It’s been a terrible year, and none of us have come out of it unscathed, but the queer community has been hit particularly hard. COVID-19 has created some new challenges, while exacerbating pre-existing ones. Many queer people exist at the intersection of various marginalized identities of caste, class, religion, disability and neurodivergence, and bear the burden of systemic inequalities than have been widened due to the pandemic.
At its worst, the pandemic has threatened the basic survival of queer people. A young queer person from Bhubaneswar recounted their story to us. They were ostracised by their family after coming out during the pandemic and subsequently faced problems with securing housing, employment and food access. The loss of income during the pandemic has left many, particularly transgender people, scrambling to make ends meet. Many lack official identification (such as Aadhar cards, PAN cards and ration cards) that recognize their gender identity, and hence fail to receive whatever sparse support the welfare state provides, writes Grace Banu on her crowdfunding page that aims to provide food and medical kits to trans folk in Tamil Nadu. COVID-19 has also interrupted the medical services that HIV/AIDS-affected queer people recieve, especially queer people who engage in sex work for survival. Many trans people, such as Sasha, a freelance writer from Bengaluru, have also been unable to attain services related to their transition (like hormone replacement therapy) during the lockdown due to the high case load of COVID-19 patients at hospitals. Queer people often fear ridicule, harassment, and abuse at the hands of medical professionals (and understandably so); hence they hesitate to seek help if they suspect they have COVID-19. For many, acts such as washing hands and physical distancing are unattainable luxuries due to homelessness or living in cramped communes. Sexual and gender minorities have been flagged as being at a higher risk for COVID-19 than the general population.
For those who are fortunate enough to have a roof over their head, things may still not be rosy. Unemployment and the lockdown caused many to move back in with their families, several of which aren’t safe for them. “I’ve been living with my family because of the lockdown and it's been difficult? We couldn’t be more different people. They’re your generic savarna, Hindu supremacist, Islamaphobic, homophobic, transphobic brown family. It feels like I have to hide who I essentially am, not say what I think or feel, because what I am and what I think isn’t palatable to them so it needs to be censored to the point where there’s no content left. It’s exhausting having to live life like someone you’re not.” said a queer person from Bangalore, who wished to be anonymous. Families often inflict mental, emotional or physical harm on queer people, and this is known to contribute to the high rates of depression, anxiety and suicide in the community. Mental health services are few and sparse in India, and many are queerphobic and perpetuate harmful stereotypes via their practices. Barriers such as language, finances, geography and caste also exclude many from obtaining potentially life-saving help with regards to their mental health.
The inability to meet in person has taken a toll on us all, but has been especially impactful on queer people who heavily rely on each other for support. These safe spaces are not only sources of emotional comfort, but also places where resource mobilization occurs. Although it may seem trivial, the ability to attend Pride marches and events, where queer people can safely express themselves and be surrounded by their own community, was gone.
For some people however, quarantine provided an opportunity for self-exploration and reflection. Prachi*, a lesbian from Mangalore shares her story. “When the lockdown hit, everything changed suddenly—my life felt like a storm. But the silence of being alone at home for months forced me to confront my own feelings of attraction towards other women. Finally identifying as a lesbian was terrifying but so liberating. I’m still not completely comfortable with being gay, but it’s a work in progress.”
Of course, all of this is just the tip of the iceberg. The queer victims of the pandemic are presented as an amorphous entity made of nameless and faceless people, when instead each of their lives, stories, struggles and triumphs deserve recognition. Pride month will end, the corporations will take down their rainbow logos and people will forget. Amidst all of this, feelings of hopelessness are natural. But as the quote goes— let this radicalize you rather than lead you to despair. The solutions lie in solidarity, mutual aid and dismantling the systems of oppression that created these hardships in the first place. COVID-19 isn’t the first challenge the queer community has faced, and it is unlikely to be the last. To my queer friends— hang in there.
*name changed to protect their identity
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