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Gender theatre: the politics of exclusion and belonging in Kenya

Guillit Amakobe, Kat Dearham and Po Likimani

Since the creation of Kenya’s first lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex (LGBTI) organisations in the late 1990s and early 2000s, the movement has employed conventional non-governmental organisations (NGOs) or non-profit structures. Initially these primarily served men who have sex with men (MSM) and, to a lesser extent, lesbians. The focus on a static construction of sexual orientation meant that issues of gender identity and questions of fluidity were largely ignored.

In 2011, Jinsiangu was conceived as a community-based group focused on the provision of psychosocial support for intersex, transgender and gender non-conforming (ITGNC) Kenyans. The group evolved and expanded in ways the founders had not anticipated, and sometimes perpetuated the same issues it had been created to escape.

This chapter is an oral history of the LGBTI movement in Kenya and the process of creating Jinsiangu. Through the reflections of three of Jinsiangu’s co-founders, it touches on the intersections between LGBTI and ITGNC organising, money, class, exclusion, community building and the use of art in activism and healing. Its title, ‘Gender theatre,’ refers to the ways in which gender identity and the role of activist are performed and politicised in the context of LGBTI organising in Kenya. Through our work in Jinsiangu, we have often felt the pressure of observation and the push to conform to roles as if we were actors playing out parts. We explore here the tensions between types of organising – collective and member-driven v. professional, hierarchical and donor-driven – and how some balance might be found between them. In documenting Jinsiangu’s history, this chapter is a starting point for reflection and discussion on universal themes of LGBTI activism and social justice work.

Setting the stage: LGBTI organising in Kenya

Po Likimani: I got involved in LGBTI organising around 2005, as a co-founder of Minority Women in Action (MWA). This was the first-ever lesbian, bisexual, transgender and intersex women’s organisation in Kenya. And even while it identified as LBTI, it was predominantly a lesbian and bisexual group – mostly cisgender women. So there was little information and little interest in seeking out information for transgender and intersex people and gender non-conforming people.

At the same time that MWA was developed, the Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya (GALCK) was formed. It was a coalition of a half-dozen LGBTI organisations. It was meant to be an umbrella body to support their work, to help mitigate violence and hostility towards gay people and around talk of homosexuality in Kenya. By now information was out that it wasn’t wrong to be gay, and a lot of the available information was on sexuality and sexual orientation. There was discussion around how same-sex behaviour is criminalised, but it is not illegal to identify as a gay person. So it was a lot about empowering gays and lesbians.

My engagement was as an activist, as a forefront warrior, as a ‘soldier boi’. I was involved in organising community meetings, following up with emails, doing logistics, just trying to keep the energy flowing throughout the year. I would appear in interviews, respond to questions, be the contact person for people who wanted to come out. I would reach out to any space that would work with LGBTI people.

A lot of organisations around this time were very informal. They were support spaces, they were people trying to get together and get social space or recreational space. An HIV-prevention NGO called LVCT Health hosted monthly meetings that included support groups and discussions on how to empower LGBTI people to engage in their own advocacy for health. At this time at LVCT Health we also started a hotline. We did a campaign with material on anal sex and the increased risk of contraction of HIV and AIDS. And that opened up the conversation more. Over time, the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights also got involved. In 2007 the World Social Forum in Nairobi brought us our first international visibility,¹ But World AIDS Day, 1 December 2006, was the first time gays and lesbians gained national visibility.

Throughout this time I also had contact with Oyo, a Kenyan who had sued the Ugandan government, together with Ugandan trans activist Victor Mukasa, after being assaulted by police during a raid on Victor’s house.² Oyo identified as a trans person, but there hadn’t been any resources in Kenya to support him.

GUILLIT AMAKOBE: The first time I knew that other LGBTI people existed in Kenya was at World AIDS Day in 2006, where there was a tent for LGBTI people. After that, I tried to look for people, but it was difficult because I was not out. At the time I identified as a lesbian.

Later on I met lesbians in Dandora Estate, a slum area in Nairobi where I grew up. They were mostly neighbours that I hadn’t interacted much with before because of the fear of being discovered. They introduced me to other lesbians and we hung out together.

It wasn’t until 2007 that I first went to GALCK and realised that this was the same group that had the tent at World AIDS Day. There were no trans organisations back then and I joined MWA. I was working full-time so I didn’t have much interaction with them. They held movie and social nights, which I sometimes attended, and I was happy that there was a whole new group of people where I could be open and express myself. Through MWA, I started to see how I could fit in and what I could offer.

Po: From 2007 to around 2009, there was a huge wave of gays and lesbians coming out, creating organisations, and engaging in conversation about sexuality. Mainly as a response to the homophobia that existed, to the violence that was ongoing.

By then Transgender Education and Advocacy (TEA) had been hosted by GALCK and had also started growing. It was an organisation predominantly for transgender people. It was led by a trans woman, Audrey Mbugua.

The thing that was important in all this was people’s willingness, presence and inspiration. And one thing triggered another. There was the growth of gay and lesbian organising, but also the inspiration of gender non-conforming, transgender and intersex people seeing space to speak about their issues.

GUILLIT: TEA was the first transgender organisation in Kenya. It was formed in 2008, and is still active today, dealing mostly with legal and advocacy issues. That included helping trans people get name changes and navigating systems relating to identity documents. I was introduced to Audrey, the founder and leader of TEA, at a function at GALCK. It was very exciting to meet another trans person and to finally connect with someone who understood what I was going through.

I had also joined Artists for Recognition and Acceptance (AFRA), a group for lesbian and bisexual women which focuses on using art as an advocacy tool. There were a few bi and trans members, but the trans women did not really participate or come to events. Probably they didn’t feel welcome or felt that the events were not useful for them. That was common to all of the gay and lesbian organisations. They said that they worked with trans people, but in reality we were not included unless you weren’t out as trans. I volunteered for TEA but remained in AFRA because of the focus on art.

KAT DEARHAM: I first became involved in LGBTI work in Kenya in 2010. I’m from Canada and had been coming to Kenya since 2005, first as a student and then working with NGOs. Since I was always in straight environments and had never to my knowledge met any LGBTI Kenyans, I struggled with how to stay in the country while embracing and living my queerness. That was difficult, even with all of my access to privilege that would have allowed many avenues of escape if I had needed them, which most LGBTI Kenyans don’t have access to.

