Writing themselves in: Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse Australians online

Abstract

There has been limited exploration into the online engagements of people who are Indigenous and gender and sexuality diverse. There are, however, two separate bodies of literature that provide substantial insights into the digital involvement of Indigenous Australians, and gender and sexuality diverse people. Each has identified a myriad of complex negotiations, interactions and resistances that take place through the affordances of digital spaces, along with identifying impacts on well-being. This scoping review discusses dominant themes within existing research on these topics, and documents research that discusses an online blog entitled Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow that is designed to foreground representations of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people. To contextualise this discussion, the paper begins with a review of scholarly literature that articulates and challenges the ongoing colonisation of Indigenous peoples’ gender and sexuality. The literature reviewed exposes new research directions. Namely, the importance of exploration into Indigenous gender and sexuality diverses peoples’ online engagements, and their interrelationship with well-being.

Introduction

Indigenous Australian gender and sexuality diverse people have been identified as a ‘vulnerable’ population within the larger ‘vulnerable’ and marginalised population of Indigenous peoples (Dudgeon et al., 2015; Rosenstreich and Goldner, 2010). ‘Indigenous’ or ‘Indigenous Australian’ is used here to refer to the two distinct Indigenous groups in Australia: Aboriginal peoples and Torres Strait Islander peoples. However, Indigenous Australians are comprised ‘of hundreds of self-identifying and named autonomous groups across the continent and surrounding islands’ (see Carlson et al., 2014, p. 66). The generic terms used for Indigenous peoples in Australia (i.e. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander or Indigenous) are highly contentious and contested. There exists no unanimous agreement on which terminology is acceptable or non-offensive making the use of preferred or agreed upon terminology impossible. Nonetheless, to ensure consistency with the articles cited, when drawing from an Indigenous scholar who prefers to use and identify with the term Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander, the researcher has implemented the same referential terminology. This is done out of acknowledgement and respect for different identifying preferences.

Indigenous Australian gender and sexuality diverse people being identified as ‘vulnerable’ is largely due to the unique circumstances they face, such as social exclusion and racist and hostile environments (Dudgeon et al., 2015). Despite acknowledgement of distinct challenges, an exploration into the Social and Emotional Wellbeing (SEWB) of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people is limited. Farrell’s (2017) foundational research which discusses the creation of a blog entitled Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow, has indicated that digital spaces may provide an arena where the well-being of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people can be fostered, supported and promoted. This scoping review reveals the need for future research that comprehensively explores how Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples’ involvements online intersect with experiences of SEWB.

As Carlson and Frazer (2018) pointed out, it can be justifiably assumed that the online engagements of people living at the intersection of both Indigenous and gender and sexuality diverse identities are unique. Nonetheless, due to the paucity of research that explores these engagements, this review predominantly analyses themes within the literature on the use of social media by Indigenous Australians and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people.

These separate inquiries highlight the deeply complex nature of online experiences. Digital engagements, for instance, can be simultaneously filled with vast possibilities (i.e. social media being used to deal with marginalisation) and constraints (i.e. experiencing digital violence such as cyberbullying) (see e.g. Carlson and Frazer, 2020; Hanckel and Morris, 2014). Further, this literature highlights how digital spaces intricately affect and intersect with the subjectivities of both Indigenous Australians, and gender and sexuality diverse people.

This paper exposes new research directions by bringing together this data set for the first time. The data set being, literature which explores how Indigenous peoples, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people engage online, as well as literature that addresses the ongoing colonisation of Indigenous peoples’ gender and sexuality. This review is the first stage in empirical research that aims to explore how people at the intersection of Indigenous and gender and sexuality diverse identities experience digital spaces, looking also at how these online involvements interconnect with experiences of SEWB. Achieving these aims will help to overcome some of the knowledge gaps that this review identifies.

SEWB is defined here as an interconnected, multifaced and holistic understanding of health that includes, but extends beyond, dominant understandings of health (Gee et al., 2014). Dominant understandings rely on the biomedical model of health, which is an individualistic and decontextualised approach (Rodgers and Pilgrim, 2014). Biological explanations and diagnoses for perceived illness are privileged whilst social circumstances and biographical nuances are largely excluded from the account (Rodgers and Pilgrim, 2014). Moving beyond this, the SEWB understanding incorporates considerations of contextual circumstances such as the impacts of stigma, racism and historical trauma, as well as an important recognition of Indigenous strengths, sovereignty, communities, and cultures (Spurway et al., 2020).

Locating myself

It is important that I locate myself before continuing. I am a white, heterosexual, non-Indigenous, academic/researcher conducting research on a complex and potentially sensitive topic, across two different community groups to which I am an outsider: the ‘Indigenous community’ and the ‘gender and sexuality diverse community’. Acknowledgment of my status recurrently evokes questions over my capability to do this research project. But I believe strongly in the possibilities of cross-cultural research partnerships and self-evaluation and self-transformation when engaging in solidarity work, to bring about reverence for broader ways of understanding, knowing and doing now and in the future. This belief, among others, motivates me.

