Race,Class,and Masculinities in a South African Primary School

Abstract

Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork, this article examines how 8–9-year-old South African boys construct and negotiate heterosexual masculinities in the primary school. Situated within a racially diverse schooling context comprised of a mixed class of middle and low income Indian and Black boys, we offer insights into how race and class structures intersect with masculinities to create hierarchies of power as boys navigate the pressures of compulsory heterosexuality. Boys’ investment in the male provider role and in aspiring to material shows of wealth—such as wearing expensive clothing—as key ways to engender heterosexual relationships, was also nuanced by race and class. While such practices defined boys’ masculinities, failure to conform to normative masculine behaviour subjected them to homophobic teasing thus pointing to the regulatory mechanisms through which heterosexual masculinity was policed. The study contributes to the growing field of young masculinities in South Africa as we consider its local manifestations and gendered performances.

Introduction

Heterosexuality has previously been nothing more than an unexamined and invisible norm in the primary school (Renold 2005). Within the past decade, feminist studies in South Africa have rendered visible the various ways through which heterosexuality is practised by young boys as a powerful marker of masculine success (Bhana 2016; 2020). In researching young masculinities, these studies have raised the value of understanding the local context through which masculinities are produced. In this study we examine the construction of heterosexual masculinities among a group of Indian and Black ¹ primary school boys situated in a middle to low income setting in South Africa. The boys were aged between 8–9-years-old, a period of transition from childhood to prepubescent years during which masculine and sexual identities become more salient. The study is set against the backdrop of the legacy of apartheid which is central in shaping young masculinities in contemporary South Africa. To gain a broader insight into how primary school boys construct heterosexual masculinities, understanding the interplay of race, class, historical underpinnings, gender and sexuality is vital. Specifically, we focus on the social relations between Indian and Black boys as they construct gender, sexuality and race underpinned by hegemonic notions of masculinity where heterosexuality is validated.

This study demonstrates how boys strive to achieve heterosexual prowess through a variety of ways to lay claims to power. We show that achieving “cool” heterosexual masculinity is embodied and embedded in and through material resources where race and class variables were invoked. We detail how in striving for power, Indian and Black boys’ relations were shaped by varying degrees of domination and subordination through the disparagement of gay and queer identities. Violence and fighting could also ascribe power at one moment while wearing name branded clothing could subvert this power. We draw attention to the early formation of masculine power based on provider status and its relationship with heterosexuality. Boys were accorded power in the heterosexual competition based on of providing gifts but their ability to provide these economic goods such as flowers and chocolates was also negotiated in racialised terms. These complex variables, we argue, intersect to shape Indian and Black boys’ relations which are charged by racialised and classed subjectivities and constitute a significant force in boys’ negotiation of heterosexuality. The specificities of the local context are therefore vital in theorising and addressing young masculinities in the primary school.

Theorising Masculinity

Masculinity is socially constructed and a multifaceted concept. Connell (1995) focuses on this complexity by addressing race, class, culture, and sexuality into her analysis to demonstrate how these forces enable the construction of plural masculinities over time. Connell (1995) identified four categories of masculinities: hegemonic, complicit, subordinate, and marginalised. She argued that these forms are not fixed to identity; rather, more than one version of masculinity is negotiated within any given setting.

Connell (1995, 77) defines hegemonic masculinity as “the configuration of gender practice which embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem of the legitimation of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position of men and the subordination of women.” The hegemonic form is celebrated as the most honoured form of masculinity and this drives expectations of what it means to be a real man—which is associated with the quest for power and status. However, scholars have raised concerns about the way in which hegemonic masculinity has been used to theorise masculinities in the South African context. For example, Mfecane (2018) argues that masculinity theories in the West do not fully account for the complex life experiences of boys and men in South Africa. Social life among South African people is nuanced by race, class, poverty, economic marginalisation, and cultural influences. For example, the cultural ceremony of circumcision in Black communities marks a transition into puberty and manhood, and historically stick fighting prepared young Black men to be warriors by entrenching masculine power (Carton and Morrell 2012; Mfecane 2018).

Like Mfecane (2018), Morrell, Jewkes, and Lindegger (2012) argue that contemporary masculine identities in South Africa must be situated within its historical processes and the socio-cultural and economic context through which gender, race and class inequalities materialise. Given the complexity of everyday experience in the country, Morrell (2001) proposed that there was not just one form of masculinity that was hegemonic in South Africa, but at least three versions: “white masculinity,” which represented the political and economic dominance of the white ruling class; a rural “African masculinity,” which was entrenched in indigenous institutions such as chiefship and customary law; and “Black masculinity,” that occurred in the context of urbanisation and geographically separate, culturally distinct Black townships. Almost two decades later these ideas remain of value in understanding variations in the experience of masculinities varied by race and class experiences (Pyke 2020). According to Pyke (2020), violence had become a key feature of masculinities, sustaining a form of hegemonic masculinity adopted in response to the oppressive system of apartheid. This included the construction of heroic, struggle, or “street” masculinity, which was characterised by hegemonic notions of strength, endurance to pain, and the enforcement of violence. However, not all boys and men draw on this hegemonic version of masculinity, and while some may project hegemonic masculinity when they wish to, at other times and in other contexts they may choose to strategically distance themselves from hegemonic concepts.

