We are queer and the struggle is here! Visibility at the intersection of LGBT+ rights,post-coloniality,and development cooperation in Uganda

Abstract

This article unpacks different meanings of visibility and adds to a more complex and nuanced understanding of visibility and its role in LGBT + activism in Uganda, a widely discussed case of political homophobia. Public visibility has a central, although contested, role here. The study aims to explore how visibility is understood and navigated by local LGBT + activists, unaffiliated people with same-sex desires, as well as international development partners. Interviews conducted in Kampala from December 2021–January 2022 reveal different and complex narratives surrounding visibility. Local unaffiliated individuals and activists agreed on the importance of making the LGBT + rights struggle more visible. This, however, did not translate into a wish to “come out” themselves. International development actors expressed a need for caution regarding their own visibility, mindful that explicit and visual support may generate accusations of neo-imperialism.

Introduction

Visibility has a central but contested role in lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT+) activism. Inspired by the successes of movements elsewhere, many activists in the global South have adopted a language of LGBT + rights as universal human rights and appropriated visibility-oriented strategies, from public advocacy to Pride festivals. Making LGBT + movements and their struggles visible is not only a strategy directed towards domestic audiences but also a means to an end. To access international support, LGBT + organizations must become visible in ways that are recognizable to donors and transnational non-governmental organizations (NGOs) (Currier, 2012). Increased visibility can thus be an outcome of donor support, which is often oriented towards activities such as workshops, festivals, and advocacy campaigns. At the same time, visibility comes with risks. A push for public visibility can have unintended everyday consequences for LGBT + individuals, including scapegoating (Angotti et al., 2019). Visibility-enhancing actions by international actors, such as aid withdrawals and public condemnation, may, in some cases, harm LGBT + populations who get blamed for the sanctions (Saltnes and Thiel, 2021:109). Global South LGBT + movements are often financially dependent on Western funding and must balance donors’ priorities—which may include a push for visibility—with security concerns (Currier and Cruz, 2020). In this article, we explore dilemmas of visibility in the context of Uganda, which, since the Anti-Homosexuality Act (AHA) in 2009, has become a symbolic case of political homophobia in international discussions and media discourses. Western media labeled Uganda as “the world’s worst place to be gay” (for a critical discussion, see Peters, 2014:17). In 2023, a new AHA was passed, which prescribes life imprisonment for same-sex sexual acts and the death penalty for “aggravated homosexuality.” Although this study was carried out prior to the recent signing of the 2023 AHA, it is important to take note that Uganda was, even before that, an extremely difficult place for LGBT+. A recent study underlines Uganda as extreme in its rejection of people in same-sex relationships (Afrobarometer, 2023).

Before 2009, the struggle for LGBT + rights was sporadic, fringe, and largely voiceless (Nyanzi, 2013:962). The 2009 legislation sparked intense international criticism and local activism, as well as an explosion of Western funding to Ugandan LGBT + organizations. Three years later, there were 24 LGBT + organizations in the country (Nyanzi, 2013: 962), including five targeting queer youth specifically (Peters, 2014: 178; Ssebaggala, 2011:53). The first Pride march was organized in 2012, symbolizing the start of a mainstreaming and push towards increased visibility of LGBT + struggles. The mushrooming of LGBT + organizations has continued, and in 2022 Sexual Minorities Uganda (SMUG) got requests from 128 organizations to join their network (Interview, SMUG Director, Kampala, 5 January 2022).

Foreign funding is vital to Ugandan activists, and the high funding volume has contributed to the perception that the West is rich. NGOs have come to occupy a mythical place in popular imaginations in Uganda, where Western-funded entities enjoy seemingly unlimited access to resources (Boyd, 2013:713). Not surprisingly, activists have understood and utilized the economic opportunities that emerged in the wake of the 2009 legislation. A handful of elite activists have acquired relatively affluent lifestyles, signaling their access to Western funding (Peters 2014:180). Critics (both activists and scholars) have argued that LGBT + organizations have become dominated by donor agendas, oriented towards a few activists rather than attending to those who need support the most (Ssebaggala, 2011:55). Some even question for whom LGBT + organizations exist: a few elite activists or the broader community of gender or sexually diverse people (Peters, 2014: 169)?

