News
Why queer spaces often fail South Asian women
Homosexuality stigmatization often compounds discrimination in conservative cultures
Uncloseted Media published this article on Dec. 16.
By NANDIKA CHATTERJEE | “I want to change your last name to make it sound whiter,” Sonali “Alyy” Patel remembers her white girlfriend saying to her while they were spending a quiet evening at home.
Patel felt a wave of grief wash over her. “I [have] to give up my South Asian-ness in order to be in a queer relationship,” she remembers thinking.
Patel and her girlfriend had been dating for some time and were sketching out a future together, even starting sentences with, “When we get married.” But as they built a foundation, she continued to feel marginalized because of her Indo-African heritage.
“I remember I was in [my girlfriend’s] household, and her father made a comment that was racist to brown people,” Patel told Uncloseted Media. When her girlfriend called him out, Patel remembers him responding by saying, “You were racist before you started dating a brown girl.”
Patel, a 29-year-old researcher and LGBTQ activist living in Vancouver, Canada, says comments from girlfriends and society kept popping up. So she began investigating them academically and went on to create the Queer South Asian Women’s Network.
In a 2019 study she published in the Journal of Lesbian Studies, Patel conducted in-depth narrative interviews with nine queer South Asian women in Toronto. She found that these women routinely experienced microaggressions, erasure and pressure to conform to white, Western queer norms, with one participant being told her queerness wasn’t that important during a conversation with her partner. Another said she was advised by friends and family to stick to other people of color when it came to dating.
This discrimination is often compounded in many conservative South Asian cultures where homosexuality is still stigmatized and viewed as a violation of religious or family values. In addition, women are expected to uphold family honor through modesty, heterosexual marriage and self-sacrifice.
A 2019 Pew Research Center survey found that only 37 percent of Indians believe homosexuality should be accepted by society, compared to majorities in most Western nations.
In Patel’s experiences in queer circles, she believes that what often felt like a visceral sense of South Asian identity loss was actually enforced assimilation. “I had no language or framework to understand that this was racism. I grew up in a white town. … People were very openly racist and okay with it,” she says. She adds that in addition to facing racism in LGBTQ spaces, South Asian women face rejection for being queer at home.
“Our families are like, ‘Haha no, you’re not gay,’” she says.
Coming out
Patel says coming out poses unique challenges for South Asian women compared to women of other ethnicities.
In a 2025 study in the Canadian Review of Sociology, Patel interviewed 40 queer South Asian women in Canada and found that staying closeted can protect them from judgment from family and community.
This leaves these women vulnerable to contrasting pressures where their LGBTQ circles want them to come out.
“There was a participant who [was told by another] queer woman who was white that she just needs to ‘try harder to come out to [her] family,’” says Patel. “But that’s not how it works. [She] did try coming out to them, [but] they didn’t listen.” When she did come out, she was told by her family, “You’re not really gay.”
“Our culture prizes silence, sacrifice and family reputation over individual truth, so falling in love with a woman isn’t just about your personal life,” Suja Vairavanathan, a life coach in Essex, England, who works with South Asian women, told Uncloseted Media. “It feels like you’re challenging an entire system.”
Vairavanathan, who grew up in a traditional Indian family, came out later in life.
“For me, it wasn’t a typical ‘I always knew’ story. I didn’t grow up identifying as gay or even questioning my sexuality,” she says. “I spent 20 years in a marriage, raising kids, living what looked like the ‘right’ Tamil woman’s life. Then I fell in love with my best friend, who happened to be a woman.”
After Vairavanathan left her marriage, she came out in a TikTok video where she is smiling ear-to-ear with on-screen text reading: “You’d have to be a little delulu to think that a 42-year-old Tamil divorcee, mum of two sons, eldest daughter, recently turned gay woman had the audacity to show up on social media and live life unapologetically.” Her caption added: “Yet here I am.”
While there were many positive comments on the video, Vairavanathan says the backlash from many folks in the South Asian community was intense: “I had comments calling me ‘a disgrace,’ saying I’d ‘ruined my family’s name,’ even messages telling me I was ‘corrupting Tamil culture’ or that I must have been ‘brainwashed by the West.’ People reduced my whole life to a scandal just because I chose to live honestly.”