This study highlights the social processes through which identities are formed, nuanced by race, socioeconomic conditions, age, gender inequalities, and sexuality, all of which, we argue, contribute to fluid and plural patterns of masculinities.

Negotiating Heterosexuality in South Africa

According to Butler (1990), gender and sexuality are interrelated rather than separate, discrete entities. Gender identities are normative when they are heterosexual, and this connection informs the daily lives of individuals through which sexuality, gender, and heterosexuality intersect. Butler also explains the concept of heteronormativity used to highlight the significance that many cultures and societies attach to heterosexuality as an essential element of defining a “normal” and intelligible way of performing gender.

Heteronormativity was an integral part of colonial and apartheid South Africa. It was promoted as natural and moral while, according to religious and patriarchal beliefs, miscegenation and homosexuality were regarded as taboo and was criminalised by the government (Judge 2017; Morgan and Wieringa 2005). In contrast, South Africa’s post-apartheid democratic constitution guarantees equality based on of sexual orientation (Republic of South Africa 1996). However, traditional norms regarding normative masculinities challenge these constitutional rights. As studies have shown, heterosexual practices based on domination, multiple partners and sexual entitlement is often implicated in gender and sexual violence in contemporary South Africa (Morrell et al. 2012; Msibi 2012). Heterosexuality is therefore fundamental to the (re)production of hegemonic masculinities and femininities, and gay, queer and transgender identities contradict the normative gender order (Judge 2017).

In the context of schooling, there has been a growing interest in research on childhood sexuality which has focused on how race, gender, class, and socio-cultural conditions produce meanings of sexuality (Bhana 2020). Ideas of childhood sexuality have significantly changed over the years and many scholars now regard childhood as a shifting social construction, in contrast to essentialist theories that have long supported a universal view of children as innate, predetermined, and asexual (Renold 2005; Bhana 2020). Heterosexuality and normative constructions of hegemonic masculinities underscore most gender relations in schools. However, Bhana (2016) demonstrated that young children have sexual agency through their investment in heterosexual pleasure, bodily strength, boyfriend/girlfriend cultures and the heterogeneity of sexualities marked by race, class, and cultural contexts. Within this complex process, gender and sexual norms remain powerful in shaping heterosexual masculinity. Scholars have also demonstrated the way sexuality is policed through marginalisation, discrimination, and violence—for example in the form of homophobia against gay masculinities in the primary school (Bhana and Mayeza 2016; Renold 2005). According to Bhana and Mayeza (2016) violence against less masculine boys in the form of exclusion, teasing, and homophobia is deeply connected to sexual orientation. Gender and sexuality are constantly under surveillance in the primary school and violence is enforced to correct and punish identities considered to be deviant. In this study, our analysis of heterosexual masculinities situates young boys as gendered, sexual agents responsible for maintaining a hierarchy of masculine identities and shaping the way masculinities are constructed within their particular social context.

Contextualising Masculinities in South Africa

South Africa’s current socio-political landscape reflects its colonial and apartheid past (Morrell et al. 2012). Unjust laws, racial discrimination, subjugation of Black people, and appropriation of land and resources all contributed to shaping the political, economic, and social structure of the country. When the National Party came into power in 1948, apartheid formally legitimated and segregated the South African population along racial lines leading to greater hardship and violent struggle over land (Pyke 2020). The drive for mineral wealth led to a heavy reliance on the exploitation of Black migrant labourers. The migrant labour system meant that Black men had to leave their homes in rural areas for long periods of time to find employment in mining and urban areas. Indeed, migrant labour was integral to the ways in which dominant masculinity based on men as economic providers and patriarchal notions were defined. Morrell et al. (2012, 20) argued that “historically the ideal form of masculinity included an acceptance (cultural legitimacy) of the widespread use of violence (gendered practices).” In the context of socio-political inequalities, economic malaise, and men’s inability to adhere to cultural expectations around provider masculinity, violence is often a resource through which men’s weakness is mediated (Silberschmidt 2001). Given the broader social, economic, and political marginalisation of Black men combined with the inability to achieve normative expectations of masculinity, their sense of masculinity was strengthened through the use of violence, aggression and exaggerated claims to power in the home and elsewhere (Bhana 2016).

Contemporary South Africa is a multiracial democracy which consists of the Black majority, while Indian people constitute one of the largest diasporas outside the Indian subcontinent—2.6% of the South African population (Statistics South Africa 2021). Indians arrived in South Africa between 1860 and 1911 to work as indentured labourers under British rule or as free traders (Freund 1995; Vahed and Desai 2017). The labourers worked under harrowing conditions—they were overworked, poorly housed in crowded quarters, and experienced physical violence from white colonial authorities. Vahed (2005) demonstrated how these experiences were crucial to the formation of Indian masculinities. The failure of Indian indentured labourers to oppose colonial authorities, and their use of non-violent means of resistance, marginalised Indian masculinity and gave rise to homogenising stereotypes of Indian men as timid and unmanly. The sense of weakness experienced in the broader colonial setting often manifested in expressions of aggression and power in the home, where men were regarded as heads of households. Violence against women and children became a means to validating their self-worth (Vahed 2005).

