As the proceedings of the marriage equality case conclude in the Supreme Court, for some of us, the proceedings are triggering and mentally and emotionally exhausting. Why? They are a reminder of the ignorance, injustice, apathy and prejudice we have battled for decades. Most eyes see committed individuals in black and white their energetic bodies jostling with each other and their opinions clashing in the air of the courtroom. Some of us see dead people in attendance to these proceedings.
You may not see them. Perhaps you don’t know them. Maybe you do but never noticed who they were or the depth of misery in their eyes. They may be people in your family, community, or those who pass by every day. You may not notice them but we see them everywhere. These folks represent oppression and indignity in different times, spaces and settings of the society and nation we live in. They are an almost continuous, unbroken line of eyes watching and waiting in the courtroom.
Some of these are also those who did not live to see and witness this day where equality can be demanded and debated. They faced historical bias, structural and systematic oppression given to us by the colonisers. They were beaten, abused, tortured, thrown out of homes until they complied or withered away silently. Some took the ultimate step of self-harm. Others buried their truths somewhere deep into their souls to survive.
It was much worse if they belonged to another marginalised group – a caste or religious minority . It was a choice between living your truth or life itself. Sometimes, it was a choice between sanity and dignity. Sometimes there were no choices at all.
These are people who were told that they were wrong both in their desire and love or to seek happiness or dignity in this lifetime. Their choices were unacceptable, their gender dysphoria imaginary, and their love of the same gender curable through medicines, electrocution, violent beatings, verbal and physical abuse. Few survived this onslaught. They are somewhere in that courtroom watching.
There are those who are still alive but much older stuck somewhere in oppressive marriages because society told them they could not choose to love someone of the same sex or choose to be another gender. It was unnatural, unacceptable, and deviant. They realised living their truth would come at a considerable cost. Their families and communities would disown and ostracise them. Today, they watch quietly, burdened by the endless oppression, wondering why this freedom was not their destiny. These folks did not even dare to imagine a marriage like union ever with the ones they loved. For them, even the whisper of hope and freedom was elusive. They are somewhere there too in the corners.
Then there are those that acknowledged to themselves their desires and identities but could never do so to the world afraid of what would follow. Their families and communities belittled and coerced them for wavering from the norm. They were robbed of their dignity, privacy, identity, and their money, eventually being dismissed for being nothing to no one. These brave ones didn’t give into the conventions of marriage. They stood their ground at considerable cost to them. They too, if they have survived their time, are having their day in court.
Then there are those that came out stating to the world who they were. They suffered and continue to do so at the hands of society and their loved ones. A trans person who studied at India’s leading women’s college broke down one evening in a workshop and reminded us that her life was about seeking a community that did not misgender her. A gay man, who carried in his mind and on his body, marks of abuse, inflicted by others and by himself as well. A lesbian advocate from a small town who came out to her family and her doctor advised regular forced heterosexual sex and medications to cure her. Then there were those suffered the double whammy of queerness and caste or being a queer but also a religious minority. Sometimes this fate was exacerbated when combined with poverty. They all are glued to this courtroom fervently having our day in court.
All these folks are in attendance in these proceedings, quietly waiting, for dignity, freedom, and a semblance of equality. The state may question our existence, our suffering, our journeys, and our right to happiness. In many ways, this case itself is our victory, it reminds us that 20 years ago it was hard to even hope of this scenario. In many ways, this is disheartening because even today, the LGBTQIA++ communities are hoping to be granted rights that are unalienable to them.
Perhaps the judgment we wait for will come for both the dead and living to rescue them. Perhaps, the judgement will be delivered on the world we inhabit. The dead will tell no tales, the living will labour on. If no one else does, history will stand by us. For it is finally, with these generations of eyes, some dead, some glazed over and some living, we seek our day in court.
Chapal Mehra is an LGBTQIA++ rights advocate, activist, writer and public health specialist.