Against this background, we set out to investigate dilemmas around visibility in relation to LGBT + activism in contemporary Uganda. Our aim is to explore how visibility is understood and navigated among local LGBT + activists, unaffiliated people with same-sex desires, and international development actors. For whom is public visibility seen as beneficial? What is meant by visibility? Can different logics of visibility be identified? The analysis shows that among these actors, multiple and sometimes contradictory views on public visibility are present. A distinction was often made between a collective understanding of visibility (visibility of the LGBT+ “struggle”) and personal visibility. While nearly all agreed on the importance of putting LGBT + issues on public agendas, this did not necessarily translate into a readiness or desire to “come out” to one’s surroundings—not even among well-established LGBT + activists. Furthermore, international development actors expressed caution about their own visibility, signaling apprehension that donor visibility may harm activists and the overarching struggle for equal rights. Our findings contribute to previous research by further unpacking visibility dilemmas of international LGBT + politics (Currier, 2012; Stella, 2015)—providing views not “only” from LGBT + organizations but from a range of perspectives, including development actors and people with same-sex desires not affiliated with LGBT + activism.

The article proceeds with a review of literature on sexuality, post-coloniality, and development cooperation, with emphasis on the Ugandan context. Then, we describe the methodology and discuss some ethical concerns. We proceed by presenting and analyzing the results of the fieldwork before discussing how the findings contribute to a richer and more nuanced understanding of visibility in development cooperation.

Sexuality in Uganda

African same-sex practices and non-normative gender expressions have a long and rich history. Scholars have highlighted the existence of considerable gender and sexual diversity prior to colonization (see Murray and Roscoe, 1998, for an overview). At the same time, Rao (2020) cautions against a “homo-romanticist” tendency to over-idealize the pre-colonial past. European colonial sodomy laws and contemporary transnational Evangelical networks are crucial for understanding political homophobia in Africa today, but it is, he argues, simplistic to attribute all forms of anti-queer sentiment to the West. Yet, Ugandan scholars Tamale and Burillo (2007) argue that cultural, religious, and political fundamentalism has stifled and suppressed pre-colonial sexual pluralism and that homophobia often seeks its justifications in religious traditions exported to Uganda.

In contrast to essentialist views of sexuality as static and core to the self, predominant in the West, African approaches to sexuality tend to emphasize a more fluid and situational attitude (Murray and Roscoe, 1998), and Uganda is no exception (Tamale and Burillo, 2007; Wa Tushabe, 2017). According to the cultural norm in Uganda, the self is defined in relation to kin and community (Boyd, 2013:705). Neoliberal development projects (symbolized by the proliferation of NGOs) instead emphasize the individual over the community. This challenges and potentially destabilizes traditional hierarchies, authorities, inter-generational interdependencies, and affinities (Boyd, 2013:700). Nevertheless, speaking of who you are in Uganda rather than to whom you are related, challenges cultural norms and evokes fears of prioritizing self-interests over those of the community (Peters 2014:21).

With a more fluid attitude towards sexuality, it is easier to attend to one’s obligations towards the community (most notably its survival). That sexual reproduction and childbearing are perceived as central to the future survival of the nation/clan/culture (Yuval-Davis 1997) is hardly unique to Uganda but especially emphasized in a society where the individual’s wellbeing is strongly dependent on their relation to the collective. Hence, to live in accordance with prevalent cultural norms, you must produce children (Sadgrove et al., 2012: 118). One may, for example, not be considered an adult until one has given birth to a child. Homosexuals who neglect the “duty” to reproduce may be seen as greedy individuals (Peters, 2014: 81). Social sanctions are tied to the individual’s supposed disconnection from community and lineage—decoupling sexuality from kinship, reproduction (Boyd, 2013: 710), and survival of the postcolonial nation (Engelke, 1999: 302).

Central to this nexus of sex, community, and childbearing is sharing resources within the kin group. Historically, this has been so through brides-wealth and dowries, but also in contemporary Uganda with expectations of partner support (Sadgrove et al., 2012: 119). A Ugandan man is expected to achieve financial independence and cater for the many children (and girlfriends) that are the ultimate mark of his manhood (Nyanzi et al., 2009). However, pathways to such manhood have become more elusive in present-day Uganda because of increasing poverty in the wake of neoliberal capitalism (Boyd, 2013: 708). Not surprisingly, then, money is central in narratives about how homosexuals recruit Ugandans (Peters, 2014: 78; Sadgrove et al., 2012: 115). A widespread urban myth is that Western-funded LGBT + organizations are recruiting individuals who struggle financially and thereby undermine the culture of privileging the kin group over the individual.

LGBT + rights and development cooperation

Since the 1990s, international activists have addressed LGBT + rights in a framework of universal human rights (Ayoub and Paternotte, 2020). This was partly due to European activists trying to bypass national borders in order to influence the emergence of institutionalized human rights in the post-WWII era. Institutionalizing individual sexual rights as human rights has made LGBT + rights more visible by constructing sexuality as a public matter and a separate policy arena.