My outsider positionality requires me to constantly acknowledge and be rigorously reflexive of my own beliefs, judgements, and biases and the ways in which these have the potential to impact my research. I acknowledge and reflect deeply on the fact that my privilege and power are afforded to me largely at the expense of the Indigenous peoples’ whose land I occupy and by the fact of me being white. I reflect on how I am shaped by colonial influences, which includes reflection on my complicity in colonisation and my position as a White researcher. I constantly critically interrogate my own personal, educational and spiritual motivations for engaging in Indigenous research. I acknowledge that just having this choice, to act or not act, is a privilege. These critical reflections are enacted in attempts to acknowledge, interrogate and navigate my own settler subjectivity. Additionally, the appointment of the wider projects Aboriginal Reference Group, that is, comprised of three Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people, is vital to ensuring Indigenous priorities are realised.

Methods

Having established the lack of literature on Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse Australians online engagements, a scoping review was carried out. The scoping review was conducted to identify the extant literature on the use of digital spaces by Indigenous Australians, and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse Australians, as well as literature which articulates and challenges the ongoing colonisation of Indigenous Australians gender and sexuality. Scoping reviews are a category of literature review that focuses on assessing the extent of existing and relevant literature on topics of interest (Colquhoun et al., 2014) and identifying research gaps within current research on the topic/s (Arksey and O’Malley, 2005). They ‘can be undertaken as stand-alone projects, especially where an area is complex or has not been reviewed comprehensively before’ (Mays et al., 2001, p. 194).

There are some key differences between a scoping review and a systematic review. A systematic review is generally conducted with a specific question in mind; therefore, the range of review of studies assessed is typically narrow to ensure they can provide answers to the question/s (Arksey and O’Malley, 2005). Conversely, a scoping review is typically concerned with broader areas of interest Consequentially, the method is less concerned with addressing specific research questions, or with assessing the quality of studies when searching for literature (Arksey and O’Malley, 2005). Despite being able to complete a scoping study in a relatively short amount of time compared to a systematic review (Arksey & O’Malley), they similarly require a high level of academic rigor, analytic skills and transparency to ensure reliability and quality of findings (Munn et al., 2018).

The online databases Scopus, SAGE Journals, JSTOR, Informit, ProQuest, EBSCOhost and Google scholar were utilised to search for existing literature on the use of digital spaces by Indigenous Australians, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse Australians, as well as literature which explores the colonisation of Indigenous Australians gender and sexuality. The search terms [‘Indigenous’ OR Aboriginal OR Torres Strait Islander OR Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander OR Indigenous Australian] AND/OR [‘social media’ OR digital spaces OR online] AND/OR [‘gender and sexuality diverse’ OR LGBTIQ + OR Queer OR sistergirl OR brotherboy] were employed when searching the databases. No limit was placed on the year of publication. Following the input of each of the search terms into the chosen databases, the results were manually reviewed. Papers, reports and books/book chapters were excluded if the title and/or abstract did not reference Indigenous peoples or gender and sexuality diverse people and social media, or Indigenous gender and sexuality diversity. As my focus was primarily on the social media engagements of Indigenous Australians, and gender and sexuality diverse people, the full text of this literature was then examined. So too were full texts of literature discussing Indigenous gender and sexuality diversity. Those that discussed these topics became the core corpus of data for analysis.

Results

A total of 40 scholarly papers, books/book chapters and reports were deemed to fit the inclusion criteria and are utilised in this review – which have been published within the last 18 years. The 40 papers were then re-read in detail for the purpose of data collection. The information was documented using an Excel spreadsheet, which recorded the author/s, title, year of publication and emergent themes. The remaining of this paper collates and analyses the relevant ideas and themes which arose from the found literature and identifies what gaps are still present within the research.

The colonisation of Indigenous peoples’ gender and sexuality

Although there remains limited knowledge in relation to the SEWB of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people (Spurway et al., 2020), an interdisciplinary body of literature is recognising both individual experience and the shared impact of intergenerational historical traumas on collective well-being (see e.g. Dudgeon et al., 2015; Spurway et al., 2020). This literature pays attention to the way in which settler colonialism enforced Eurocentric ideas about gender and sexuality, such as heteronormativity onto Indigenous peoples, and the ongoing effects of this (Farrell, 2017; Monaghan, 2015). For example, colonial settler practices, policies and processes, such as the homophobic Christianisation of Indigenous cultures through missions in Australia, functioned to control, assimilate, deny and ultimately eliminate gender and sexuality diversity (Bayliss, 2015; Clark, 2015; Farrell, 2017; Monaghan, 2015; Sullivan, 2020).

In attempts to ‘civilise the natives’ through a new social order, a conditioning of the expression of gender and sexuality, and control over ‘sexual perversion’ took place (Bayliss, 2015, p. 13). Within this, Indigenous kin ties were subjugated as perverse, and traditional gender roles and familial ties were attacked (Monaghan, 2015). This religious ‘conditioning’ and/or forced removal of Indigenous peoples onto assimilative missions has had long-lasting effects. It is just one example of the way in which Indigenous gender and sexuality, became ‘recognised and reimagined according to the desires and limits of colonialism’ (Clark, 2015, p. 2). Consequentially, experiences of discrimination for Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples (i.e. racism, sexism, heterosexism) can be coalesced with existing trauma ‘arising from the effects of colonisation throughout history’ (Dudgeon et al., 2015, p. 16).