Internalized shame
This community rejection can be painful. “It wasn’t strangers attacking me. It was my own people, speaking the same language I grew up with, who decided I didn’t deserve respect anymore. And that hurts in a way racism from outsiders never could, because it feels like rejection from your own bloodline,” says Vairavanathan.
Mental health professionals who work with South Asian clients say that collectivist traditions, where family reputation is often prioritized over individual expression, can lead to the stigmatization of LGBTQ identities.
On the AAHNA South Asian therapy website, they write that understanding taboos associated with sexual orientation “is crucial for effective therapeutic practice, as they can significantly influence mental health and well-being.”
Balancing dual identities
Jiya Rajput, a British Indian content creator and founder of the QPOC Project, says the balancing act of her sexual and racial identity can be tough: “Being both South Asian and queer sometimes feels like having two vastly different identities,” Rajput told Uncloseted Media. “I have tried my best to blend my queerness with my desi identity. However, it is not often easy, with stereotypes and prejudice sometimes making me feel out of place.”
This balancing act may involve navigating stereotypes and racism inside queer spaces, which can have negative mental health outcomes. A 2022 survey of LGBTQ Asian Americans found that discomfort with one’s race or ethnicity within queer communities was associated with lower psychological well-being for those who consider their racial identity important.
Dating as a queer South Asian woman
Balancing this dynamic can make dating challenging. A 2023 study revealed that queer Asian American women are frequently subject to rigid racial dating preferences, with most preferring to date within their own racial group, often as a reaction to feeling fetishized or rejected from white queer spaces.
And even dating within communities of color presents its own set of challenges. “Racism is not exclusively a white people’s issue,” Patel says, noting that she experienced subtle discrimination with another girlfriend who was Punjabi.
“[She] was genuinely trying to relate with me, she just couldn’t,” she says.
Patel remembers her girlfriend holding many assumptions, such as the belief that all South Asians share the same cultural traditions, such as Bhangra, a lively Punjabi dance, or Garba, a traditional Gujarati folk dance performed during festivals.
“It comes from a place of just wanting to be seen for their own culture,” Patel says, noting that many people of color aren’t accustomed to being truly heard or understood. “There’s so much excitement in dating someone from a different background that sometimes you forget to actually listen and receive the culture through their lens.”
When South Asian women do decide to date white women, Patel says it can feel like one “should just assimilate … and try to keep the pressures of being brown [and] growing up in a stricter, possibly patriarchal, culture at bay.”
These pressures in queer spaces caused Lavina Sabnani to leave her culture behind in an effort to feel accepted.
“It felt wrong to push away everything my ancestors carried with them for so long,” Sabnani told Uncloseted Media. “There’s a standard of whiteness at Pride, at lesbian parties, at cultural and social clubs. … Me and the other brown girls never get noticed. It was like you’re invisible within a community where you’re supposed to be counted in.”
“Being a lesbian South Asian means breaking the mold in every possible way,” says Hubiba Ali, a first-generation Pakistani American, self-described “butch lesbian” and food scientist from Chicago. “Pakistani women I was raised around don’t wear boyish clothes, have short, cropped hair, thick muscles, and hairy legs. They do not eat with gusto, laugh and joke boisterously, or take up space. I gave up a lot of my birthright participation in my culture in order to live free.”
Underrepresented and under researched
To make change, Sabnani says South Asian representation in queer spaces is essential. But it’s not happening yet. According to GLAAD’s “Where We Are on TV” 2024-2025 study, Asian Pacific Islanders represented only 11 percent of LGBTQ characters on broadcast, 2 percent on cable and 14 percent on streaming.
Even shows that strive for diversity, like “The L Word: Generation Q,” fail to include South Asian characters. “They had everyone — Black, Latinx, East Asian — but not a single South Asian woman,” says Patel.
She recalls a dating app called Her that featured an image of two white women kissing — one of whom had a tattoo of a Hindu deity.
“They’ll use our gods, but not our faces,” she says.
Outside of Patel’s research, little information exists about racism and homophobia toward queer South Asian women.