This framework, however, promotes a view of sexuality as connected to the individual rather than to the community. Ali (2017) argues that human rights discourses are used to universalize Western epistemologies on sexuality while silencing others or labeling them as barbaric/un-liberated. Especially sexually fluid individuals who do not identify with binary identity categories challenge such Western essentialist binary categories. This critique resonates with the notion of “homonationalism,” how LGBT + acceptance has become a barometer by which national sovereignty and nations are evaluated (Puar, 2013: 336). LGBT + rights have become a marker of modernity, and gay friendliness has become a symbol of Western progress (Rahman, 2014). LGBT + rights have been formally and rhetorically linked to European institutions, even becoming a marker of Europeanness (Ayoub and Paternotte, 2020; Eigenmann, 2022). Rahman, (2014: 275) uses the term “homocolonialism” to describe the practice of using LGBT + rights to construct certain countries and cultures as not only lagging but also inferior. The previously mentioned description of Uganda as “the world’s worst place to be gay” ties into such homocolonialist narratives. Moreover, Rao (2020) argues that the civilizational logic of homonationalism/homocolonialism is increasingly joined by a neoliberal “business case” which ties LGBT + rights to economic growth, a view promoted by, for example, the World Bank.

In relation to development cooperation, Jolly (2011) criticizes how Western LGBT + narratives are used as the norm and the assumptions that LGBT + groups in the global South are best served by imitating and “catching up” with the West’s development trajectory. The notion of “homodevelopmentalism” (Klapeer, 2017; Yang, 2020) denotes a paradigm where LGBT + rights are both indicators and goals of international development. This feeds into an orientalist “white saviour” narrative (Bracke, 2012; Dickson et al., 2023); Western organizations setting out to save marginalized LGBT + individuals from repression, but according to Western norms and views of sexuality.

Visibility in the intersection of LGBT + rights, post-coloniality, & development cooperation

In this nexus of LGBT + rights, post-coloniality, and development cooperation, we turn our focus to visibility. Creating and using public visibility has been, and continues to be, a central strategy in LGBT + activism. Ayoub (2016) argues that making pro-LGBT + norms visible and salient through the interplay between transnational channels and domestic NGOs is positively linked to inclusion and rights. Some actors have problematized ideas of visibility as always desirable and universally applicable. Many have pointed out that the idea of “coming out” to the world is rooted in a Western idea of the self and that greater visibility of LGBT + movements in some cases has harmful consequences (Edenborg, 2020; Stella, 2015). Nonetheless, visibility strategies have been adopted by LGBT + movements in many parts of the world (Ng, 2017), including in Uganda (Jjuuko and Fridah, 2018; Lusimbo and Bryan, 2018). In addition, international high-level attention to LGBT + rights, such as aid withdrawals and public condemnation, have contributed to making LGBT + issues more salient and politicized (Saltnes and Thiel, 2021).

Following Currier (2012: 8-14), we approach visibility as a multidimensional strategy, where activists push for certain kinds of publicness towards certain target audiences while sometimes opting for strategic invisibility. Moreover, visibility and invisibility are not mutually exclusive, as public visibility presumes the invisibility of certain subjects, issues and/or processes. Currier (2012:152), who analyses visibility strategies of LGBT + activists in Namibia and South Africa, argues that visibility is symbolically important but also has material aspects. Movement visibility is associated with donor funding, which in turn makes activists vulnerable to accusations that their activism is bought and “un-African.”

Visibility can also be discussed on a sociocultural level. In the context of Uganda, the notion of empiisa regulates how same-sex desires are navigated in relation to community and family obligations (Boyd, 2013). Karlström, (1996: 490) defines empiisa as good manners in relation to respect for parents, elders, and the clan. Within this morality framework, same-sex sexual encounters may, under some circumstances, be accepted as long as they do not infringe on community obligations. Empiisa regulates what is supposed to be visible and known or to remain hidden, which partner is presented to the family and what relations are supposed to be silently tolerated or overlooked.

Ugandan print and broadcast media have been reluctant to provide balanced coverage of human rights and LGBT + advocacy, at best and outright hostile at worst (Jjuuko and Fridah, 2018; Strand, 2011, 2018). Furthermore, with the Ugandan media landscape full of discriminatory dis/misinformation pertaining to LGBT + people, self-controlled digital media spaces play a crucial role in the community to become visible for distant others both inside and outside Uganda on their own terms (Strand and Svensson, 2019). Social media platforms thus allow LGBT + activist and organizations to curate their visibility to support individual and/or organizational objectives. Digital spaces are vital arenas for the community to communicate and socialize, as well as to engage in mobilization and coordination of community activities. Digital spaces are, however, far from unproblematic. Social media platforms open for other types of harassment and human rights abuses and may, in some cases, even increase the LGBT + community’s vulnerability (Strand and Svensson, 2022).