The small but growing body of academic literature which analyses the effects of the colonisation of Indigenous peoples’ gender and sexuality underscores several potential consequences. Some of these consequences include being bound through settler colonialism to heteropatriarchal ideologies (Monaghan, 2015; Sullivan, 2020; Sullivan and Day, 2019), experiences of discrimination (e.g. transphobia and racism) (Hill et al., 2021; Rosenstreich and Goldner, 2010) various forms of abuse (community, verbal, physical, psychological and sexual), and social exclusion within both non-Indigenous Queer communities and within Indigenous communities (Hill et al., 2021 Kerry, 2014; Liddelow-Hunt et al., 2021; Rosenstreich and Goldner, 2010). Through colonisation, the settler state used its power to produce gender and sexuality diverse Indigenous people as dirty, deviant and depraved (Monaghan, 2015; Sullivan, 2020), and effectually, as discordant with one’s own community (Sullivan, 2020).

Consequentially, today, in some Indigenous communities, attitudes towards gender and sexuality diverse Indigenous people continue to resemble that of the western world. Resultantly, an Indigenous individual who is gender and sexuality diverse could be exposed to social and cultural stigma, ostracism (Hill et al., 2021; Sullivan, 2020), and cultural alienation and vilification (Hill et al., 2021; Kerry, 2014) causing some to flee their Indigenous communities, either forcibly or out of choice (Kerry, 2014; Sullivan, 2020). This ejection and rejection can exacerbate poor health and SEWB (Kerry, 2014; Liddelow-Hunt et al., 2021). This is partly because connectivity to community and culture is considered a critical aspect of Indigenous peoples’ identity and well-being (Kerry, 2014; Liddelow-Hunt et al., 2021). Also, experiences of non-acceptance in the community can create anguish, identity confusion and self-doubt (Fredericks, 2004; Liddelow-Hunt et al., 2021), which makes maintaining a strong sense of identity and belonging challenging (Hill et al., 2021; Liddelow-Hunt et al., 2021; Sullivan, 2020).

For example, a participant in Liddelow-Hunt et al. (2021) study, which held interviews and yarning groups with 14 Aboriginal LGBTQA+ young people (14–25 years), expressed how their Aboriginal community attitudes towards them made them feel lonely and like there was no space for them: ‘…when you grow up in a culture that is so heavily against LGBT mob, you feel very alone, and so I can understand why people would commit suicide and all that sort of thing because you can’t be who you are’ (p. 22). It is noteworthy to mention here that community non-acceptance and exclusion is not the experience of all Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people and that some communities are taking steps to show support and acceptance (Hill et al., 2021; Liddelow-Hunt et al., 2021).

However, the ongoing consequences of settler colonialism on the gender and sexuality diverse Indigenous people indicate the importance of re-thinking dominant heteronormative knowledge systems, institutions and relations (Brown, 2004; Clark, 2015; Farrell, 2017). Rethinking requires identifying and challenging ideas about gender and sexuality ‘beyond the scope of the Western gender binary and its dominant sexual norms’ (Farrell, 2017, p. 1). This can be achieved by listening to and promoting alternate standpoints, such as those held and experienced by Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people. Inclusion and visibility in this way are crucial to being seen, heard and valued, and to producing counter-knowledges. Ongoing consequences of settler colonialism also indicate the need for building strategies which can support SEWB for Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people within Indigenous communities and much more broadly when seeking to exit communal relations (temporarily or permanently).

Challenging historically and colonially constituted narratives

Therefore, one way to begin to understand how to support SEWB and to challenge the effects of colonisation is to represent Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples’ histories and experiences from their own perspectives. An agentic and self-determined presence of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people is something that has rarely been granted in White Australian imaginaries. Indeed, it is something that is mostly absent from the literature (Sullivan, 2018, 2020, 2021), and that is invisible in Indigenous and non-Indigenous health/mental health agendas (Bonson, 2017).

Dameyon Bonson identifies as a gay male of both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander heritage and is the founder of the Indigenous LGBTIQ + suicide prevention initiative ‘Black Rainbow’ (Bonson, 2017). In 2017, Bonson released a report titled, ‘Voices from the Black Rainbow’ which is a response to Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples’ voices being absent from both ‘Indigenous and LGBQTI Suicide Prevention Strategies and Activities’ and to the necessity to ‘explore the needs of this population’ (Bonson, 2017, p. 4). The report is the first of its kind in the Australian context. ‘Voices from the Black Rainbow’ is a discussion of both findings from a national survey conducted with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people that focuses on questions related to suicide, and a workshop that was held concurrently (May 2014) to the survey (April–May 2014).

Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse survey respondents indicated they would like to see Suicide Prevention, Wellbeing and Healing strategies or plans that are specific to both of their intersecting identities, which includes incorporation of culture (see Bonson, 2017). Findings from the workshop (which was made up of roughly 30 gender, sexuality and ethnically diverse people) revealed the need for health promotion, education and support that are inclusive and supportive of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people and that focus on SEWB (not just the physical and biological). Further, participants revealed the importance of having a connection to both the Indigenous and gender and sexuality diverse ‘communities’ for fostering cultural well-being (see Bonson, 2017). Bonson’s report (2017) highlights the importance of listening to Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples’ voices to identify their specific wants and needs and to form appropriate strategies which support SEWB.

Further, Sullivan’s recent work (2018, 2020, 2021) investigates the everyday lives and experiences of Indigenous Australian female, male, trans and Queer sex workers through their own narratives. Sullivan, a cisgender Indigenous Australian woman from the Wiradjuri nation in central-western New South Wales, who identifies as lesbian/Queer, argues that historical works and academic literature on Indigenous sex work produce and reproduce a narrative of sexual exploitation and victimhood. Although not denying the occurrence of exploitation, Sullivan (2020) asserts that these narratives ‘are not taken from an Indigenous point of view, nor do they include counter-narratives to these assertions’ (p. 17).

Sullivan’s (2020, 2021) investigations, which respond to these issues, reveal that money was the principal motivation for engaging in sex work. Further, sex working was not for a means of survival, but because participants desired economic and social independence, and because the money earned from sex work was greater than the earnings they could command through other employment. Some participants also disclosed that providing sexual services improved their sense of bodily and sexuality awareness and expression. This was one of the foremost rewards of their line of work, particularly because it enabled fluidity of sexuality. For instance, Jeremy (brotherboy (trans), bisexual) explains: ‘It’s actually been a really positive thing for me, I reckon. It’s just given me more positivity about sex and given me more confidence in myself as a trans guy to -well, just to be more open about myself sexually … I do it because I do like sex’ (as cited in Sullivan, 2020, p. 22). As well, sex work gave certain participants a sense of power and control, while other participants expressed gaining feelings of affirmation by the positive attention received from clients. One participant, Isabelle (female, heterosexual), intimated the sense of power and control that she derived from sex work explaining: ‘I thought sex was dirty, or that there was something wrong with you if you wanted, or liked, to have sex. I thought there was something wrong with me. I loved [sex work], I felt powerful, sexual and in control. There aren’t too many places where you can feel that way, as a Black woman, and be paid’ (as cited in Sullivan, 2020, p. 23).

Therefore, participants in Sullivan’s (2020, 2021) studies challenge dominant historically and colonially constituted narratives of victimhood and exploitation. Their lived experiences and perspectives highlight the imperative of ‘acknowledging, including and centring Indigenous voices and perspectives of gender and sexuality’ (Sullivan, 2020, p. 23). This inclusion is crucial for understanding lived experiences, challenging dominant narratives as well as unsettling heteronormative thinking and knowledge systems which have historically inscribed and described Indigenous bodies and experiences (Sullivan, 2020). Additionally, this centring of Indigenous voices is crucial for understanding the experiences of SEWB.

In consideration of the importance of privileging lived experiences and perspectives, the subsequent sections review the literature that explores how Indigenous peoples and gender and sexuality diverse people self-define their own realities online, which includes difficulties faced when doing so. In addition, how online immersions intersect with well-being is underscored.

Navigating digital spaces: Indigenous gender/sexuality diverse people online

One way in which gender and sexuality diverse people are (re)claiming their own existence, and communicating lived experiences is through digital spaces (Byron et al., 2019; Farrell, 2017). This is true for Indigenous and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people. It has been documented in relatively recent literature that for more than two decades gender and sexuality diverse people have harnessed the internet as an innovative way to overcome adversity (Robards et al., 2018), using it as an agentic point of exploration and resistance against the prevailing assumption of heteronormativity (Craig and McInroy, 2014; Hanckel et al., 2019; Robards et al., 2018). Apart from Farrell’s (2017, 2021) recent work on the social media activism of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people, there is an overwhelming paucity of research on the online negotiations of people living at the intersection of gender/sexual diversity and Indigeneity.

There is, however, an increasing body of literature that responds to the rapid rise of social media use by Indigenous Australians (see e.g. Carlson et al., 2017). This section reviews some of the relevant literature in each of these three spaces: Indigenous peoples online, and Indigenous and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people online.

Indigenous peoples online

Recent literature has provided substantial insights into the complex ways in which Indigenous people engage with digital spaces (see e.g. Carlson et al., 2017; Carlson and Frazer, 2018). The literature in this space is relevant to consider given the scarcity of work into Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples’ online engagements and given that Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people sit at an intersection of being both Indigenous and gender/sexuality diverse.