I’d read about GALCK in the newspapers, but the reporting at the time was shrouded in religious moralising that made me wonder how anyone was managing to organise in such a hostile atmosphere. Being gay was portrayed as sinful, as an illness, and as ‘unnatural’ behaviour that had been brought to Africa by Westerners – despite the long history and evidence of same-sex attraction and behaviours across the continent (see Aarmo, 1999; Epprecht, 2004; Epprecht and Clowes, 2008; Hoad, 2007; Morgan and Wieringa, 2005; Murray and Roscoe, 1998). At that time there was little public knowledge or discussion of ITGNC people.

Eventually I actively sought out other queer people. My entry point to LGBTI organising was to carry out research on queer women’s activism and identity in Nairobi. MWA generously agreed to host me and take me on as a volunteer while I was doing the research. It was beautiful to finally connect with people I considered family and to see how much important work was being done. Part of my research was to examine the frameworks that queer women in particular were using to carry out their activism, and how this fitted into global understandings and struggles for queer liberation.

At the time most of the LGBTI organisations were operating under GALCK, and TEA was the only transgender-focused organisation. As is the case in most ostensibly ‘LGBTI’ organisations and communities, the focus of most groups in GALCK was on gay men and MSM. It’s troubling that LGBTI is continually conflated with and used to refer to gay people only. Most of the programming at the time was health-focused, which is part of the reason for the emphasis on MSM. HIV/AIDS was a major entry point for activists to have the kind of public conversation that was used to let people know that LGBTI Kenyans actually exist. There was also a lot of work on creating safe social spaces for LGBTI Kenyans, where LGBTI people could organise, discuss and create the networks that are necessary for survival.

MWA was formed partly as a reaction to the male-dominated nature of the LGBTI organisations in the early 2000s. Lesbian and bisexual women struggled with issues that were different from men’s issues, partly because women largely carry the burden of domesticity and propagation of the nuclear family. Many queer women are confronted with familial expectations of marriage. Particularly in rural areas it’s difficult for women to beat another path for themselves outside of compulsory heterosexual marriage and childbearing.

Women are also much more vulnerable to domestic violence and sexual assault, the latter sometimes being carried out within intimate relationships, and sometimes as a method of ‘converting’ queer women to heterosexuality. So there are a lot of issues that are specific to women that required a specific space, and MWA was attempting to fill that gap.

Methods and approaches

Po: Initially, organising was very passionate. It was focused on change, on people’s lives becoming different. It was thriving because everybody was willing and it was on volunteer terms. People connected the things they loved or were about to the work that was happening.

Then donor funding came in, as well as more hostility from the public, introduction of laws on sexual orientation and gender identity in countries like Uganda, the Gambia and Nigeria, decriminalisation in India and the globalisation of the conversation.³ Organisations were expected to have structures based on what is acceptable to donors. We have had little time to reflect on and analyse the impact of these actions and newly created structures – about the lives that we’re living and the change that we hope to see.

There have also been more frequent meetings, conferences and spaces created specifically for LGBTI issues. A huge number of LGBTI persons are able to be visible online and offline. A lot more events and activities can be tracked down to LGBTI organisations existing and forming. Now more and more people are beginning to work within these organisations, so there is professionalisation of these organisations.

All of this is good news for organisations hoping to be efficient in their systems and procedures, but difficult for a community still ridden with poverty, with self-esteem issues, with lack of information and limited access to resources. Also, these communities are still only visible or accessible or able to know each other within urban areas, with low information within rural areas.

When we also think about the fact that Kenya has had a high rate of internally displaced persons, we also think of the increase of targeted terrorism and militarisation in Kenya. What that means is that with security, with LGBTI people being a vulnerable population and being also a stigmatised population, these circumstances affect them even more deeply. Organisations are not prepared or thinking through how to deal with the ever-changing political or socioeconomic aspect of the world.

One effect we’ve seen on ITGNC people, with threats of both domestic and interstate terrorism, is increased surveillance and security all over the country. That means there are more gender-segregated security checkpoints, more scrutiny of state identification, and generally more regulation and restriction of bodies and movement. All of this leaves ITGNC people more vulnerable to state violence.

GUILLIT: Organising with MWA was difficult. As a new member, I had little information and often didn’t know what was going on, as members were often left in the dark. Those of us who came from slum areas especially felt excluded, because we were never selected to represent the group at any meetings. MWA’s programmes were offered in English, and because of where I came from I wasn’t used to conversing in English. So that meant it was difficult to participate. Many members just came because they were getting paid a stipend if they participated in meetings and events. It’s easy to say that they shouldn’t have done that, but many needed even that small money to survive.

At the time there were also a lot of physical attacks on gays and lesbians, especially in the slums, because the slums are both densely populated and very community-oriented. Everyone knows everyone else’s business and polices their behaviour so it’s harder there to have privacy. The norms in these areas are focused on religion and tradition. There isn’t as much outreach from LGBTI organisations to these areas, so being gay or lesbian is still seen as being alien. Violence in general was more common in the area where I grew up, so that also applied to LGBTI people. The organisations that existed at the time didn’t have any way of dealing with this, or with other issues like being thrown out by family and becoming homeless.

Since then, leadership has changed many times and people are trying to do things differently. But it still always ends up with hierarchy and lack of transparency and communication. This is not just MWA, but most of the LGBTI organisations in Kenya. Staff often become defensive about their position and are unwilling to share with group members. Skills and opportunities are not passed on or shared within the group, so the leaders gain a lot of skills and experience while the members stay the same. I guess you could say that there’s a lack of mentorship within organisations.

KAT: The nature of activist work ended up creating problems within organisations, as it meant that those who were most deeply affected by intersectional issues such as poverty, homelessness and lack of access to education and employment were not the ones who decided what programmes to run and how to run them.

Leaders often had access to more formal education. They often ended up in positions of leadership because they had the skills to run the organisation in a fashion similar to a business or corporation. This is not to say that they shouldn’t have been in leadership positions, as they were usually very passionate people who dedicated so much of their time, energy and resources to doing this work. But there was little reflection on ways to do the work differently to benefit everyone.