Our study adds to the literature on visibility and development by exploring how visibility is understood and navigated across a range of actors, showing how collective and individual visibility were distinguished from each other and not necessarily seen as linked.

Methodology

The first and the third author have conducted research on the Ugandan LGBT + question for almost 15 years. During these years, we have established contacts, made friends, participated in events, and conducted academic as well as advocacy projects to support the community’s rights struggle. For this article, 28 interviews were conducted by the first author between the 20^th of December 2021 and the 17^th of January 2022 in Kampala of approximately 90 min each. 13 interviews were conducted with unaffiliated individuals with same-sex desires (between 20 and 30 years old, all identified as men apart from one transwoman), 11 interviews with individuals working for an LGBT + organization in the country (between 20 and 40 years old, seven identified as men, one as a transwoman and three as women) and four interviews were conducted with international donors/actors in the country representing the Swedish Embassy, the EU delegation and a Swedish faith-based NGO (at the Swedish Embassy (identified as women), at the EU delegation (man) and with the country branch officer of a Swedish initiated faith-based development organization (woman). The international donors all represented organizations with an outspoken aim to support LGBT + rights, individuals, and groups in the country.

Recruiting interviewees at LGBT + organizations and international donors was done through desk research and snowballing previously established contacts. We aimed to include both men and women and targeted the most well-known organizations and the ones we had access to since before. Recruiting unaffiliated individuals with same-sex desires was done through the gay hook-up app Grindr. While being geared towards sexual encounters, Grindr has the advantage of being (mostly) unsupervised by local authorities. The first author updated his profile, foregrounding the research intentions and priorities of the study. The sampling was inclusive and largely self-selected in that anyone who approached the first author and that he could arrange to meet in a safe manner was included. The interviews were open-ended and revolved around living with same-sex desires in the Ugandan context and culture, visibility of them as having same-sex desires, visibility of the LGBT + cause, and perceived changes in terms of LGBT + rights, individuals, and groups during the last couple of years. Interviews with people at LGBT + organizations revolved around the role of strategic visibility in terms of maintaining relations with international partners. Interviews with donors probed into their understanding of visibility as a means towards various ends, such as fundraising and relations-building.

The interviews were not recorded as it would have resulted in significant difficulties in recruiting local LGBT + individuals. Most LGBT + individuals hide same-sex desires and anonymity is a pivotal strategy in navigating norms and contemporary interpretations of non-conforming sexuality and gender displays. Hence, the first author took notes and, directly after the interview, wrote down as much as he remembered following these notes and e-mailed transcripts to the two co-authors. All names have been replaced to protect the anonymity of our participants, to which they all gave their consent. We have not anonymized the Director at SMUG as he is a public figure and an LGBT + celebrity, also internationally (with his consent of course). Interviews with unaffiliated participants were conducted in public places such as cafés and restaurants, while still away from prying ears due to the contentious nature of the topic. Participants were provided with food and beverages in connection with the interview. Otherwise, no compensation was offered.

This study comes with its limitations. Twenty-eight qualitative interviews are a big number for a research article. But we can still not claim a representative sample. This study should rather be seen as explorative, and its results should be viewed considering the dominance of young men residing in Kampala (but not necessarily originally from the capital, as will be apparent in the result section; see also Hawkins, 2023). Even though we divided interviews into three groups (donors, activists, and unaffiliated) and in the donor group, we only conducted four interviews, we did reach saturation in terms of answers reoccurring and being able to discern common threads. Still, we underline this research as explorative and hypothesis-generating rather than hypothesis-testing. Spending time in Kampala during Christmas and New Year for a longer period also allowed the first author to fine-tune the research, follow contextual realities on the ground, discuss results with previously established contacts and friends in the community, and grab interview opportunities when they occurred in an ethnographic-like fashion (see Hawkins, 2023: 23). Recruiting participants on Grindr comes with its own set of challenges (apart from being male dominated). We sought stories and experiences from people on the street with same-sex desires but not affiliated with any LGBT + organization. Most people on Grindr, however, are there for sex or relationships. We, therefore, made efforts not to raise expectations that we could not meet.

