Section 377 at Jantar Mantar, in New Delhi on December 15, 2013. The SC overruled the Delhi HC verdict and left it to Parliament to repeal Sec 377
2013 Global Day of rage against SC verdict LGBT activists gathered in protest across many cities across the world to protest against the Supreme Court decision that recriminalised homosexuality. Shortly afterwards, review petitions against the ruling were filed by Naz Foundation and the government but were quashed.

This public-ness of how we inhabit our sexuality, and gender, is key to understanding how the law affects LGBT people, and who among us are marked as subjects that the law recognises — simply put, it is not just the letter of the law, but its social life that hinges on who looks like a criminal and who the police thinks, like Khairati, is likely to be one.

As long as the focus remains narrowly on the letter of the law, and not on broader civil rights, its benefits are likely to accrue to a few — those who can then claim respectability and not be affected by the social life of the law. But for queer people who do not draw power from multiple social locations, who don’t look and feel respectable, or those who cannot enter the regimen of privacy and private spaces, the mere repeal is likely to mean little.

This is not a new scenario. Anti-sodomy laws have been repealed across the world in the past 40 years, and the trajectory is pretty uniform: a move towards the right to marriage, and inheritance. But this period has also seen increasingly white LGBT folk dissociate from the rest of the community, and cash in on the race and class capital their social locations provided. Indeed, the black and indigenous queer activists have complained how LGBT activism in the West has come to be increasingly defined by white suburban morality, whose respectability criterion has no place for deviants who look like Khairati.

This focus on the personal (marriage, love) and not the structural (education, employment, health) has proved devastating for the more marginalised within the LGBT spectrum. 2017 was the deadliest year for transgender people in the United States, and almost two-thirds of the victims killed were non-white. In the United Kingdom, a June 2017 study found more than half of all transgender students in schools had tried to commit suicide, clearly underlining that progressive legislation had done little to erase prejudice against the most vulnerable.

The experience with transgender rights advocacy in India holds out a few lessons. When the Supreme Court recognised “third gender” in 2014, it was widely lauded but a subsequent battle for rights and protections has been uphill. The moment trans rights activists moved from the private sphere to the public, and demanded reservation, protection and anti-discrimination statutes in jobs, education and public places, their efforts were scuttled. But the community recognised that their fount of oppression doesn’t lie inside the house, or in themselves, but in the streets, classrooms and offices — and, for that, they are still fighting.

In the twilight of Section 377, this struggle is an important reminder of what the law can do, and what it has no power over. Now that the law has finally recognised queerness, it is crucial we look at fights not just in the courtrooms for marriage, but in the classrooms, and streets, for dignity. Only then can we hope to prevent a repeat of 1884.