As a result of this configuration there were frequently whispers of classism within organisations, yet these issues were tiptoed around and never clearly addressed or resolved. Oftentimes organisations’ relationships with donors would dictate the focus of their work, whether intentionally or not, since groups would need to run programs in a particular way in order to report back effectively.

But not all LGBTI organising happens in such a public fashion. There have always been and will always be LGBTI people organising informally and supporting each other through social networks. People who take in a friend who’s been kicked out of their family home, or give food and a couch to crash on to someone who’s been assaulted. People providing all kinds of domestic and emotional labour that we don’t necessarily see or count as activist work, but is just as valuable as the professional work.

Po: A positive change has been the diversity that has grown within LGBTI organising itself. More trans and intersex people have come out, more organisations are visible and working. Gender non-conforming people are also coming out, and gender non-conforming politics are being put into the conversation. More people are becoming able to access resources because of the awareness that’s been created. So there’s been a lot of change and a lot of growth.

Largely, LGBTI organising was done in Kenya through the HIV/AIDS avenue, through the public health access avenue. And then over time the human rights-based approach was used, and the engagement of the judiciary, such as in the National Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission’s case to be registered as an NGO.⁴ Organisations, events and activities will be found within the city centre, and mostly within Nairobi, the capital city. But organising also goes on in other cities. And there’s a lot of influence from the donor world. A lot of organisations have been formed predominantly because of donors and there is money that can be accessed.

KAT: Public LGBTI organising is so hierarchical and heavily donor-dependent for a number of reasons. One factor is the huge presence and influence of the development industry in the country. The UN is there, along with all sorts of major international development players. When people are constantly surrounded by this development paradigm of improving lives via time-bound, measurable projects executed by ‘experts’, it starts to feel like that’s just how you organise. It also means that the human rights framework is employed pretty much across the board within LGBTI groups, since it’s the framework that people are most familiar with. But this framework doesn’t resonate well in many contexts and feels alien to many people.

In my previous research with queer women activists in Nairobi, many activists talked about the pragmatic use of the human rights framework as something that made sense to international donors, and to an extent within the local context. However it did not sit as well in more grassroots contexts away from NGO spaces because of its potential to sound imperialist and donor-driven (Dearham, 2013). This may be so particularly in Kenya where the UN is visibly segregated from grassroots communities. There is a lot of scepticism about the UN, which of course is the originator of many of the human rights instruments, being used to argue for LGBTI rights. Many people are cynical about how the UN’s existence benefits impoverished and marginalised communities. So while human rights arguments may play well in certain contexts, for example in the courts or with other agencies and bodies employing the human rights framework, they are not as readily accepted in the village or in urban slums. While the concepts underpinning the human rights framework are universal, the language itself is not and is often perceived as being Western (ibid.).

Considering how much sexual and gender diversity there is within communities across Kenya and the continent, there are many avenues for approaching this in a culturally appropriate way. I think the use of the human rights framework by LGBTI organisations actually makes their work easier to dismiss by folks who think that being LGBTI is an ‘un-African’ import – even if this is simply a convenient political justification for homophobia. It is important to continue to use rights-based approaches where this is effective, recognising both the utility and the limitations of this framework.

When we’re working specifically for ‘LGBTI rights’ that also means we are often working independently from other movements that we could build stronger alliances with. We are so separate from people working on issues like land rights, labour, economic justice and democracy, for instance. We tend to become focused on building awareness for ourselves without acknowledging the multiplicity of factors that affect all of us. There’s a lack of intersectional analysis in that sense, and lack of solidarity with other interconnected movements.

There are more groups now doing outreach work with people from all walks of life, sharing their stories and personalising them in a way that is humanising and approachable. I really love that and think that documentation, storytelling and other forms of art are wonderful ways of connecting with people who mistakenly see us as threatening to their traditions and communities. This is part of the reason why Envisioning’s research work and particularly the participatory video-making is so important – because it is using storytelling to explore these complex issues in an accessible and relatable way. In Kenya, other organisations that are using storytelling and documentary-based approaches to reach out and expand the conversation around LGBTI lives and issues include the Nest Collective,⁵ None on Record: Stories of Queer Africa,⁶ and Artists for Recognition and Acceptance.⁷

GUILLIT: From my own perspective, the reason we organise this way is because of the social and environmental norms in Kenya and in most of Africa. That’s the way we were raised, in a patriarchal society where the one person at the head of the household makes all the decisions. Our political structures and schooling are the same, everywhere there is this extreme hierarchy. I think that’s how we have been shaped by colonialism.

When the colonisers came, they always had someone within the community who would speak on their behalf, represent their views and carry out their orders within the community. Those people had more power, more money and access to land. And we’ve been raised to respect people who have power over others. It’s very individualistic because it’s not about the common good, but about what individuals can gain for themselves.

Reclaiming gender identity and expression

Po: ITGNC organising from the beginning has been left out. The conversation about gender has been solely about women and men. About gender-based violence focusing on cisgender women only. About gender in cisgender terms. But I also want to acknowledge the early solidarity efforts. In 2007 in Uganda, activists collected money to form the country’s first transgender and intersex organisation. It was called TITs (Transgender, Intersex and Transsexuals) Uganda. And here in Kenya there’s been the formation of TEA in 2008, and then Jinsiangu in 2011.

What that means is that there’s been space. Also a lot of people came into contact with the feminist movement. And the feminist movement, knowingly or unknowingly, always brought about these politics of gender non-conformity. It was not specifically transinclusive but it did bring about important questioning of women’s roles and it broke down barriers. So organising has always been happening. But organisations dealing with ITGNC people have only recently been formed in Kenya.

Also arrests of intersex and trangender people reported in the public news stimulated discussions. In one case the mother of an intersex child, dubbed Baby ‘A’, sued the registrar of birth and death certificates for refusal to indicate an appropriate gender marker.⁸ A question mark was indicated on the register of birth in place of a gender marker, which meant that Baby ‘A’ never received a birth certificate. This would make it difficult for the child to access public services such as medical care and education, and basic legal rights like voting. The court ruled that Baby ‘A’ should be issued a birth certificate, though it specified that a third gender category would not be created for intersex people through this ruling. The attorney general was ordered to name a body that would take responsibility for conducting a census of intersex Kenyans and to develop guidelines and policies for their recognition and support.