While studies on race in South Africa have often focused on Black–white relations or Indian–white relations, analyses of racial and ethnic conflict within Black–Indian relations is often missing (Vahed 2005). Vahed argues that, overall, contact between Indian and Black people during colonisation resulted in racial tension. Under white authority, Black workers were pitted against Indian workers, with the former enforcing beatings on the latter if they absconded from work. According to Freund (1995) further tensions mounted post-indenture when large areas of farmland in Natal (now KwaZulu-Natal ² ) were leased to small-scale Indian food producers. By the 1940s, Indians had developed a strong infrastructure of trade and were monopolising the transport sector, serving not only the white sector but also the Black population (Freund 1995; Vahed and Desai 2017). However, as Freund (1995) notes, Black workers perceived that Indians enjoyed a privileged position in Natal and felt that their economic advancement was restricted because of the dominance of Indian businesses. Indians were homogenised as exploitive economic traders and subsequently stereotyped as an advantaged racial group that dominated the business and transport sectors, thus restraining the economic progress of Black people (Vahed and Desai 2017). This perpetuated racial tensions, violence, murder and looting in Cato Manor in 1949, in Inanda in 1985 and most recently in 2021 in Phoenix––all located in the city of Durban in the KwaZulu-Natal province. Race, class, and ethnicities are integrally connected to economic inequalities and help to understand the tensions between Black and Indian South Africans.

The homogenising effects of race were further reinforced by apartheid policies and the Group Areas Act (Desai 2019). This involved the racial separation of Black, Indian, white, and coloured residents along geographical lines. Long established Indian traders and families were forcibly relocated to Indian-only township areas and replaced by emerging white merchants (Desai 2019; Freund 1995; Vahed and Desai 2017). Freund (1995) explained that for the Indian population the process reminded them of their vulnerability to the power structure of the city, which was defined in racial terms, and their alienation from that power structure.

In 1961, the state recognised Indians as a permanent part of the population and withdrew measures to repatriate them. While the Natal city centres and mining sectors remained the preserve of white capital (Desai 2019; Vahed and Desai 2017), Indians accumulated capital through family-owned businesses, mainly in the textile and clothing industries and in retail trade (Freund 1995). Increased economic mobility was further advanced through the expansion of schools, technical colleges, and universities in Natal (Freund 1995).

The political transition to democracy in 1994 recognised the multicultural nature of South African society and aimed to bring people together as equals through diversity and non-racialism. However, redress occurred along racial lines because the post-apartheid government continued to use racial categories as the basis for the implementation of policies such as affirmative action and Black Economic Empowerment. The legacies of apartheid remain deeply implicated in the formation of identities in South Africa. Framing South African masculinity around the specifics of race, class, sexuality, and gender as being interrelated is, as we demonstrate, essential for understanding the ways in which gender and racial encounters are negotiated, even at school.

Research Methods

This study draws on an ethnographic research project that examined the construction of primary school boys’ masculinities. The fieldwork was conducted in KwaDukuza, a town situated on the north coast of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. The study site was a co-educational, fee-paying public school in a middle to low-income setting. Under the apartheid regime the school was classified as Indian-only, but at the time of the study the racial profile of the school was mixed, with 762 Indian, 239 African, seven coloured, and three white learners. Ethical clearance to conduct research was obtained from the University of KwaZulu-Natal Ethics Committee and from the Department of Education. After gaining access to the site, consent letters were issued to the participants and their parents explaining the nature of the study and assuring them of confidentiality. Participants were selected using purposive sampling via letters given to all 8–9-year-old boys. This age group was chosen because of the paucity of research on gender and sexuality among young children in the early years of schooling (see Bhana 2020). Participants’ biographical details were available to us from the school’s admission file which we used to determine their race and age. Boys were selected based on their availability and willingness to participate in the study. A total sample of 25 boys were selected, 19 of whom were Indian, and six Black. The participants’ identities are protected by using pseudonyms to identify them in the present article.

Data collection was conducted by the first author, who was a teacher at the site under study. During the fieldwork the first author assumed multiple subject positions –she shifted between roles of a teacher and a researcher. Given that power relations between children and adults, are dynamic and fluid, as noted by Thorne (1993), a child-centred approach to the research was applied which allowed us to privilege the boys’ subjective thoughts and experiences and to minimise the teacher–learner, researcher–participant power dynamics. In her role as the researcher, the first author sought to develop a less authoritative and a “least adult” subject position (see Mayeza 2017) to develop friendlier relations with participants. The researcher sat with the boys during playtimes–she sang along to their favourite songs and listened to their talk about movies and sport to gain rich insights into boys’ constructions of masculinities. They were keen to share this information as knowledgeable experts of their lives which helped to reduce the perceptions of adult power.

