The outsiders within: lesbian women and gender violence

The woman that I see sitting on a trolley in an overcrowded passage of the Central Hospital in Windhoek, Namibia is not the same youthful and vivacious person I had a conversation with two days ago. This woman is swollen and bruised and covered in blood; she looks much older and defeated by life.

The woman that I see sitting on a trolley in an overcrowded passage of the Central Hospital in Windhoek, Namibia is not the same youthful and vivacious person I had a conversation with two days ago. This woman is swollen and bruised and covered in blood; she looks much older and defeated by life.

There is no family to support her and in these dimly lit corridors sympathy is scarce. There certainly is not enough of it for her to receive any and even if there was, she does not deserve any compassion. She is after all a lesbian.

What makes the story of Sophie* different from the many that we hear is that her family, the very people she thought would protect her, were responsible for the violence she experienced.

She tells in a soft and broken voice about the name-calling and humiliation, about how she could hear her mother weeping outside the door, about the brutality of the assault and about the fact that the two men who raped her are people she had known all her life. They are the cousins whom she grew up with, the people she thought would shelter her. This was all done to ‘cure’ her, to show her the way and introduce her to the bliss and normality of heterosexuality. And of course, although the family would want those who know to believe that their reasons were entirely unselfish, Sophie being ‘healed’ would safe them from the extreme embarrassment of having a lesbian daughter.

Despite the viciousness and the unusual circumstances around this assault, Sophie’s name will not appear on posters when outraged members of the community march the streets of Windhoek, they will not demand justice on her behalf, and gender activists will not cite her ordeal in their strongly worded statements.

A few questions need to be asked: in a time when we investigate, analyse and hypothesise gender violence, in a time when we can, do and must condemn the actions of those who perpetrate these acts of violence, why are gender activists and feminists so slow in taking up the issue of violence towards lesbian and bisexual women?

Why does this issue not form part of the agendas of the numerous meetings held to discuss violence against women in Namibia and elsewhere in the region? Why are lesbians not welcomed into the sisterhood that campaign and strategise against this vice that has destroyed the lives of so many women?

We also need to ask if we could ever fully understand the crisis of gender violence if we do not keep in mind the particular vulnerabilities lesbian woman have as a social grouping. Do we truly comprehend that pushing them to the fringes of our society increase their chances of becoming victims of violence and thus perpetuate the very problem?

Even amid the outsiders a hierarchy exists and the woman who is attracted to those of the same sex finds herself right at the bottom of this pecking order. With the condemnation from the influential and elected, many of those who maltreat and brutalise women deem their behaviour acceptable and in the case of lesbians, even endorsed and encouraged.

The fact that that support structures such as the police and the women and child abuse centres are sluggish and even unwilling to respond, reinforces this perception. Gender activists and feminists who defend the rights of lesbians are themselves often implicated, discredited and silenced.

Lesbians, by their nature, challenge the norm heterosexism imposes on society. Embedded in the heterosexist existence is the institution of marriage. From birth the girl child is guided towards matrimony. Through everyday conditioning it is seen as a desired situation and a purpose. Love, power, convenience, security, morality, procreation and civil rights are all integrated in this authoritative convention.

Marriage delineates the successful woman; it defines what for many the most meaningful part of their lives becomes. The lesbian who is seen as rejecting this base falls outside our frame of reference and becomes an anomaly.

This perceived abnormality is seen by many as a threat to the essence of humankind and therefore not deserving of our tolerance or acceptance. Lesbian women thus do not enjoy the same protection as their heterosexual sisters and the violence directed towards them is often not considered with the same outrage.

Added to this, is the blurring of gender roles in modern society where the modern African male finds himself dealing with something women are all too familiar with – a sense of disempowerment. To maintain the conventional hegemony men often force the submission of women through violence. The more vulnerable a woman is, the greater her chances of becoming the target of such acts of aggression. Lesbians further challenge masculinity by purging men from what has long been their sacred domain – the bedroom. This perceived act of defiance is often counteracted with violence.

Unless the particular vulnerabilities of lesbian women are addressed through campaigns to end gender violence, they will continue to remain on the margins and as such without the support accorded to their heterosexual sisters.

As for Sophie, she will probably find the support and acceptance she so desperately needs amongst members of the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgenderd (LGBT) communities. In a supportive environment she will hopefully find her voice and add it to the few courageous lesbian women who speak out. I remain hopeful that one day Southern Africa will be a region in which gender violence is not tolerated – against anyone.

*Not her real name

Ian Swartz is the Director of The Rainbow Project in Namibia.

This article is part of the GEM Opinion and Commentary Service that provides views and perspectives on current events.

janine@genderlinks.org.za for more information.