Richard Muasya, an intersex person, was arrested for criminal activity, but then was really oppressed and violated throughout the detention and throughout the incarceration. Muasya was later awarded damages from the High Court in recognition of this abuse. He also proposed introduction of a third gender in Kenyan legislation, though this was rejected by the court.⁹

As we go on, we see that slowly the language, the people and the presentation are changing. The representation of these issues has continued to grow, and there continue to be spaces where ITGNC people can feel safer and issues can be raised.

I remember how Audrey got space at the GALCK centre, after she said that she as a trans person wanted to organise around trans issues. Then the whole board of GALCK had to sit down because this was so new for them, and they were against the idea of a ‘man changing into a woman’, as they put it. There were religious reasons, social reasons, just fear in itself. This existed even within the more progressive feminist spaces.

So the place in which ITGNC politics has been, and continues to be, is a very precarious place. It’s a struggle to break the norm, to break the binary, to ask people to see beyond or without the binary. And also to struggle to understand how organising will be efficient and effective for ITGNC people.

GUILLIT: Within GALCK there was always some kind of internal conflict between groups. In the office, the space was shared between member organisations and there was a short wall that would partition the space for different groups. So we would always see and interact with one another. But none of the groups worked on intersections – each one focused on its own constituency only, which as I mentioned was mostly gay men and lesbians.

The gay and lesbian organisations did not take ITGNC issues seriously. They understood sexual orientation but didn’t understand how gender minorities feel about their own bodies and that some of us want to transition. They would say that this is weird, or wrong, or a mental issue. They didn’t understand the conflict of body and mind, which is why they didn’t take it seriously, even though TEA made efforts to sensitise GALCK as a whole.

KAT: When I first became involved with GALCK in 2010, it was common to hear transphobic remarks in the office. TEA had a confrontational relationship with GALCK staff as a result, and the atmosphere was hostile to trans people.

GUILLIT: For intersex and gender non-conforming people, it’s like they didn’t exist. A few intersex people would come into the office, and it was like they were outsiders, like they didn’t belong to the same family. It wasn’t always said out loud, but someone doesn’t need to ridicule you using words. It’s just how they treat you. It was not a welcoming environment.

I volunteered for TEA for a few months, but I had to stop as I felt it was too emotionally draining. I also felt that I wasn’t moving towards my goal of transition. I had seen videos of top surgery on the internet, but I had no idea of the steps I would have to take to get it myself in Kenya. There were no trans men to guide me, nobody who could say that they had gone through it and how.

Po: In the community there is a lot of observed, if not reported, poverty. There is limited access to education, limited access to healthcare, lack of information or very little information about ITGNC people. Not a huge representation of these people. Thus people still find it a foreign conversation. So there has always been imposed inferiority of ITGNC organising within the larger LGBTI organising or politics.

I want to acknowledge also that the acronyms, the language, the approach, the strategy, and the framework that are being used to raise awareness and to change the lives of people can be very constricting. Using this very limiting and narrow framework requires that every day there’s a new name or letter added to the long list. I think we need to rethink how we are organising and what it means to be labelled or to label ourselves with this name.

The creation of Jinsiangu

GUILLIT: After leaving TEA, I was still a member of AFRA. As a member of AFRA, I did a fellowship programme with a pan-African social justice organisation called Fahamu Networks for Social Justice. A friend of mine was urging me to apply, and I liked the fact that they didn’t care about your level of education or class. Not having gone to college or university wasn’t a big deal. They just cared that you were part of a grassroots organisation. You didn’t have to be a chairperson or a secretary or even hold any kind of position. You just had to be a member. I applied, with the help of my friend who also applied, and her girlfriend who helped me with the application. I was selected for an interview and got in.

The fellowship was for one year and it was an intense course. We discussed many things and we were placed in different organisations to learn from their work. That’s when I realised that I can do much more than I thought, but there was still this fear, and I still didn’t feel like my authentic self. The course gave me the space to explore myself and learn about how society works. They took us through how power can be used by people at a grassroots level if we work towards common goals. We learned how oppression can degrade you and hold you back from achieving your goals.

Through the Fahamu course I realised that my whole life I’ve been living for others and that I had to make a change. During my last placement in Rwanda, I decided to stop living for others. I’d been exploring the idea of being a trans person since I was young, never really knowing what it meant or why I felt so different. During the placement, I came out as an openly trans person to my friends and colleagues.

I shared this with Kat, who I was dating at the time and who is now my partner. She gave me strength and was a great support when I came out. She shared with me several books about being trans in different parts of the world that made me question a lot. At some point I realised that they all had a chapter describing my life. So at the end of the fellowship, in late 2011, I graduated as a trans person.

The gay and lesbian community didn’t take my coming out seriously. I had always been a quiet, introverted person and let fear be my guide, so they didn’t think I would have the courage even to transition socially and come out to my family. Some people told me that it was just a phase that I would go through, and others just didn’t understand why I would want to transition at all. Other friends were supportive, some of them gay and some straight.

With Kat I started thinking through the idea of creating a group for intersex and trans people. We worked on the initial idea together. We thought of creating another group rather than joining up with an existing organisation, because we wanted to do things differently. Initially we didn’t want to create a formal organisation, just an informal group where intersex and trans people could gather and learn from each other’s experiences. I had met with a few other trans people, especially trans men, and an intersex person who had been shifted from group to group. They were interested in starting something apart so that they wouldn’t get sucked into the politics of the existing LGBTI groups, since they felt it was not healthy for them. We all felt that we needed peer support, someone who would understand what we were going through, not even necessarily providing help.

KAT: I became involved in the creation of Jinsiangu organically, through discussions and brainstorming with Guillit during the final leg of the Fahamu fellowship. We had met a few trans activists in Rwanda and were feeling energised by many of Guillit’s colleagues in the fellowship, who were supportive.