We triangulated different data collection methods such as field observations and in-depth, semi-structured interviews to ensure validity of this study. All participants of the study were observed following an unstructured observation method using field notes. The field notes were recorded in a field notebook, following a written format, which provided a first-hand account of boys’ masculine practices. Participants were observed during class time, sporting activities, lunch time, and on the playground. The first author was familiar with all the participants of the study and could therefore easily identify and focus attention on them. The participants were empowered in the research by allowing them the autonomy to decide on a preferred location in which to be interviewed. Most of the participants chose to be interviewed on the school playground, a child-friendly space associated with fun and comfort as Ponizovsky-Bergelson et al. (2019) point out. The researcher built a good rapport with the boys, which helped to ease the conversations, and used positive body language to disassociate from the presumed position of adult power. She facilitated the research process by asking open-ended questions which set the agenda for open discussions and topics which participants raised on their own. This led to the emergence of heterosexuality as a significant theme in the boys’ discussions. Sensitive subjects such as girlfriends, the fear of being called “gay,” and their feelings about gay identities were discussed by the boys. The direction the interviews took was also based on prior observations to gain an in-depth comprehension of the boys’ rationale for behaving or situating themselves in the ways that they did. Often, the concerns raised in the focus group discussions differed from those raised in the individual interviews since the boys felt more comfortable to express themselves openly in a friendship group setting.

The interviews were recorded and then transcribed verbatim. We began data analysis after vigilant reading of the interview transcripts and field notes to ensure accuracy. The data was processed using thematic content analysis which involved identifying common patterns of meaning (Clarke and Braun 2017). This enabled us to recognise common patterns of thought, behaviour, and experiences. We highlighted and categorised the data from the interview transcripts and field notes manually through a process of coding, which led to the development of key themes. We also looked at the field notebook and highlighted aspects that were common in the interviews which we added to the themes. The themes were triangulated by both authors who sought to strengthen interpretations of the data by drawing comparisons, examining contradictions and confirming meaning from the different data sources. This added to the validity of the study. Our analysis was guided by Connell’s (1995) theory of masculinities which contributed to our understanding of masculinities as embodied, multifaceted, and built on power hierarchies. We address these complexities in the next section of the paper.

Findings

Negotiating Heterosexual Desire in the Nexus of Race and Class Structures

During the fieldwork we observed that most of our participants invested in branded clothing, fancy takkies (trainers), and hairstyles as key resources for the expression of heterosexual masculinity and went against the school’s formal dress code. We found that achieving a “cool” masculinity through such material resources was an integral part of the process of achieving heterosexual relationships but was also subject to race and class variables.

While both Black and Indian boys wore takkies, the Black boys raised concerns that theirs were less elaborate than the Indian boys’, and that this meant they failed to gain the desired level of heterosexual appeal when compared to the Indian boys, whom, they said, were able to achieve heterosexual power because of their superior access to material wealth:

Lebo [Black]: Sometimes they [Indian boys] wear cool takkies to school. Some of them dress nice and they will steal your girl. Girls like them because sometimes Black girls say I don’t want to play with you anymore, the Indian boys are so beautiful. The Indian boys are so rich that’s why the girls like them.

Researcher: You all wear takkies as well?

Ulwazi [Black]: Yes, but they [Indian boys] wear takkies that are always colourful, you step, and they are colourful [they have LED lights].

It was not only clothing that elevated Indian boys’ popularity. According to Lebo, Black girls also considered them to be physically more attractive than Black boys. The Indian boys’ particular clothes and shoes represented heterosexual power and appeal that they used to impress girls, and which placed Black boys at a disadvantage. Several of the Black participants went further, arguing that material wealth was a kind of heterosexual skill:

Kanelo [Black]: The Indian boys have the girls. Maybe they have a skill. The world is turning on us. It’s betraying us. The world doesn’t want us to get girlfriends.

Researcher: Do you think that if you were Indian, you would get girlfriends?

Kanelo: Obvious[ly], just like this! [clicks finger]. That skill that they have, money, ay, too much money, Black people are poor!

Ulwazi: They bring like R100, R400 [US$7–$27]; we are, like, empty.

Kanelo and Ulwazi’s lack of material resources had a great impact on their perceptions of being able to achieve heterosexual appeal. Kanelo’s words: “Black people are poor” invokes the stereotype of Black poverty, and the fact that he associated having money with having the skill to attract girls indicates his belief in the imperative of power embedded in class and wealth in the advancement of heterosexuality. When Kanelo says “the world is betraying us” he points directly to the broader structures of power and racial oppression, derived from apartheid, that still serve to subordinate certain groups of people. Kanelo also stressed his belief that if he were Indian he would definitely get a girlfriend since Indian people have “too much money.” Kanelo therefore viewed race as a fixed essence that defines individuals and places them in rigid boxes. This is clearly problematic on many levels—not least because in the school there were some Indian boys who hailed from disadvantaged backgrounds and were, for example, part of the school’s feeding scheme ³ , and some Black boys who could afford LED takkies and branded clothing, as noted in the field observations. Kanelo and Ulwazi therefore had to navigate their heterosexual masculinity amid socioeconomic conditions which they understood as rendering them—and, collectively, their race—marginalised and disadvantaged.