Existing research suggests that Indigenous peoples engage with digital spaces in distinct ways (Carlson et al., 2017; Carlson and Frazer, 2016, 2018, 2020). Digital spaces are being utilised to challenge colonial hegemonies through political activism efforts, for instance (Carlson et al., 2017; Carlson and Frazer, 2016; Frazer and Carlson, 2017; McLean, 2020) and are key sites where Indigenous peoples embody, rather than disembody, cultural engagements and identities (Carlson and Frazer, 2018; McLean, 2020; Petray, 2013; Rice et al., 2016). Digital technologies are being used to harness a sense of power and control over identities (Rice et al., 2016), to transmit cultural knowledges and practices (Carlson and Frazer, 2018; Rice et al., 2016) and to create new and dynamic forms of cultural expression and community (Carlson, 2011; Carlson and Frazer, 2018; McLean, 2020). However, engagements with these spaces require complicated and careful negotiations, wherein the benefits and acceptable usage of online affordances are contested by Indigenous peoples – particularly between different cultural and age groups (see e.g. Carlson and Frazer, 2015, 2018, 2020). Also, digital platforms and environments have been found to (re)produce and amplify aspects of colonialism (Carlson et al., 2017; Carlson and Frazer, 2018; Matamoros-Fernández, 2017; McLean, 2020). They can, for example, afford derogatory and racist behaviours which have the potential to have high personal costs (McLean, 2020), but which are also frequently resisted (Carlson and Frazer, 2016; Petray, 2013; Sweet et al., 2013). Therefore, being Indigenous online is highly complex. As Carlson (2011) states, ‘social media is a social site but … it is also a political site where Aboriginal struggles and identities are being played out in the “new frontier”’ (p. 164).

Indigenous activism: challenging colonial narratives and powers

One of the most prominent ways that Indigenous peoples are ‘casting’ themselves (Carlson, 2011) online is through ‘self-writing’, which takes both individual and collectivist forms (Petray, 2013). Self-writing or digital storytelling online is the ongoing process of self-identifying or self-forming and is inherently agentic (Petray, 2013). Petray (2013) considers all self-writing by Indigenous peoples on social media to be activism, even when it is mundane or subtle (i.e. writing about day-to-day practices). Self-writing gives voice to own lived experiences and is a way to rewrite and decolonise imposed colonial narratives. Self-writing enables Indigenous activists to present more nuanced and complex accounts of Indigeneity that help to establish alternative individual and collective Indigenous identities, and which contest essentialised stereotypes and understandings (Petray, 2013). An explicit example of self-writing is the @IndigenousX (shortened from ‘Indigenous excellence’) Twitter project. @IndigenousX is a digital Indigenous political presence whereby multiple Indigenous peoples curate the space on a week-to-week rotational basis (McLean, 2020). It is an initiative founded in 2012 by Luke Pearson, a Gamilaroi man, intended for guest curators to ‘express their own identities and not subscribe to preconceived structural constraints’ (McLean, 2020, p. 93). @IndigenousX contributes to reframing negative perceptions and stereotypes of Indigenous Australians whilst also countering histories of Indigenous peoples being exploited in media (Sweet et al., 2013). @IndigenousX has utilised Twitter as a self-writing tool and space for awareness raising and protest (Petray, 2013).

Hashtags are another self-writing tool and tool of activism being utilised by Indigenous peoples. They are frequently used at key political moments to build momentum and create spontaneous solidarity among people that may not be connected (Carlson and Frazer, 2016; McLean, 2020; Petray, 2013; Sweet et al., 2013). The hashtag, #iclosethegapby, for example, was employed by Indigenous peoples to raise awareness of health inequalities and to challenge dominant deficit discourses of Indigenous health through the sharing of healthy Indigenous lifestyle stories (Sweet et al., 2013). On Twitter, the hashtag #itriedtobeauthenticbut was used by Indigenous peoples in response to a comment made by Tony Abbott in 2012, that questioned the ‘authenticity’ of urban living Indigenous Australians (Petray, 2013). The hashtag was followed by humour/jokes about lifestyles to undermine the ‘authenticity’ discourse and received mainstream media attention (Petray, 2013).

Lastly, although not exhaustively, the hashtag #SOSBLAKAUSTRALIA was utilised in conjunction with a #SOSBLAKAUSTRALIA website and Facebook page to facilitate the transmission of communication about the proposed forced closures of 150 remote Indigenous communities (Carlson and Frazer, 2016). The online protest garnered local, national and international support. Eventually, it materialised onto the streets where thousands of diverse bodies marched in a show of ‘multi-scalar solidarity’ across Australia and the world (Carlson and Frazer, 2016; McLean, 2020). When the movement materialised the hashtag #SOSBLAKAUSTRALIA trended on Twitter globally (Carlson and Frazer, 2016). Carlson et al. (2017) have coined the term ‘shared recognition’ to describe the collective sense of frustration and anger Indigenous peoples experience when public iterations of racism serve as reminders of the continuance of colonial violence. Although harmful in origin, ‘shared recognition’ has the potential to build solidarity, to produce politicised collectives in response to the online circulation of pain and to resist the codes of racial vilification (Carlson et al., 2017). It is through a ‘shared recognition’ that the #SOSBLAKAUSTRALIA movement, and more recently, the #BlackLivesMatter mobilisation, garnered international Indigenous support.