And even in queer nightlife, Ali describes feeling sidelined. She says that while there are a few South Asian LGBTQ organizations in Chicago, finding meaningful representation is hard even in those scenes.
“They tend to be hosted in a part of town colloquially known as ‘Boystown,’ which semantically already does not center women or lesbians,” she says. “The events are usually held at gay bars for gay men.”
Finding acceptance
Patel says that to make spaces truly inclusive, folks need to “start by listening to queer brown women, understanding our unique challenges, and amplifying our voices.”
And despite all of these challenges, many queer South Asian women are still surviving and building a more inclusive future.
Artists like MANI JNX, a British Punjabi indie musician, are using music to explore queer South Asian love, trauma and joy. And visual creators like Mina Manzar are building online communities through art. “Funnily enough, here in NYC, so far from Pakistan, is where I’ve found the most vibrant and beautiful South Asian queer community,” Manzar told Uncloseted Media.
As for Patel, she has found a relationship with a Tamil woman that is grounded in mutual respect and cultural exchange. “I’ve learned how to make Tamil food, I’m learning the language, and she comes to Garba with me and dances every year,” she says. Their shared commitment to honoring each other’s traditions illustrates the importance of genuine cultural understanding in queer relationships that goes beyond surface-level acceptance or stereotypes.
Her hope is that the commitment to understanding that she has developed with her partner can become more reflective of how society tries to understand the experiences of queer South Asian women.
“Let’s just address each racialized group as a different racialized group and give them some damn visibility,” Patel says. “It’s not that hard.”
Honduras
Corte IDH reconoce a Thalía Rodríguez como familia social de Leonela Zelaya
Se construyeron una familia tras más de una década de convivencia
Por DORIS GONZÁLEZ * | TEGUCIGALPA, Honduras — En la sentencia del caso Leonela Zelaya y otra vs Honduras emitida por la Corte Interamericana de Derechos Humanos se estableció un hito jurisprudencial para las personas LGBTQ en Honduras, así como en la región en relación a las diversas conformaciones de familias existentes. La Corte IDH interpretó por primera vez el concepto de familia social, indicando que la construcción de familia no debe restringirse a la familia nuclear o a nociones tradicionales, bajo el entendido de que hay diferentes formas en las que se materializan los vínculos familiares.
Este análisis se trae a colación debido al contexto de discriminación, prejuicio y violencia que atravesamos las personas LGBTQ, el cual se puede manifestar incluso dentro de nuestras propias familias. Esta violencia se manifiesta a través de actos de odio como ser el desarraigo familiar, violencia física, psicológica, social, económica, expulsiones de los hogares, violaciones correctivas e incluso, culminando en muertes violentas. Esta violencia motivada por la orientación sexual, identidad y expresión de género de las personas imposibilita la convivencia familiar.
Ante esto, las personas LGBTQ construimos vínculos sociales fuera del vínculo familiar tradicional, los cuales a través de la convivencia, amistad, apoyo económico-social y construcción de vida en común constituyen familias, tal como ocurrió en este caso.
Tras el abandono de su familia biológica, Leonela Zelaya y Thalía Rodríguez construyeron una familia tras más de una década de convivencia, en los cuales se apoyaron mutuamente en diversas situaciones, viviendo como mujeres trans, portadoras de VIH, ejerciendo el trabajo sexual y en situación de pobreza, enfrentando constantes episodios de detenciones arbitrarias y violentas por parte de los órganos policiales.
Tras su asesinato, fue Thalía quien recogió el cuerpo de Leonela en la morgue de Tegucigalpa y quien gestionó el féretro a través de la Funeraria del Pueblo. Los servicios fúnebres de Leonela Zelaya fueron realizados en un bar por mujeres trans, trabajadoras sexuales, al cual no asistió ningún miembro de su familia biológica.
El asesinato de Leonela y la falta de esclarecimiento generaron a Thalía un sentimiento de inseguridad, frustración e impotencia. Por estas violaciones de derechos humanos, la Corte reconoció a Thalía Rodríguez, en calidad de familiar de Leonela, como víctima del caso, generando estándares aplicables a todas las personas LGBTQ.