To me this work is important, because I feel that it’s crucial to deconstruct gender roles and to separate expectations about one’s human potential from the gender they were assigned at birth. Of course it was to a degree personal because I could see the toll that transphobia was taking on Guillit’s physical and mental health, and on their¹⁰ relationships and the opportunities that were available to them. But if you think about the issues that the ITGNC community are facing, there are so many interconnections with other movements. It’s about bodily autonomy, about mental health, about violence from religious institutions, the state and the family. About access to appropriate medical care and being recognised as a member of society and even as a human being. These are issues that we all need to be concerned about, and often ITGNC people are most deeply affected.

GUILLIT: The group started in late 2011. Initially it was called Ushirikiano Panda (UP), which in Swahili means ‘climbing together’. Later, our member Barbra Muruga suggested that we change the name to Jinsiangu (a contraction of the words jinsia yangu, my gender) since UP was a mouthful. At the beginning we were just targeting intersex and trans people, and later expanded to include gender non-conforming people as time went on. Po really challenged us on GNC inclusion when they came in, which was good for the growth of the group.

Po: I felt the need to organise around ITGNC issues because it’s important. And I think it’s been wrong that we grow up all our lives, even myself, analysing or seeing life through a cissexist perspective. It’s important that we continue to challenge ourselves to accept, include, and build work around people’s identities, people’s politics, people’s realities, people’s lives. So that the work that we’re doing can respond to the needs of these people. And my engagement with the ITGNC community was really to find a voice that we could all speak in that could begin or continue to articulate our needs. But also to begin to highlight or give direction to the solutions that we require so that we can be whole, healthy people.

There has been a lot of focus on transgender, and then over time we realised that intersex and gender non-conforming issues − and gender identity and expression in general − are very important. That they don’t have to lie within the prospects of transgender and the narrowness that name or identity might take on. There was already TEA, which had over time decided that it wanted to work only on transgender issues. And it focused mostly on those who were transitioning, especially those going through a physical process of taking hormones, thinking of surgery and so on.

GUILLIT: I think it made sense for us to work with all gender minorities because for me as a trans person, I had felt that my issues were not well articulated within LGBTI groups. It took me a long time to get to where I am now; I understood what it was like to be silenced and ignored, and I didn’t want to do that to others working on similar issues. We were all struggling with gender identity issues and non-conforming to gender binaries and norms. I thought that, through the peer groups, all of us ITGNC people could understand each other better and see how our issues are both different and similar. This wasn’t always easy, but I think it was important for us not to repeat the same story of exclusion in Jinsiangu.

KAT: The belonging part was also very important to me, as someone who has experienced rejection and stigma within LGBTI spaces. I’m bisexual, which to me means that I have the potential to be attracted to people of my own and other genders. I quickly found that there is little respect for any kind of fluid identity within LGBTI spaces. There’s a lot of biphobia that hinges on the fear of something that is not easily defined or pinned down. So it’s pretty easy for bi people to fall into the cracks, since you are often ignored and dismissed by the community that you think is yours. This holds true for ITGNC people as well. I think for this reason, there is a potential for a beautiful and affirming alliance between ITGNC and bisexual/queer/fluid people. We are all struggling for self-determination.

The organisation started first as an intersex and transgender organisation, and later there was a lot of discussion around the inclusion of gender non-conforming/genderqueer/gender-fluid people as well. Po was one of the people who was really pushing for inclusion, and I’m so thankful for that. To me the exclusion of gender non-conforming people specifically from trans-focused organisations was analogous to the exclusion of bisexual people from gay and lesbian spaces. There is the fear of something unpin-downable, of an identity that is not so cut and dried and can shift and mutate and trouble categories. There is something so delicious yet vulnerable about being in that position. It scares the shit out of a lot of people who think that if your identity is not static, it is not real or not enough.

This also holds true for intersex people; there is a lot of shame and so many misconceptions about intersex bodies and where or how they fit in. It’s interesting because in North America (and probably elsewhere), intersex movements are quite separate from LGBT movements. It’s not clear to me how or why they came to be so linked in East and Southern Africa at least, but I would love to learn more about that.

In Kenya, as in so many places, non-consensual and unnecessary genital surgery is often performed on babies who are seen to be ambiguous at birth, primarily in urban areas. This is partly because home deliveries are more common in rural areas, since medical clinics are often inaccessible both in location and expense. In villages, intersex kids are often completely socially isolated and literally shut away from the community, causing immense emotional damage. Violence against intersex people is common.

There is also the question of bureaucratic documentation, since identity documents are important in order to secure employment, housing, travel documents, and to vote. Without identity documents that accurately reflect your gender identity, it’s much more difficult to participate in all sorts of social institutions, which puts people in a vulnerable situation. This is common across the ITGNC spectrum. Ultimately I think it did only make sense for intersex and gender non-conforming people to be part of Jinsiangu, partly because they had played an integral role in the formation of the group, but mainly because safety, belonging, bodily autonomy and self-determination are common to all ITGNC people.

Po: Essentially life is understood through the aspect of being male or female, and thus citizenry will be recorded, will be validated, will be acknowledged on the basis of maleness or femaleness. What this means for intersex and gender non-conforming bodies, or trans bodies in general, is that you will forever have to fit, to pass, to change a part of yourself to suit the world that you’re living in rather than living your life fully.

Jinsiangu would then be the place where people would feel safe and people would gather as a support group. Where people would think about their lives while doing everything they could to be able to change for the better. To be able to be whole again. What this means is that Jinsiangu was thought of as a collective. It would be a family, a space for members to come back to and feel human. Feel like they didn’t need to explain, or be influenced by anything outside themselves. We met in people’s houses, we cooked each other food, we cried together, we laughed together.

Jinsiangu envisioned addressing people’s lives as we were. We wanted to develop information, data, statistics. We wanted to do work around people getting well enough to be able to do the work they need to do for themselves. For the change they wanted. It was also highly about psychosocial support, recognising the extent to which oppression happens to the bodies of ITGNC people and how few resources there are to seek redress and healing. So Jinsiangu was an important foundation for health. For safety. For wellness. For ensuring that a community was speaking its truth, and was speaking when and how it needed to speak. Jinsiangu envisioned working through our mental illnesses, dealing with our physical bodies. And then using our strength in the change that we wanted to see.

