Musings of an AIF Clinton Fellow who worked for LGBT rights with Naz Foundation.
By John Stokes
WASHINGTON, DC: India has always held a certain sway over the West’s collective imagination. There’s no denying its appeal, especially for those whose familiarity lies somewhere between The Jungle Book and the Taj Mahal. I, too, as a non-diaspora American who has studied and worked in the region for half a decade, remain baffled by elements of it. Unsurprisingly, I’ve met many Indians who have shared this same puzzlement. Such is part of what continuously pulls us back to the subcontinent.
I chose to live and work in India because, yes, at a certain level it did fascinate me. While I’m critical of the romanticization of its or any other nation’s culture, I cannot say that I was completely immune to the phenomenon. However, when I began my undergraduate courses in South Asian studies in 2006, the “India Shining” narrative had nearly reached its zenith, even as the country’s neighbors seemed to be on the opposite trajectory. One could argue that, for an internationally focused American student, China offered the more compelling economic story. Yet for whatever reason, my heart told me to follow India – perhaps the first stirrings of my still unfolding kismat.
And so, after four years of classes in South Asian culture, politics, and the Hindi-Urdu language(s), I happily accepted the American India Foundation’s William J. Clinton Fellowship for Service. Little did I know that “academic India” and “professional India” are two entirely different creatures – this fact may come as little surprise to most, but you’ll have to forgive my younger self’s ignorance. Regardless, my fellowship, started by Clinton and then Prime Minister Vajpayee in 2001, partners young American professionals with different sectors of Indian civil society for a period of ten months. Determined to put my skill set to use, I took off in September 2010 to work in the political megalopolis of New Delhi.
While India’s earlier mentioned orientalist mystique is undeniably a boon for the tourism sector (Incredible India, anyone?), it tends to mask deep problems within Indian society that, even now, are barely discussed. The security of women, discrimination against racial minorities, bribery and coercion in daily interactions (for high-level bribery is almost an expectation) – these topics have only recently been getting the general populace’s serious attention. The particular issue around which my professional time revolved was another one of India’s so-called “modern” problems: that of the human rights of LGBT minorities in the country. Or, better stated, the lack of said rights.
I was placed with the Naz Foundation (India) Trust. Yes, this was that Naz, whose challenge against the anti-gay Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code resulted in a groundbreaking human rights victory with the Delhi High Court’s 2009 judgment, only to be turned into heartbreak in 2013 by a Supreme Court reversal. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the now reinstated law, it prohibits individuals from having “carnal intercourse against the order of nature.” How wonderfully rational and specific. Yet, a silver lining to the recent 2013 judgment has been that all major political parties have been forced to speak out on the issue, providing some degree of humanity to those whose existence mainstream Indian society has typically preferred to disavow. Political parties have offered varying levels of support or opposition on LGBT issues, but at least a national conversation has begun.
My work at Naz, carried out during the interlude period between the two court judgments – our own achche din, so to speak – was not legal in nature. Rather, I had the privilege of directing Naz’s LGBT program, centered on public health and psychological counseling. Even today, LGBT programming in India is frequently devoted to solely one group: MSM, or “men who have sex with men”. This perhaps outdated behavioral term is able to cover the demographics most disproportionately affected by the HIV epidemic, from gay and bisexual men to male-to-female transgender individuals, including hijras. Within this programming, Naz and many other organizations employ the “community health worker” model in their public health efforts. Members of a targeted community are trained in public health outreach and then used by the trainer organization to assist in public health fieldwork. A hijra field worker, for example, might be trained by an NGO to disseminate public health information (typically concerning HIV, tuberculosis, etc.) to other hijra individuals who are, due to fear of stigma or otherwise, unable to access established public health centers. It is important to note that this model is also used in other areas of public health within India, such as the ASHA scheme in which rural women (ASHAs) are trained in maternal health issues in order to assist pregnant women in the ASHAs’ respective rural areas.
My work at Naz involved overseeing this kind of health outreach, but also striving to broaden the nature of programming such that LGBT women and non-LGBT individuals found something of use in our drop-in center, whether it be group discussions, film screenings, legal rights workshops, or something else entirely. For if we truly believe that human rights struggles affect us all, then we cannot afford to involve one demographic alone. This, in my opinion, is the key lesson that one can take from how the LGBT movement has progressed in the West. Having an academic background in South Asian issues but a personal familiarity with Western LGBT history ideally allows one to tailor successful strategies to Indian cultural realities. It is my hope that this kind of perspective and expertise is what Naz valued most in my time working with them.
Nearly four years later, when I look back on my time in India, the one thing that always strikes me is how skewed development rhetoric in the West tends to be. We have, I think, gone from a semi-colonial “What can we teach them?” mentality to an exoticism-inspired “What can they (the other, the foreign) teach us?”. Yet successful exchanges encompass learning and teaching on both sides. I have already shared how I believe Naz was able to grow from having me on staff, so I will end by reflecting on what I took away from my experience with them and with India in general: “Zindagi sangharsh hai.” “Life is a struggle.” I should quickly point out that I do not mean this in the way of dejection or pessimism, but rather that most of what is truly valuable in life comes only with great effort. With regards to the human rights of LGBT individuals and others, progress can be made, but only with great commitment and dedication. We have all seen the tremendous advances that have been made in India on a plethora of issues, but few of us have also witnessed the hard work of incredibly devoted people and organizations that has occurred behind the scenes. Their perseverance should inspire us all.
And so, what did I learn in India? I learned to believe. I learned to endure. I learned to never waver. And perhaps most of all, I learned that “Sorry sir, not possible!” is only the beginning of a conversation.
1 Comment
Good article.