A juicio de la Corte, esta situación lleva a que, en casos de muertes violentas de mujeres trans, las personas que integren las redes de apoyo de la persona fallecida puedan ser declaradas víctimas por la violación de sus derechos a la integridad psíquica o moral, siempre que se acredite la existencia de un vínculo estrecho con la víctima y una afectación a sus derechos, derivada, por ejemplo, de las gestiones realizadas para obtener justicia. Esta sentencia logra reconocer que las personas LGBTQ construimos familias sociales, familias elegidas, e indica que estas deben ser reconocidas y validadas.
* Abogada litigante del caso Leonela Zelaya y otra vs Honduras, Red Lésbica Cattrachas
District of Columbia
Eleanor Holmes Norton ends 2026 reelection campaign
Longtime LGBTQ rights supporter introduced, backed LGBTQ-supportive legislation
The reelection campaign for D.C. Congressional Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton, who has been an outspoken supporter of LGBTQ rights since first taking office in 1991, filed a termination report on Jan. 25 with the Federal Elections Commission, indicating she will not run for a 19th term in the U.S. House of Representatives.
Norton’s decision not to run again, which was first reported by the online news publication NOTUS, comes at a time when many of her longtime supporters questioned her ability to continue in office at the age of 88.
NOTUS cited local political observers who pointed out that Norton has in the past year or two curtailed public appearances and, according to critics, has not taken sufficient action to oppose efforts by the Trump-Vance administration and Republican members of Congress to curtail D.C.’s limited home rule government.
Those same critics, however, have praised Norton for her 35-year tenure as the city’s non-voting delegate in the House and as a champion for a wide range of issues of interest to D.C. LGBTQ rights advocates have also praised her longstanding support for LGBTQ rights issues both locally and nationally.
D.C. gay Democratic Party activist Cartwright Moore, who has worked on Norton’s congressional staff from the time she first took office in 1991 until his retirement in 2021, points out that Norton’s role as a staunch LGBTQ ally dates back to the 1970s when she served as head of the New York City Commission on Human Rights.
“The congresswoman is a great person,” Moore told the Washington Blade in recounting his 30 years working on her staff, most recently as senior case worker dealing with local constituent issues.
Norton has been among the lead co-sponsors and outspoken supporters of LGBTQ rights legislation introduced in Congress since first taking office, including the currently pending Equality Act, which would ban employment discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity.
She has introduced multiple LGBTQ supportive bills, including her most recent bill introduced in June 2025, the District of Columbia Local Juror Non-Discrimination Act, which would ban D.C. residents from being disqualified from jury service in D.C. Superior Court based on their sexual orientation or gender identity.
For many years, Norton has marched in the city’s annual Pride parade.
Her decision not to run for another term in office also comes at a time when, for the first time in many years, several prominent candidates emerged to run against her in the June 2026 D.C. Democratic primary. Among them are D.C. Council members Robert White (D-At-Large) and Brooke Pinto (D-Ward 2).
Others who have announced their candidacy for Norton’s seat include Jacque Patterson, president of the D.C. State Board of Education; Kinney Zalesne, a local Democratic party activist; and Trent Holbrook, who until recently served as Norton’s senior legislative counsel.
“For more than three decades, Congresswoman Norton has been Washington, D.C.’s steadfast warrior on Capitol Hill, a relentless advocate for our city’s right to self-determination, full democracy, and statehood,” said Oye Owolewa, the city’s elected U.S. shadow representative in a statement. “At every pivotal moment, she has stood firm on behalf of D.C. residents, never wavering in her pursuit of justice, equity, and meaningful representation for a city too often denied its rightful voice,” he said.
Sharon Nichols, who serves as press spokesperson for Norton’s congressional office, couldn’t immediately be reached for a comment by Norton on her decision not to seek another term in office.
Uganda
LGBTQ Ugandans targeted ahead of country’s elections
President Yoweri Museveni won 7th term in disputed Jan. 15 vote
Barely a week after Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni secured a 7th term in an election marred by state violence, intimidation, and allegations of fraud, the country’s queer community spoke about how the election environment impacted it.