Hashtags, as a technique of self-writing, thus illustrate one way in which social media provides space to amplify the voices of Indigenous Australians that are routinely ignored or contained. They enable the assertation of the presence of a collective of Indigenous peoples and non-Indigenous allies (Carlson and Frazer, 2016; Petray, 2013). They demonstrate how Indigenous peoples are taking advantage of technologies to collectively resist, challenge and subvert colonial narratives and the political status quo. Platform affordances and their uptake by Indigenous people also demonstrate how social media can be harnessed to affect a mass galvanisation of diverse bodies globally (Carlson and Frazer, 2016).

Digital spaces (re)produce and amplify aspects of colonisation

Although digital spaces afford new possibilities for Indigenous peoples, such as facilitating building solidarity (Carlson and Frazer, 2018; McLean, 2020; Petray, 2013), they also come with constraints – some of which entrench injustices (McLean, 2020). Matamoros-Fernández (2017) coined the concept ‘platformed racism’ to describe the ways in which digital platforms can act as amplifiers and manufacturers of racist discourses. This is through both how user’s appropriate platform affordances and through platform design and ‘algorithmic shaping of sociability’ (Matamoros-Fernández, 2017, p. 931). Platformed racism also describes how the modes of platform governance can reproduce (but also address) social inequalities, which may be harmful to particular communities (Matamoros-Fernández, 2017).

To illustrate and examine the operation of ‘platformed racism’, Matamoros-Fernández (2017), analyses how controversy surrounding Adam Goodes, an Indigenous Australian Football League (AFL) star, was played out online. In 2013, Adam Goodes had a crowd member removed from an AFL game for calling him an ‘ape’, causing rival supporters to boo him in future fixtures. In 2015, Goodes celebrated a goal against his opposition by performing a war dance – he mimicked the gesture of throwing a spear into the crowd, which reignited tensions formed around debates over racism, wherein some perceived his actions as antagonistic and offensive (Matamoros-Fernández, 2017). In response, opponents ridiculed and harassed Goodes across digital media platforms, vilifying him and replacing pictures of him with images of chimpanzees (Matamoros-Fernández, 2017). Some of Matamoros-Fernández’s (2017) extensive findings include: humour was used to cloak racial prejudice online, and that this ‘humour’ was protected as a form of speech on Facebook and Twitter; the metrics on platforms gave relevance to racist discourses – the more likes and views racist content directed towards Goodes received on Facebook and YouTube the more the platforms’ recommendation algorithms produced similar content; the ‘sensitive’ media filter was utilised to disguise racist content.

Similar instances of ‘platformed racism’ (Matamoros-Fernández, 2017) are being increasingly recognised by scholars who have documented how Indigenous activists experience high levels of racism, racial vilification, hate speech and threats of violence as a direct result of engaging with online spaces (Carlson et al., 2017; Carlson and Frazer, 2018; Matamoros-Fernández, 2017). These findings exemplify how racism can thrive across platforms and how it is embedded within technology and norms, making it difficult to avoid even when actively attempting to do so. They also indicate how Indigenous peoples operating through technological systems can have their agency and well-being attacked and constrained.

Although racism can be proliferated online through both socio-technological systems and their users, there is also the opportunity to denounce racist content (Matamoros-Fernández, 2017). Previously mentioned hashtags such as #iclosethegapby and #itriedtobeauthenticbut, for example, each operates to counter-code racist narratives by destabilising the misrepresentations of Indigeneity they respond to. In doing so they produce narratives of Indigenous health and Indigenous identity on social media which counter the negative characterisations offered in dominant public discourse. Moreover, many Indigenous people enact strategies to respond to (or pre-empt) racism online (Carlson et al., 2017; Carlson and Frazer, 2018). Some of these strategies include, self-censorship of Indigenous identity, responding to racist content with counter information, blocking racists and learning to be disaffected (Carlson and Frazer, 2018, 2020).

Although responding to and sometimes subverting racism online are important decolonial acts, it is also critical to acknowledge that such engagements can cause further trauma or re-traumatisation, and what Carlson et al. (2017) have referred to as ‘racial battle fatigue’. This fatigue is caused by the physical, emotional and mental burden of continually battling racism in unique and unprecedented ways. Thus, while digital spaces are sites of productivity for Indigenous peoples, where negotiation and change are possible, they also have the potential to (re)produce and amplify colonisation. Amplification is realised through the distinctive and unparalleled ways that racial vilification, hate speech and threats of violence are proliferated online, and through the ways in which racism is embedded within technology and norms (i.e. platform metrics promoting racist discourses). The perpetuation of colonisation online reveals the need for research that seeks to comprehensively understand how negative (and positive) online experiences impact Indigenous users’ SEWB.

The remaining of this paper reviews literature that explores the use of digital spaces by Indigenous and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people. This exploration reveals how the affordances of digital spaces provide an arena for the assertion and reclamation of identities and diversities, and the countering of prejudicial and/or dominant narratives. Additionally, the literature reveals an intricate interplay between online immersions and well-being which requires further interrogation.