Our findings further revealed that while some boys sought to achieve a “cool” hegemonic masculinity, not all boys desired this construct:

Kanelo: Boys like to vape [use the electronic cigarette]. And maybe if you are at a party and you are smoking vape, you see a lot of girls will come to you.

Rishay [Indian]: Some boys [Grade 3] want to show girls that they can smoke and be cool.

Emulating smoking was considered a key resource in constructing a “cool” hegemonic version of masculinity. It therefore became an embodied practice, which Kanelo and Rishay associated with appearing cool to attract girls. However, Vihaan [Indian] and Zee [Black] highlighted their rejection of smoking practices:

Researcher: Do you think little boys want to smoke?

Vihaan: I think so. I don’t want to do that; I don’t copy because I don’t want to be smoking when I’m small.

Zee: I won’t do it because my father will kill me.

Vihaan and Zee sought an alternative version of masculinity which involved distancing themselves from practices such as smoking. Vihaan showed a sense of agency, evident in his response “I don’t want to do that, I don’t copy.” It therefore became evident that not all boys engage in—or aspire to—all aspects of hegemonic masculinity. Boys were therefore able to exercise personal agency and construct alternative subjectivities—although these were also shaped by external forces, such as parental authority, as Zee described so eloquently. As a result, not all boys desired hegemonic practices as some boys contested such acts due to their personal agency and others due to familial values or parental control.

The next section highlights the intersections of race, sexuality, and violence which constituted a significant standpoint between Indian and Black boys around which heterosexual violence was at times sanctioned and at other times contested.

Negotiating Heterosexualised Violence and Race

To defend heterosexual relations, boys engaged in physical violence against other boys. However, their perceptions were highly racialised in that Black boys perceived Indian boys as weak. Furthermore, some endorsed violence against them, while others resisted such violence. Indian boys, on the other hand, constructed Black boys as inherently strong and chose to resist using violence against them. Zee noted the following in his individual interview:

Researcher: Have you been in a fight?

Zee: My girlfriend is Indian. Her ex [Indian] complained to his friends and he came with his gangs to try and hit me. I called my gang. I’ll tell them don’t talk to her. Sometimes, her ex says I must leave her alone, then I fight with him, I punch him and say I won’t do that ever!

Researcher: Are you afraid of Black boys?

Zee: Yes, because Black boys are strong and Indian boys are weak. I always see Black boys fighting and they always win.

It was evident that Zee held a fixed notion of Indian boys as inherently weak and Black boys as inherently strong. Drawing on such racialised assumptions, Zee asserted his power by using physical violence to stand up to the Indian boys to protect his heterosexual relationship. He endorsed violence against Indian boys by positioning them as weaker, while he perceived Black boys as being stronger based on his observations of Black boys defeating other boys in a physical fight.

Such perceptions suggest that social, cultural, and economic factors shape the occurrence of violence in unequal ways in the South African context. However, assumptions that Black boys are inherently violent and strong not only contributes to facile and damaging stereotypes but also serves to mask how violence exists in all levels of all societies. While Zee may see strength as inherent to Black boys, his experiences have not yet exposed him to the possibility that there might also be strong Indian boys and fragile Black boys.

In the fieldwork observations we also noted that Black boys were most often chosen to participate in the sporting activities that required physical strength, such as tug-of-war. We observed that the Black boys raised their t-shirts above their heads to show off their bodies after a victory in tug-of-war. Ayaan (an Indian boy) noted in his individual interview that the boys raised their shirts to show off their “six-packs”—in other words, to boast about having strong abdominal muscles thus showing the connection between physical bodily performance and being constructed as a “real boy” (Bhana 2016).

While Zee endorsed violence against Indian boys, we found that not all Black boys endorsed violence against Indian boys:

Researcher: How do you feel when the Indian boys steal your girlfriend?

Ulwazi: I feel sad. We don’t sleep at night.

Kanelo: And what more is stress, we don’t know where the stress is from.

Researcher: And if a Black boy steals your girlfriend?

Kanelo: Okay, it’s fine if they speak to her but I won’t allow them to hug her. Like seriously I feel like someone stabs me. I just feel angry. . . And if you find that boy, you feel like hitting him coz they took your own girlfriend. When it’s a Black boy I feel angry coz it’s like he is betraying us because we are both in the same race. [With the Indian boy] I don’t want to cause a fight because I will get into trouble but the Black boy, I know like it doesn’t matter with him.

Lebo: Some of the Indian boys they cannot fight—that’s why we don’t fight, coz we are going to hurt them.