The LGBTQ lobby groups who spoke with the Washington Blade noted that, besides government institutions’ failure to create a safe and inclusive environment for civic participation by all Ugandans, authorities weaponized the Anti-Homosexuality Act to silence dissent and discourage queer voter engagement.
The rights groups note that candidates aligned with Museveni’s ruling National Resistance Movement — including Parliament Speaker Anita Among — during the campaigns accused their rivals of “promoting homosexuality” to discredit them while wooing conservative voters.
Queer people and LGBTQ rights organizations as a result were largely excluded from the formal political processes for the election as voters, mobilizers, or civic actors due to fear of exposure, stigma, violence, and legal reprisals.
“This homophobic rhetoric fueled public hostility and emboldened vigilante violence, forcing many queer Ugandans into deeper hiding during the election period,” Uganda Minority Shelters Consortium Coordinator John Grace stated.
Some queer people had expressed an interest in running for local council seats, but none of them formally registered as candidates or campaigned openly because of safety concerns and local electoral bodies’ discriminatory vetting of candidates.
“UMSC documented at least three incidents of election-related violence or intimidation targeting LGBTQ+ individuals and activists,” Grace noted. “These included harassment, arbitrary detentions, extortions by state and non-state actors, digital cat-fishing, and threats of outing.”
Amid such a militarized and repressive election environment, Let’s Walk Uganda Executive Director Edward Mutebi noted queer-led and allied organizations engaged in the election process through restricted informal voter education, community discussions, and documenting human rights violations.
“Fear of backlash limited visibility and direct participation throughout the election cycle,” Mutebi said. “But despite the hostile environment of work, Let’s Walk Uganda was able to organize a successful transgender and gender diverse youth training on electoral security and safety.”
Museveni’s government escalated its repressive actions during the Jan. 15 elections by shutting down the internet and suspending nine civil society organizations, including Chapter Four Uganda and the National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders, for allegedly engaging in activities that are prejudicial to the security and laws of the country.
The suspension of the rights organizations remains in force, an action both Mutebi and Grace condemn. They say it prevents queer Ugandans from accessing urgent services from the affected groups.
“For the LGBTQ community, the impact has been immediate and deeply harmful. Many of the suspended organizations, like Chapter Four Uganda, were critical partners in providing legal representation, emergency response, and documentation of rights violations,” Grace said.
This has compelled UMSC and its other partners to handle increased caseloads with limited resources, while navigating heightened scrutiny and operational risk.
“The suspension has disrupted referral pathways, delayed urgent interventions, and weakened collective advocacy for marginalized groups and minority rights defenders, which calls for urgent international solidarity, flexible funding, and protection mechanisms to safeguard the work of grassroots organizations operating under threat,” Grace stated.
Mutebi warned that such repressive actions are tyrannical and are indicative of shrinking civic space, which undermines democratic accountability as the promotion and protection of human rights is ignored.
With Museveni, 81, extending his tenure at State House from a landslide win of 72 percent, UMSC and LWU consider a bleak future in the protection of rights for queer Ugandans and other minority groups.
“Without significant political and legal shifts, LGBTQ persons will face continued criminalization, reduced civic space, and heightened insecurity, making sustained advocacy and international solidarity more critical than ever,” Mutebi said. “ It is unimaginable how it feels to live in a country with no hope.”
Grace, however, affirmed the resistance by local queer lobby groups will continue through underground networks, regional solidarity, and digital organizing.
The duo noted that a win by Museveni’s main challenger and rapper, Bobi Wine, who only managed 24 percent of the total votes cast, could have enabled the opening up of civil space and human rights protections in Uganda.
Wine, for his part, spoke in favor of the respect for the rule of law and human rights during his campaign.
“While Bobi Wine’s past stance on LGBTQ rights was inconsistent, his recent shift toward more inclusive rhetoric and international engagement suggested a potential opening for dialogue,” Grace said. “A win might have created space for policy reform or at least reduced state-sponsored homophobia, though structural change would still require sustained pressure and coalition-building.”
Mutebi stated that a change in Uganda’s leadership to a youthful leader like Wine could have offered an opening, but not a guarantee for progress on inclusion and human rights. Mutebi added existing institutionalized and societal homophobia remain in place.
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