Online negotiations of gender and sexuality diverse people

Numerous studies have captured the online experiences of gender and sexuality diverse people through listening to their voices (see e.g., Byron et al., 2019; Carlson, 2020; Craig et al., 2015; Hanckel et al., 2019; Jenzen, 2017). The literature reveals a complex and sometimes laboursome landscape of constant negotiations, frictions and freedoms. For instance, gender and sexuality diverse people utilise digital spaces to ‘explore, develop and rehearse’ their identities (Craig and McInroy, 2014, p. 101), to digitally ‘come out’ (Craig and McInroy, 2014), to find ‘people like me’ – a sense of belonging, sociality and/or solidarity (Byron et al., 2019; Craig et al., 2015; Craig and McInroy, 2014; Farrell, 2017; Hanckel and Morris, 2014), to access relevant resources (Craig et al., 2015; Craig and McInroy, 2014; Farrell, 2017; Hanckel and Morris, 2014), and as a space to engage in collective moments of Queer-world-building (Hanckel et al., 2019; Robards et al., 2018) and activism (Craig et al., 2015; Farrell, 2017; Hanckel and Morris, 2014; Hanckel et al., 2019).

However, digital spaces can also expose gender and sexuality diverse people to harassment, bullying (Robards et al., 2018), unwanted or tiresome content (i.e. homophobic, transphobic, racist) (Carlson, 2020; Hanckel et al., 2019) and cause exclusion and isolation due to rejection from online ‘gated’ communities (Miles, 2018; Robards et al., 2018). In response, users engage in careful online negotiations to mitigate negative experiences and protect their well-being. For example, a gay Aboriginal man in Carlson’s (2020) research which explores the use of dating apps by Indigenous Australians, uses divergent avatars (i.e. display pictures) and usernames across different social media platforms to maintain distinctive identities and privacy (p. 138). On Facebook, he has not ‘come out’ which is partially a response to the more ‘public’ nature of the site and ‘the external expectations of employers, the community, and the violent presence of homophobia’ (p. 139). Conversely, the participant discloses more ‘private’ information on Grindr as it is meant for more discrete audiences and for the purpose of hooking up with gay men (Carlson, 2020).

Byron et al. (2019) and Hanckel et al. (2019) found similar protective strategies employed by gender and sexuality diverse youth when examining their social media practices. Byron et al. (2019) and Hanckel et al. (2019) draw on data from surveys (N = 1304) and interviews (N = 23). Before proceeding it is relevant to note that of those surveyed, only 2.9% ‘indicated being Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander’ (Byron et al., 2019, p. 2241) and that ‘three people of colour were interviewed’ (Hanckel et al., 2019, p. 6). It is unclear whether any of the interviews were with Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander survey respondents. Thus, the inclusion of Indigenous voice is limited and is homogenised in the reporting of data. This further illustrates the research gap in this space, highlighting the need for future research which focuses specifically on Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse peoples’ experiences of digital spaces.

Returning to the employment of protective tactics, some participants revealed that they select and favour platforms that afford greater levels of anonymity such as Tumblr and Instagram which do not have ‘real name policies’ and are thus perceived to enable more safe and open expressions of identity (Hanckel et al., 2019). Jasmine (26 years, female, trans, trans-inclusive lesbian), for example, expressed how ‘Tumblr with [its] anonymous blog, helped me express when I couldn’t at home’ (p. 8). For Jasmine, Tumblr’s anonymity function affords the ability to separate different arenas of life, managing boundaries between spaces where marginalisation, fear and stigma may be experienced. This separation and boundary making is also a form of self-protection – enabling Jasmine to feel and keep safer when online.

Additionally, participants used a variety of strategies to maintain degrees of anonymity, such as de-identifying names, places, and things, whilst others made themselves more selectively identifiable (Hanckel et al., 2019). Hannah (31 years, female, bisexual), for example, does not ‘reveal things that identify me specifically [on Twitter]. So I would never mention my workplace’ (as cited in Hanckel et al., 2019, p. 8). Further strategies employed included blocking, unfollowing, reporting and flagging or deleting content (when possible) that is inappropriate. This, however, is not always effective. For instance, when Drew (21 years, gender fluid, pansexual), reported people who posted transphobic comments on Facebook, Facebook responded that the content has been reviewed and no hate speech identified (Hanckel et al., 2019). For Drew, this content and response is ‘really upsetting’ and contributes to feelings of unsafety due to the lack of action taken by Facebook (p. 10). Thus, just because functions are available, it does not mean they are always effective (Hanckel et al., 2019). Further, it highlights who has the power to decide what content is deemed (in)appropriate, and (un)acceptable – in Drew’s example, Facebook clearly holds this determining power.

These online experiences of creating comfort, finding comfort and learning how to cope with and resist discomforts speak of, and to, the ongoing complexities of having a Queer life more broadly (Byron et al., 2019). Evidently, online arenas are not without significant risks and challenges which are both coalesced with heteronormative offline realities, but which also take unique forms due to the structural affordances of platforms. Importantly, however, digital spaces also facilitate positive navigations for gender and sexuality diverse people, from finding confidence in non-heterosexual identities to actively resisting negative experiences and representations they are subject to online and offline. Hanckel et al. (2019) argue that the various forms of individual and collective labour gender and sexuality diverse people are engaged in online contributes to ‘moments of Queer-world-building beyond the self’ and that ultimately, this work is crucial to their health and well-being (p. 15).