The importance of maintaining heterosexual relations is particularly evident in Ulwazi’s and Kanelo’s responses, especially regarding the “stress” they said they experienced over fearing the loss of their girlfriends. As with Zee, with his racialised perceptions, Kanelo and Lebo assumed Indian boys were unable to fight, and so did not view them as physical threats. However, although Zee sought to enact hegemonic masculinity by engaging in physical fights with Indian boys, other Black boys, sought to resist using violence against them precisely because they believed that the Indian boys could not fight and feared hurting them. In other words, while most Black boys positioned Indian boys as being less of a physical threat, not all the boys endorsed violence against them.

As we noted above, Indian boys were positioned as the bearers of heterosexual power because they were seen as having greater financial resources and were thus able to wear more expensive clothing. However, in the context of displaying physical prowess, Black boys constructed them as powerless because of their perceived inability to fight. The interplay of race, class, and gender thus positioned boys as having power in one context and being powerless in another. Power, as this illustrates, is therefore not fixed and cannot be ascribed exclusively to a particular race or class.

Keylan [Indian] also indicated how he mediated violence along racial lines in an individual interview:

Researcher: Did you fight with an Indian boy for a girlfriend?

Keylan: I did, with an Indian boy. The boy was getting on my nerves, he was only saying that I’m stealing your girlfriend and then one day I saw both of them holding hands and I went, and I hit that boy and he started crying.

Researcher: What if you saw her with a Black boy?

Keylan: I wouldn’t care if it’s a Black boy that steals my girlfriend, I won’t hit them, but if it’s an Indian boy, I will make a fight with him. Even if I get in a fight with an Indian boy it doesn’t really matter to me but if I get into a fight with a Black boy then it matters . . . because they can fight, I’m scared.

Highly evident is Keylan’s perception that Indian and Black relations are shaped by varying degrees of domination and subordination, and that racial encounters, even at school, are governed by this. It is important, here, to again stress how the legacy of apartheid legislation continues to pervade and poison race relations in South Africa. As Thiara (2001) argued, racial differences and power inequalities are constructed in relation to the broader social context and imbued in history, and this impacts on the way racial subjectivities and encounters are negotiated. Indeed, the political, historical, and socioeconomic conditions that pervaded Keylan’s life constituted a significant force and this was pivotal in how he negotiated the use of violence.

Gifts, Flowers, and Chocolates: Boys, Heterosexuality, and the Provider Role

Displaying financial strength and having monetary resources featured as key aspects in the achievement and sustainment of heterosexual relationships. A major social pressure that Black and Indian boys alike experienced in constructing their heterosexual masculinities was conforming to the orthodox role of a provider:

Kanelo: They [girls] want to use us . . . like [for] gifts, chocolates. One time I didn’t have money…and she just said, ‘It’s over; I can’t be with you anymore’. The day after she went to the Indian boy, and I saw them holding hands. I was heartbroken. They want the moola [cash]! I realised that what can I do? He has cash, he has everything. It’s over!

Ulwazi: If you don’t have money, they say they don’t want you, but if you have money, they say they want you. They want chocolates, they want money, they want that flowers. Then they don’t want flowers, they want you to buy slabs of chocolates. If you don’t take care of your girlfriend, then they are going to break up with you and go to the Indian boy and the Indian boy gives her more money.

From fieldwork observations, too, it became evident that boys took it upon themselves to act as providers both in the initiation and advancement of their relationships with girls; for example, girlfriends—or prospective girlfriends—were given flowers and chocolates on special occasions, such as Valentine’s Day and birthdays. However, during the individual interview discussions, several participants talked about the complexities involved in negotiating a provider role that could accommodate girls’ demands. Socioeconomic factors and material resources featured strongly as essential elements that the boys believed were necessary to sustain heterosexual relations—as is evident from the excerpts from Kanelo and Ulwazi’s interviews. Being unable to provide materially was particularly frustrating for the boys, especially when they were dumped and rejected for failing to do so, and their lack of economic resources compromised their masculine status which they strived so hard to achieve. Ulwazi also raised concerns about the complex ways he felt he had to behave to maintain his relationship, noting that girls’ desires were often inconsistent, going, for example, from wanting flowers to not wanting flowers and then to demanding chocolates. From his interview it was evident that, although he tried hard to provide for his girlfriend, he felt simultaneously frustrated and pressurised to maintain the role of provider.

Kanelo and Ulwazi both believed that Indian boys’ masculinities were exalted above less solvent boys: those who could provide financially achieved a higher social ranking and could more easily attract and keep girlfriends while those who were unable to provide sufficiently failed to gain a space in the dominant masculine hierarchy. In other words, the construction and performance of masculinities was associated with fixed notions of boys as natural providers—an ideology held by both boys and girls. Indeed, given their active agency in rejecting boys, girls played a significant role in regulating and shaping how masculinities were constructed.

However, while Black boys held the notion that Indian boys were desired because they were wealthier, Keylan felt that girls would reject any boy who was unable to provide—regardless of race:

Money this, money that, ka-ching! I broke up [with girls] three or four times because of money. When the money is finished, they go . . . they will leave you for any boy who has money. Girls only think about the money. Before I should bring lots of sweets, Jaide [a girl in his class] should ask me, I should give them, about two packets of sweets, and then, bye bye [they leave].