KAT: Psychosocial support was an important starting point for Jinsiangu, partly because of the nature of the group. At the beginning it was totally informal. We just wanted to create a space for people to share their stories, share resources and support each other. And maybe most importantly, to know that they were not alone in their experience. There’s something so powerful about meeting others like you that nothing else can replicate. Just that feeling of connection and being recognised can do so much to combat isolation.

We wanted to avoid reproducing the oppression and imbalances of power we had seen in other groups. Initially we saw Jinsiangu as a collective, a group of like-minded people supporting each other however we could. Since at the time I identified as cisgender – and on top of that I was a foreigner – I tried to remain conscious of the fact that I was a guest in a space that was not mine and had more learning to do than anyone. So it was a challenge to navigate giving support and contributing what I could, but not taking up too much space or taking the lead when it wasn’t warranted. I don’t know that I was always successful, but I tried to remain mindful and also trusted the members to hold me accountable.

GUILLIT: Before Jinsiangu, peer and psychosocial support didn’t really exist for us to talk deeply and be vulnerable about what we endure when we’re out there alone. It eases you up to know that you’re not abnormal. That you are what you are, and you need to be proud of it. It feels good to unload.

Later on, when we had funding, we added one-on-one therapy with a paid counsellor. This was because we found that a big priority for members was to transition physically. When we approached doctors about transitioning, most of them refused outright because they thought that gender transition is not part of ‘African tradition’ or that it was against the Bible. It was hard to find doctors even willing to work with us at all. When we did find some, they always wanted a letter from a psychologist, which normally would be out of reach, because it’s too expensive for most of us. It’s not an easy step to be evaluated for who you are, but it’s something that was required by the doctors, and eventually many of the members wanted to access counselling for other issues relating to gender identity or their personal struggles. There was a lot of trauma and depression associated with growing up ITGNC.

At first for the peer support groups, we met at people’s houses. This was partly just practical, since we had no funding, and we thought that it would be safer to meet in private spaces than in public. But it was also in order to see where each other lived in case of emergency or threats. It was important both to see where people lived physically and also to understand what kind of environment they were living in.

The evolution of Jinsiangu

GUILLIT: Eventually the number of members became too large to meet at people’s homes. We were always concerned about safety, and a big crowd of ITGNC people attracted too much attention, so it became unsafe for the person whose home we were visiting. Neighbours ended up asking too many questions. At that time we started to fundraise so that we could meet elsewhere. At some point when the membership grew, and with more demand for funds, members had a vote on whether to make Jinsiangu a registered organisation. Most donors require that a group be registered and have its own bank account and staff to get funding, so that was a big consideration. In the end, the majority voted for registration, so we started that process in 2014 and were registered after a few months. In the registration process we did not mention that we were an ITGNC organisation, but said that we dealt with gender issues, in order to avoid any problems.

Members also wanted to do more than the support groups. The most pressing demand was access to medical services, and there was a lot of advocacy work that needed to be done with medical professionals. We started attending meetings and running trainings with doctors, expanding our networks. When we were forming the organisation we had to create positions and talk more about structures. Members wanted more of a hierarchical structure than the initial flat concept, I think because they had been in organisations before and had seen that’s ‘how it’s done’.

Po: There were huge challenges in being a collective or thinking through being a collective. And so slowly, slowly, by donor expectations, by peer pressure Jinsiangu then became an NGO, using a rights-based approach to focus more on external advocacy like any other LGBTI organisation and moving away from our peer-support roots. It continues to look that way.

KAT: When the group decided to formalise, I had many concerns and I think a number of other members did too. It’s one thing to hold peer-support groups in your living room, but creating sustainable programming in a community-led fashion is something else entirely. We held meeting upon meeting, trying to hammer out a structure that would work for us and establish guiding principles. Most of us didn’t have much experience in this, so it was slow going – but I was proud that we did the work collaboratively and created all of these guidelines as a group. Later on we also held a strategic mapping with an organisational consultant. I think that this was helpful, but perhaps it was not internalised. The work is ongoing.

GUILLIT: Having a more hierarchical structure also put less pressure on members to be active. Because they weren’t expected to be as involved in how things were run, they could participate less. I thought that this was not useful, because in my own experience, if I want transparency and want activities to suit my needs, I need to participate and be deeply involved. In hierarchical structures, you’re not able to voice your issues, and your needs will not always be met. I think this is what happened with Jinsiangu.

Most of the members also didn’t take up positions, either because they were not willing or not able to commit to the responsibility. I think there were a lot of misconceptions about what being a leader entailed, because of how in other organisations the leaders would always be the ones who are the most educated or most articulate. In Jinsiangu we communicated mostly in Swahili, but members felt that they had to communicate in English for the benefit of donors or in meetings. I think we could have found other ways of making things work.

KAT: Creating staff positions was useful in that it gave us some framework and helped us to divide up the work rather than everyone trying to do everything, which was satisfying but chaotic and ineffective. But once we created the positions and division of responsibility, there was a lot less membership engagement.

I guess we were quite idealistic. Maybe it didn’t make sense to ask folks who have grown up in such hierarchical systems to embrace consensus-building. Maybe not everyone had the same vision. Maybe we hadn’t built up enough trust. I really don’t know the answer.

GUILLIT: Some of the other challenges we faced were financial. There wasn’t enough funding to pay staff well or to run sustainable programmes, so that was another challenge in keeping people involved. It was always difficult to get donors to support medical services, since they were more focused on advocacy and training. It was also difficult to get funding for income-generating activities, which could have made us more autonomous. The argument from donors was that advocacy is more cost-effective than directly helping people access medical services, so they wouldn’t fund anything related to transition. But advocacy is a slow process. In the meantime our members were struggling with dysphoria and depression.

KAT: We lacked the capacity and resources to actually accomplish everything we wanted to do. Inciting social change is a never-ending task, and change occurs in fits and starts. Once we decided to expand programming, we were so eager to take on so much. Members did step up in many ways. When we did outreach and training, people who had never run workshops were helping to design and facilitate them. Members met with rather intimidating groups of doctors, sharing their experiences and recommendations with people who didn’t know the first thing about being an ITGNC person. That had a lot of impact. But still we struggled, in the sense that quite a small number of people ended up doing the bulk of the work and were constantly teetering on the edge of burnout.

