While “intersectionality” is a buzzword in the Indian feminist space, a question plagues me: is this supposedly inclusive space welcoming, or are the contributions of many marginalised individuals tokenistic, if acknowledged at all?
The feminist movement in India is fraught with biases and power dynamics that frequently perpetuate exclusion. This isn’t unexpected, given the multitude of identities within the movement, which can create friction between lived experiences. These reflections stem from my journey as a queer-disabled feminist from a region where access to resources and networks is significantly limited compared to the urban centres dominating the discourse.
Over time, my observations have revealed unsettling truths that have shaped my path as a young feminist. Homophobia, a weapon against queer individuals, is dismissed as differences in opinion, even within progressive spaces. Some individuals use religious beliefs to justify subtle forms of discrimination against queer people, implying that queer individuals are inferior to straight people.
Additionally, as a disabled-queer person, I have noticed a neglect of the needs of disabled individuals within feminist circles. The disability community isn’t a monolith, and this oversight is especially pronounced for those with non-visible disabilities like autism, neurological and psycho-social disabilities, whose voices are snubbed. Conversely, queer spaces may not always prioritise disability inclusivity, and disability-centric spaces tend to overlook queer inclusion. This dual exclusion leaves me questioning my place within these communities: where do I belong?
So I often find myself posing questions to those who exhibit a superficial interest in disability justice or the queer cause. But as a young queer person from a tier-2 city like Bhubaneswar, devoid of privileged connections, I feel alienated from feminist circles that lack awareness of my cultural background. In privileged feminist spaces, some individuals tend to dictate the correct way to belong, effectively excluding people like me. Those responsible for this exclusion often occupy influential positions within the movement.
What’s heartbreaking is, even within community spaces, identity politics seem to impede collective efforts. This isn’t surprising but proves detrimental to solidarity. And when confronted about causing harm, individuals often shield their actions by citing their membership within marginalised communities. But does being part of a marginalised group exempt anyone from accountability? We tend to cling to our realities, disregarding the struggles of others, perpetuating isolation in our movement.
Mistakes happen, but don’t feminist principles entail taking responsibility instead of shifting blame on the affected person’s reaction? Each person’s journey is unique, foregrounding the importance of listening to and learning from diverse perspectives to foster inclusion and minimise harm. Rather than deflecting, isn’t it essential to acknowledge when the original harm has occurred, take appropriate steps to address it and rectify the behaviour?
My time in the Feminist Youth Leadership Programme has been marked by trauma and the intricate politics of this space. Despite frequent discussions about solidarity, feminist spaces are plagued by bias, competitiveness and assumptions. While I joined with high hopes and found some pockets of solidarity, over time I withdrew into a shell, isolating myself from everyone to protect my mental and physical well-being. This wasn’t a choice made out of free will; the complex power dynamics left me with no other viable options. It’s unsurprising though because the cohort is a smaller representation of our society.
While I don’t have simple answers, I do have questions for those in this space: each one of us comes with trauma; then why is it demanded from us to lay bare all of our identities and marginalisations to create hierarchies of oppression and ascertain who deserves to be treated with dignity and respect? How does it help to tear down another vulnerable person to validate our struggles? The binary between the oppressor and the oppressed is too simplistic for complex spaces with intersecting identities. Even the oppressed can become the oppressor in certain contexts. But are we open to realising this? We all grapple with a complex interplay of privileges and disadvantages, yet why do a few acknowledge this reality?
Social justice relies on understanding the interconnected nature of our challenges as we don’t live single-issue lives. So achieving collective liberation means recognising our shared struggles. Only genuine individual responsibility fosters collective accountability because community accountability can only be co-created with care. But amidst jargon and judgments, this work gets left behind. No matter our marginalisation and trauma, if we cannot show others the same respect and consideration we expect for ourselves, how do we build solidarities? Why is one hurt prioritised over others? Is one type of marginalisation more important than others? This constant isolation compelled me to create spaces where I could feel a shared sense of belonging.
Storytelling holds power to inspire and document the overlooked; it’s a form of resistance. Fueled by the pain and frustration of being excluded from spaces where I expected inclusion, I initiated “Atypical Dikkatein.” Narratives intertwining the experiences of queer and disabled individuals are often rare, and our podcast sought to change that. Focused on a niche yet crucial topic, we brought together young, queer, and disabled individuals from diverse backgrounds. We explored a rare sense of belonging in a landscape where mainstream discourse frequently overlooks our struggles. Our narratives provided hope and joy; we listened to one another, and amplified these stories from the margins.
Earlier, I would find myself being gaslit and unable to stand up for myself when harmed, but having people who understood me gave me strength to fight back. I vividly recall a moment when I felt utterly disheartened by the hurt I experienced in feminist spaces, and a community member reached out to offer support. They reminded me how our community had been their lifeline during tough times, underscoring the importance of communities of care for our survival.
While it’s easy to profess intersectional feminism, embodying it in practice is difficult. The absence of tangible action makes it a performative rhetoric. Only when lofty ideals translate into substantive action, then can the movement truly aspire towards collective liberation for all.