Boys such as Keylan, Kanelo, and Ulwazi created their own subjectivities of heterosexuality based on their individual experiences and specific social context. While some Black boys perceived that girls desired Indian boys because they had more money, Keylan believed that girls would reject any boy who was unable to provide. Race and class featured strongly, showing that masculinities and heterosexual competition (as well as violence) were negotiated in racialised terms.

Fear of the Feminine: Disparaging “Gay,” Upholding Heterosexuality

In this section we examine compulsory heterosexuality, mediated by both Indian and Black boys which played an important role in the construction of masculinity. For example, to affirm their heterosexual masculine positions, we found that both Black and Indian participants shared similar anxieties about associating too closely with girls in non-romantic ways because of the fear of being called gay:

Keylan: Boys don’t want to be friends with girls’ coz people call you names. They call you gay.

Shreyan [Indian]: [If] a boy just goes up to a girl and says “let’s play” other boys will just start laughing at him. They’ll think he doesn’t want to play with boys because he is a girl, and they will start laughing at him.

Kanelo: Talk like girls, play with girl toys, playing and taking a tea cup, a small teacup and sipping. Ay! If I did that they will say, “Hey you playing with girls, hey you [isi]stabane! [gay].”

These responses demonstrate boys’ fears regarding the risk of being labelled gay for playing with girls on platonic terms. According to Msibi’s (2012) study of homophobic responses to queer youth in South Africa, language is a powerful tool through which discrimination is perpetrated in schools. Msibi noted how derogatory IsiZulu words like isitabane and Afrikaans words like moffie (gay) were used to refer to those who were perceived to be unmanly. Words such as “isitabane” and “gay” were also raised by boys in our study in relation to their fears of being teased should they engage closely with girls or behaviour usually associated with femininity. Boys sought to distance themselves from any such behaviour and avoided non-sexualised friendships with girls because of this fear.

In the fieldwork observations we consistently noted that heterosexuality, masculine power, violence, and the subordination of boys perceived to be feminine featured strongly in the interactions between boys. Furthermore, boys who were seen to be gentle and fragile were labelled as “gay.” For example, an extract from our field notebook illustrates that boys made comments such as “you kick like a girl” onto those who failed to display signs of physical sporting prowess during soccer practice, and boys who chose to read stereotypical feminine books such as princess fairytales were often teased as being “gay” or “girly.” These practices led to questions around their masculinity and whether they could meet the expectations of a “real boy.” Several scholars such as Paechter (2018), Renold (2005) and Swain (2006) suggest that sex/gender is intricately connected, and this underpins most of children’s daily social interactions. It was evident from our fieldwork that sex/gender were bound up with masculinities and cannot be separated.

We also found, however, that not all boys were passive recipients of verbal insults directed at what their peers assumed to be feminine behaviour. While most boys were concerned with constructing a masculine image by disparaging femininity, Vihaan challenged Keylan for questioning his masculinity:

Keylan: You are a boy; you must act like a boy. Mustn’t act like a girl. You are a man; you must act like a man.

Vihaan: Then why do you tease me [that I am] a girl?

Keylan: Because you act like one. He is, like, so soft, ma’am!

Vihaan: That doesn’t mean I’m a girl. I’m a human being: I’m a boy!

It is clear from this excerpt that Keylan saw Vihaan’s behaviour as feminine and gender transgressing, and, on this basis, he sought to police Vihaan’s masculinity by advising him to act like a man. The use of the word “man” suggests a mature construct of masculinity, thus indicating Keylan’s desire to move away from feminine behaviours which he considered to be unmanly. Although studies have noted the subordination and vulnerability that boys experience for behaving in ways that are not compliant with normative hegemonic projections (Renold 2005; Swain 2006), Vihaan defended his identity—and did so with confidence––showing that he was not passive when his masculinity was challenged. Indeed, these findings show that boys such as Vihaan were able to challenge dominant notions of masculinity through their own confidence in embracing softer versions of masculinities.

Boy’s Perceptions of and Responses to Non-conforming Identities

In this section we highlight reasons why some boys sought to police the boundaries of heterosexual masculinity, and their responses to non-conforming identities:

Researcher: How do you feel about boys who play with girls?

Lungelo [Black]: I feel like crying because they only make themselves [isi]tabane [gay], then sometimes we call them stabane because they [are] acting like girls. I don’t know why they [are] acting like girls. I don’t like when they come to me, I just ignore them. When they talk to me, I just ignore because I don’t like to speak to them. I hit them because they only talk [like girls] when you call them.

Lungelo is clear about his disapproval of boys who display feminine or gender transgressing behaviour. Being an ideal boy meant disassociating from feminine concepts and those boys who displayed girly behaviours were rejected and subordinated by Lungelo. According to Samudzi and Mannell (2015) despite the constitutional protection of all genders and sexual orientation in South Africa, social and masculine norms continue to perpetuate violence against non-conforming and gender queer identities. This was evident in Lungelo’s response where he used physical violence to articulate his disapproval of boys who behaved like girls. His attitude was characteristic of homophobia which, according to Epstein (1997), is a form of violence fundamental to policing the behaviour of gay, transgender, and queer boys while also locating these identities at the bottom of the hierarchy.