It’s a challenge in this kind of environment as well to balance the desire to portray some kind of professionalism in order to be taken seriously by our partners and funders with the desire to remain true to our roots and vision of inclusivity. If what we were doing was not useful to the people who were most vulnerable, those who wouldn’t normally have access to ‘professional’ spaces, then what use was it?

It’s always tricky to do this kind of work within the capitalist framework. Ultimately, at some point you need money to survive, so there’s always tension between being able to do a lot of work without funding, yet needing to be paid to live. So you can either do side work to live, or you could become a ‘professional activist’ and focus your energies on this work. But the latter means that acquiring funding becomes a necessity and it’s something that you end up dedicating a lot of energy to, especially if you’re running a number of programmes that need constant support. There must be better ways of doing it, and I would like to learn more from others and explore different ways of organising.

When you have a group with a mix of paid position-holders and volunteers, that creates resentment. And some folks will become involved because it’s just a job to them, not something they would be doing of their own volition, and that brings a different kind of energy that is not necessarily community-oriented. You can also accomplish a lot more when you have people who are able to commit a substantial amount of time to the work.

All that said, I am grateful to the funders who understood what we were about and respected Jinsiangu’s vision and autonomy. Thanks to them and to the work of our members, we were able to carry out a lot of work that we wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. We established an ITGNC centre in Nairobi, which opened in late 2014. This is the first space in Kenya run by and for ITGNC people, a space where people are free to express themselves without that fear that exists even in LGBTI spaces. It’s important not only for safety, but for community building and autonomy.

Jinsiangu also did outreach visits to other parts of Kenya to build up networks and support systems across the country. We created Resilience, a resource guide that included information on mental and physical health, legal issues and gender transition alongside personal stories, photos and artwork. And we held the first public ITGNC Day of Remembrance in Kenya. Plus the trainings with medical doctors and the psychosocial support piece. All of this happened within the first two or three years of Jinsiangu’s existence, so we were able to accomplish quite a bit with the limited resources available to us.

On art as activism

KAT: Jinsiangu uses art in almost all of its programmes, both as a way of communicating to others and for the members to have another avenue towards wellness. Various forms of art were part of our outreach programmes, part of our research and publications, and part of our events. In November 2015, Jinsiangu held Kenya’s first ITGNC-themed art exhibition, Bodies Unbound, where members’ artwork was auctioned off to help subsidise medical costs.

To me the use of art was an important component of that drive to make Jinsiangu and its communications as accessible as possible. Even if you don’t necessarily understand the terminology or relate to people’s stories, you can still gain an understanding of their lives and inner worlds through their art. It allows people to reveal as much or as little as they like; it’s visceral and thought-provoking.

Po: From the early onset Jinsiangu tried to engage with popular culture and art. At our first public event, the ITGNC Day of Remembrance in 2013, we had people performing poetry, we had T-shirt making and banner-making. People were very engaged and excited to be able to engage through other forms of expression. And to be able to remain anonymous or to be known, but still be able to do more than write or read or give a formal presentation. Just be. Art is very powerful and has helped a lot of us. Even though we’re still struggling with finding a way to locate it within our lives.

KAT: Art is also an incredible tool for healing, as it helps people process and externalise their experiences and identities. Part of wellness is developing self-knowledge and owning your story, seeing how you fit into the world around you. You don’t need a particular training or skill. Any form of movement or scribble or doodle is valuable if used as a form of exploration.

GUILLIT: I like to use art for activism, because art makes it easier for people to understand – through art, people can relate to what you’ve been through. It creates a story that stays in someone’s mind much more easily than a report or a paper. Art makes it easier for people to empathise and remember. It creates a history so that in the future people will remember the past struggles. Some of this history has been documented through Envisioning’s work.¹¹

It also helps you express what you’re going through. Putting my thoughts and feelings down in poetry, painting, or drawing helps me to destress and avoid other ways of coping that can drain me emotionally.

Dreaming the future

Po: My relationship with Jinsiangu became strained. There was a lot of conflict and we weren’t able to find a way to resolve this conflict in a healthy way. I was part of the advisory board, but I left it because I didn’t think the group was being run ethically and staying true to its values.

But I remain committed to the dream of Jinsiangu. I can see the place, I can see the change, I can see the dream turn out. And it’s going to be difficult, but it’s work that we have to do.

KAT: As a member who identified as cisgender at that time, it was always the plan for me to step back from Jinsiangu once it was up and running. This is because Jinsiangu was always meant to be run by and for ITGNC people. Some cisgender people are members, but the group is careful to ensure that ITGNC people are the decisionmakers, and the cisgender members are there to learn and provide support. So after 2013 I became less involved and eventually moved away entirely. I’m simply cheering Jinsiangu on from afar.

I have faith that community members will make it work and do what makes sense for them. After all, it’s their lives at stake. There is great talent and skill within the ITGNC community, and I trust that there will always be members who are committed and invested in making the world safer for themselves and others.

GUILLIT: I was on the advisory board of Jinsiangu for a while, and left it once I felt I couldn’t serve anymore. I’ve relocated to another country, so it’s hard to be involved very much. The move wasn’t easy because I felt like I was leaving just as Jinsiangu was starting to take baby steps. Members seemed to be participating more, and I miss that community.

KAT: The environment has already changed quite a lot in the past ten years, and I think it will continue to change. Partly this is due to the work of organisations. TEA pushing for legal reform and recognition of trans people’s names and genders.¹² Audrey telling her story on national television and being unashamed of who she is in the face of public ridicule. Jinsiangu members reaching out to other ITGNC people all over the country, forming bonds, and helping each other through the day. Talking with doctors and judges about their lives and about reframing the way we talk about bodies and sex and gender. There are also ITGNC people working in different industries and movements, which is healthy and helps prevent the ITGNC movement from becoming too narrow and static.

Change is also due in large part to the ITGNC people all over the country who are surviving and thriving in their own environments. Trans sex workers looking out for each other through informal networks. Intersex kids who find support within their communities when their parents are abusive. Genderqueer people finding ways of being in their bodies. It’s important for us to recognise that the formation of NGOs is just one way of organising and doesn’t necessarily address everyone’s needs. We can build community and lift ourselves up in so many ways.