‘Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow’

Although Carlson’s (2020) recent publication on the use of dating apps by Indigenous peoples is inclusive of gay men, there remains a dearth of research and literature which looks at the intersection of digital spaces, Indigeneity and sexual/gender diversity. Farrell’s (2017, 2021) research and efforts in this arena offer important insights that excite the need for further exploration. Farrell (2017) identifies as Indigenous and Queer and is the creator of an online blog entitled Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow which is designed to make ‘Indigenous LGBTIQ standpoints accessible in the age of technology’ (p. 2). ‘Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow’ is an active, ongoing and evolving digital collection which is formed through an interactive collage of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people. The innovative blog is a response to the ‘severe gap in literature, research, and representation of Indigenous LGBTIQ Australians’ which Farrell (2017) contends exists online due to the minimal projects ‘which identify and share content focused on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander LGBTIQ peoples’ (2017, p. 2).

The blog is ‘anchored in Indigenous ways of sharing, preserving, and handing down stories as our cultures have done for tens of thousands of years’ (Farrell, 2017, p. 6). It is about the revival and retrieval of understandings, as well as a place to provide resources and representations that are specific to Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people. In this way, it fosters positive experiences of SEWB by ensuring Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people are seen, heard, present and welcome (Farrell, 2017). Hence, the blog and its users respond to erasure, exclusion and silencing by articulating, reclaiming and asserting ancient gender and sexuality diversities as self-defined and contemporary (Farrell, 2017, 2021). In doing so, they are agents of change and provocation ‘though making themselves visible, known, heard, understood, and legitimised’ (Farrell, 2017, p. 11). For Farrell (2017) Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow also demonstrates how Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people assert their ‘political standpoints online by vocalising our oppression, resisting denial, calling out and challenging violence, and taking ownership of our diversities’ (p. 11).

The blog was influenced by social media pages, such as the Facebook page/group Black Rainbow (established in 2013) which is dedicated to highlighting and positively reinforcing Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people (Farrell, 2017, 2021). Facebook pages and groups are also vital to the blog as they are frequently the first to distribute materials gathered by Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow. Affiliated with the blog, Farrell (2017) speaks of the importance of the Sistergirl and Brotherboy Facebook group. He contends that this group and the networks it produces enables a minority to connect and collectivise (who would otherwise be unable to do so), to mobilise and facilitate discussion and to organise political calls to action. More personally, the group and attached networks offer a place for Farrell (2017) to ‘negotiate and navigate my identity with the assistance that is familiar and appropriate to my cultural heritage’ (p. 4).

Farrell’s (2017, 2021) work signifies the importance of online platforms for contributing to decolonising knowledges of gender and sexuality, and concomitantly, how important these spaces are for fostering, supporting and promoting SEWB. The celebratory nature of digital spaces and their affordances for Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people, as described by Farrell (2017, 2021) gives cause for further exploration. Apart from Farrell’s (2017; 2021) research, wherein he uses his own experiences, and Carlson’s (2020) research, which engages the voices of Indigenous gay men there is no research on the online experiences of people living at the intersection of gender/sexual diversity and Indigeneity in the Australian context. Thus, it would be valuable for future research to engage in qualitative studies with Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people to explore their individual and collective use of digital spaces from their own voices, including how this interrelates with experiences of SEWB.

Conclusion

Indigenous peoples and non-Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people are engaged in complex online immersions, as the literature in this scoping review has illuminated. The literature realises the productive potential of online arenas for Indigenous and/or gender/sexuality diverse people whilst simultaneously acknowledging and documenting that these spaces come with significant risks and challenges. Identified negative online occurrences are particularly concerning given that they cannot always be countered by the social media participant and that they can result in severe impacts on well-being.

Farrell’s (2017, 2021) insights gained (in part) through his establishment and research of the blog, Archiving the Aboriginal Rainbow, illustrates that Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people are similarly seizing upon opportunities now available to them through online affordances to articulate their own lives and stories and to challenge the enduring impact of heteronormative and Western cisgendered domination. Farrell’s (2017, 2021) research (like Sullivan’s, 2020, 2021) presents accounts of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people that highlight their agentic, culturally autonomous and self-determined presence in contemporary society. Further, his research is suggestive of digital spaces being productive of SEWB. However, drawing from the literature reviewed in this paper, which illustrates how immensely complicated online spaces can be for both Indigenous peoples and gender and sexuality diverse people, it is conceivable too, that the online engagements of Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people would be similarly multifaceted and knotty.

Except for Farrell’s (2017, 2021) and Carlson’s (2020) work, there remains a paucity of research with explores how people at the intersection of both Indigenous and gender and sexuality diverse identities experience the affordances of digital spaces. Also, there is very limited comprehensive knowledge that looks at how online immersions interrelate with experiences of SEWB. Generating further knowledge on each of these areas from the perspectives of Indigenous gender and sexuality are important directions for future research. Especially given the growing uptake and significance of these spaces by Indigenous gender and sexuality diverse people (Farrell, 2017), and for lived realities to be known and heard, and SEWB needs to be realised and understood. This review has exposed these new research directions and illustrates why they are imperative points of departure for future studies, which include my own.