In their individual interviews, participants were engaged in a conversation about whether they would be friends with boys who played with girls at school. Following further probing they said:

Keylan: No, it’s like they [gay boys] rub all their influences [off on] to you. People will call you gay!

Kanelo: It’s complicated, I don’t get them, and it’s like why are you gay? How this possible, how is this boy, like, if he’s not attracted to you, how would you get close to him? That’s what I mean. Hey, it’s complicated…If my brother is gay, I feel disappointed because if people know that he is gay then they will say to me “Hey, there’s that stabane over there.”

Lungelo: It is wrong because a boy can’t get a child because only girls can do it. That doesn’t make any sense because boys must love girls.

Keylan believed that associating closely with gender queer or gay identities might influence him to be gay, and he feared that he would also be labelled as gay. Kanelo, too, raised concerns that if his brother were to be gay then, by association, he too would be perceived as gay. Keylan and Kanelo both feared that close association with boys who were feminine would be seen as transgressing ones assigned gender and therefore, they would be labelled as gay. These findings resonate with Msibi’s (2012) study which demonstrated how learners feared associating closely with queer learners because of the risk of being perceived as gay. Msibi argued that heterosexuality is maintained through the notion of fear—the fear of being contaminated by those who are queer, the fear that Keylan and Kanelo voiced. Consequently, it is possible that the negative connotations of viewing homosexuality as a contagion fuel the isolation of gay and gender queer identities. Kanelo and Lungelo perceived that to be a real boy, sex, sexuality, and gender had to be firmly aligned or else their masculinity did not “make any sense.” Msibi demonstrated that when these concepts become disentangled masculinity can be called into question. In other words, most boys expect all boys to perform their masculinities within accepted understandings—and any deviation works to threaten heteronormativity.

Conclusion

This study demonstrated the diverse ways in which a group of Indian and Black primary school boys constructed their heterosexual masculinities amid the influence of specific socioeconomic, racial, political, historical, and cultural conditionings. According to Frosh, Phoenix, and Pattman (2002), the overlapping layers of identities such as race, class, culture, and sexuality contributes to multiple versions of masculinities. The data have shown how these variables intersected to shape Indian and Black boys’ social interactions, their negotiation of power and their racialised and classed subjectivities all of which constituted a significant force in boys’ negotiation of heterosexual competition and violence in diverse ways.

Race- and class-related tensions featured strongly in the relations between Indian and Black boys as they negotiated their heterosexuality. Most of our Black participants felt that Indian boys achieved heterosexual power through having material wealth, and in contrast, they had to navigate their sexuality in the face of material deprivation, which they considered to be disadvantageous. However, this sense of powerlessness was tempered by their sense of superior physical strength. There was therefore a paradox evident in Black boys’ perceptions of Indian boys: on one hand they saw them as the holders of material wealth and heterosexual power but on the other hand their lack of physical prowess rendered them powerless. Hence, power was not fixed; nor was it contingent on race or class. Socioeconomic status was seen as a key element to achieving heterosexual relations—those who could provide financially gained a higher social ranking, while those who could not failed to gain space in the dominant masculine hierarchy. It was clear that both Indian and Black boys’ racialised subjectivities were largely contextually produced—and that they constituted a significant lens through which heterosexual violence was either sanctioned or contested.

While we paid particular attention to the social processes through which heterosexual practices were negotiated, our findings also revealed how Indian and Black boys adopted similar heterosexual subjectivities that transgressions—or failing to live up to the heterosexual masculine norm––was regarded as aberrant. Both Indian and Black boys demonstrated homophobic attitudes in their endeavours to police non-conforming masculine behaviours. However, some boys exercised their personal agency to challenge hegemonic masculinity. Young boys were therefore key sexual agents responsible for shaping the way masculinities were constructed, performed and challenged.

As a way forward, interventions in schools should encourage young boys to engage in critical self-reflection, which should involve developing empathy towards individuals who are oppressed, and critically reflecting on gender norms that entrench unequal power dynamics (Keddie 2020). In addition, mutual respect should be instilled in learners to create a positive environment that values diversity and strives towards a culture of non-violence. According to Frosh, Phoenix, and Pattman (2002), the process through which racialisation occurs, whereby particular discourses are attached to “Blackness,” “whiteness,” or “Asianess,” cannot but be embroiled in the way masculinities are experienced. There is a need for Indian and Black boys to transcend racial divides and stereotypes and stretch against the enduring legacies of apartheid by advancing towards a shared solidarity. Providing a platform for boys to reflect on and engage with issues of race, class, and gender will mitigate the prevalence of gender inequalities and racial stereotypes. Given the diverse South African context and the plural nature of masculinities, opportunities for further research exploring gender and sexuality in South African primary schools should be undertaken.