Po: The challenges that we face now are in relationships and leadership, and sustainability of resources and access to those resources. And the equitable sharing of those resources. Also information, research, commitment and consistency.

The fact is that gender itself is a complex issue. Gender identity and expression is an even more complex issue. And gender justice continues to remain a dream. Continues to remain people’s destination rather than people’s practice. And this is where I always feel that we get caught up.

I see the future of ITGNC organising in Kenya growing and still taking the form and the space of formal NGO structures. But I also see all kinds of people who are working actively towards ensuring that this conversation of gender is going to continue to grow. To be more radical.

So I think that there is a future in organising for ITGNC, and the future comes with a lot of work. Comes with a lot of commitment. Calls each one of us to be alive to how we have been socialised. To how comfortable we’ve become within the binary. And to begin to challenge ourselves to unlearn the binary. And to accept that gender requires of us to be really present. Present and working at the now.

GUILLIT: Times are changing, in the sense that Jinsiangu has at least had the chance to work with medical doctors and build networks with different activists and people on the ground. A lot of Kenyan LGBTI organisations now focus on psychosocial support, and I feel proud that Jinsiangu was a leader in that, as we were one of the first to offer that kind of programming. We really pushed for recognition of how much living with constant discrimination impacts ITGNC people’s mental health. The group tried to address that by offering different forms of healing through both peer support and counselling. Maybe now it will be easier for the group to gain allies to support their programming.

Po: An ideal future for ITGNC people would be a future where each and every person has the freedom to be who they are. To live their lives with all the support that they can get. And to be accountable for their actions, and responsible for the lives that they want and the choices that they want to make.

So in essence, even with the struggles, even with the fact that organising continues to be very difficult, especially through the LGBTI and human rights frameworks, there’s the importance of people waking up to the connectedness of oppression. To the fact that there’s a connection between the rates of poverty, the rates of gender-based violence, the rates of cissexism and the lack of information. And unless we are continually willing to work to teach each other, to share, to learn, to listen, this work will continue to remain very difficult.

GUILLIT: From my experience, if ITGNC people are able to voice their concerns and access services, rates of depression, suicide and substance abuse will go down. People can be themselves and live their lives without feeling like they need to hide who they are. They just need to be.

References

Aarmo, M. (1999) ‘How homosexuality became “un-African”: the case of Zimbabwe’, in E. Blackwell and S.E. Wieringa (eds.) Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices across Cultures (New York, NY: Columbia University Press), pp. 255–80.

Dearham, K. (2013) ‘NGOs and queer women’s activism in Nairobi’, in S. Ekine and H. Abbas (eds.) Queer African Reader (Nairobi: Pambazuka Press), pp. 186–202.

Epprecht, M. (2004) Hungochani: the History of a Dissident Sexuality in Southern Africa (Montréal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press).

Epprecht, M. and L. Clowes (2008) Unspoken Facts: a History of Homosexualities in Africa (Harare: Gays and Lesbians of Zimbabwe).

Hoad, N. (2007) African Intimacies: Race, Homosexuality, and Globalization (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press).

Morgan, R. and S. Wieringa (eds.) (2005) Tommy Boys, Lesbian Men and Ancestral Wives: Female Same-Sex Practices in Africa (Johannesburg: Jacana).

Murray, S.O. and W. Roscoe (eds.) (1998) Boy Wives and Female Husbands: Studies of African Homosexualities (New York, NY: St Martin’s Press).

Documentary films

A Short Film on Kenyan LGBTI Stories (2013) dir. C. Kaara, J. Muthuri and I. Reid (Kenya and Canada: Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya and Envisioning Global LGBT Human Rights), available at: https://vimeo.com/73786260. Extract from interview with Anthony Oluoch quoted.

Telling Our Stories (Kenya Portraits section) (2014) (Kenya and Canada: Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya and Envisioning Global LGBT Human Rights).

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1 For more information on this event and its impact, see Thirikwa, ch. 11, and Lusimbo and Bryan, ch. 12, this volume.

2 Mukasa and another v. attorney general, AHRLR 248 (UgHC 2008), available at: www.chr.up.ac.za/index.php/browse-by-subject/490-uganda-mukasa-and-another-v-attorney-general-2008-ahrlr-ughc-2008-.pdf (accessed 9 Nov. 2017).

3 For more information on the introduction of new laws in Africa, see Jjuuko and Tabengwa, ch. 2, this volume; on decriminalisation in India, see Narrain, ch. 1, this volume; and on globalising the conversation, with emphasis on strategies for decriminalisation in Kenya, see Anthony Oluoch being interviewed on 1 Aug. 2012 by Immah Reid, GALCK and Envisioning. An excerpt is included in the documentary, A Short Film on Kenyan LGBTI Stories (2013).

4 Eric Gitari v. Non-Governmental Organisations Co-ordination Board and four others, eKLR, 2015, see http://kenyalaw.org/caselaw/cases/view/108412 (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

5 See www.thisisthenest.com (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

6 See www.noneonrecord.com (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

7 See https://www.mamacash.org/en/artists-for-recognition-and-acceptance-kenya (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

8 Baby ‘A’ and another v. attorney general and six others, eKLR, 2014, see http://kenyalaw.org/caselaw/cases/view/104234 (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

9 R.M. v. attorney general and four others, eKLR, 2010, see http://kenyalaw.org/caselaw/cases/view/72818 (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

10 Guillit identifies by the pronouns ‘they, ‘their’ and ‘them’.

11 See www.envisioningLGBT.com (accessed 8 Feb. 2018), which includes research outcomes such as video shorts made by Envisioning in collaboration with its community partners, one of which is GALCK. It also includes Telling Our Stories, a series of video portraits of 30 international activists/community members in eight countries. The Kenyan Portraits are available at: http://envisioning-tellingourstories.blogspot.com/p/kenya-2.html (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).

12 See Republic v. Kenya National Examinations Council and Audrey Mbugua Ithibu, eKLR, 2014, available at: http://kenyalaw.org/caselaw/cases/view/101979 (accessed 8 Feb. 2018).