Hawkins (2023), in her smartphone ethnography in Uganda, underlines that “there are no neutral visitors in this inherited context” (p. 21). This is indeed true of us as well. The first and second author identifies as LGBT+, and a better understanding of visibility and its role in LGBT + activism in Uganda will not only contribute to research on international LGBT + politics but also (we hope) be helpful for the LGBT + community fighting for their human rights. We support this struggle, and the first and third authors have supported it for over a decade. This engagement proved beneficial in terms of the ease of recruiting participants to interview. However, the interviews also allowed us to share our research with the community and, together with them, reason about the meaning of our results. Because as this study is conducted by three Northern-based researchers, there is no escaping the fact that it reflects larger patterns in this research field (even though our intention to include local researchers and voices in our references should be noted). Furthermore, we do not claim to speak for or uncover authentic experiences of Ugandan LGBT + people. Instead, with this research, we wish to critically examine the role of visibility in the nexus of LGBT + activism and international development funding.

Results

The desire for visibility

Despite the security aspects of becoming visible, nearly all interviewees viewed visibility as essential for achieving LGBT + rights. Visibility was conceived of both as a means to an end and, thus, ultimately, something inherently good. Stephen, an activist in an LGBT + organization, stressed the importance of speaking out. If LGBT + people are seen and spoken about, they cannot be ignored, he argued. “We are creating awareness, and for this, we need to be visible.” While he cannot ascertain that this has made Ugandan society less homophobic, he claims that at least Ugandans are having these conversations. Victoria, another LGBT + organization affiliated, puts it quite bluntly: “We are queer, and we are here,” a sentiment repeated by David, also affiliated: “We are queer, we are here, and we are out, and we are not going back in.” The “out” here does, however, connotate something different in a Ugandan context. David is not yet out to his parents even if he works for an LGBT + organization (a question we will return to). Precious, a trans activist from rural Uganda with her own organization, also makes a strong case for making the LGBT + struggle more visible. She explains that acceptance and tolerance are low in Uganda, but that people could be persuaded to accept what is visible. Hence, her organization promotes trans visibility: “We cannot claim to be respected if we are not visible (…) if we are visible, we are acknowledged, respect and acceptance will follow.” Precious does thus appear to argue that visibility is beneficial for the normalization of trans individuals. The SMUG Director appears to reiterate that point. Visibility is essential in a country where most LGBT + people “stay in the closet.” It is important to show that LGBT + are part of Ugandan society. The LGBT + community is “never going to change the hearts and minds of people unless they are a visible part of it”. When asked if donors appear to promote and favor visibility, he answers that visibility is primarily a key tool to influence a broader Ugandan society.

Individuals without affiliation to an LGBT + rights organization also appear to view visibility as something that is fundamentally positive and beneficial for the community.

Adam questioned if change is possible “if we are not seen?” He claims to have seen two guys kissing openly at a Kampala mall recently without anyone reacting. We heard similar stories from many unaffiliated people underlining the importance of visibility. Visibility of the LGBT + rights struggle, rights achievements, and representations in mainstream media and digital spaces was generally applauded. Several mentioned the importance of positive references to queer TV characters and social media influencers, making LGBT + people more visible in the Ugandan public sphere, even if that was often done through international content. And this visibility matters. Gus, for example, is out to his friends but not to his family. He explains he doesn’t think that telling his parents would be that problematic. Apparently, he overheard them talking about homosexuality when having dinner, a conversation indicating that they are quite tolerant. Gus attributed this episode to the visibility of the struggle, putting LGBT + rights on the agenda and, hence, a topic in family conversations. Similar stories are told by Andy and Ahmed, having overheard their straight friends and relatives discussing LGBT + issues and not in too negative terms. Mediated LGBT + visibility does thus appear to contribute and perhaps even trigger conversations in groups outside the community.

Individual visibility versus collective visibility

These interviews also indicate that visibility can be partial and fluctuating rather than a dichotomous either/or option (Stella, 2015). Unaffiliated people are often open to a few but not to everyone. For most of the interview participants, being fully “out/open” was not an alternative. Ahmed clearly expressed that visibility in relation to his parents was out of the question, saying: “No, no, NO, I don’t think I ever would want to.” The strategy of selective visibility, in particular in relation to parents, was also practiced by individuals working for an LGBT + organization. Victoria claimed to be “out” but not to her parents. Since the parents don’t have social media and are not very educated (according to her), a double life is possible, she explained. Will she ever come out to her parents? “No, no, my mum is a pastor, and she would kill me.” To tell one’s parents was, in most cases, so unthinkable that it did not even seem to be part of the “being out” concept. In Uganda, “being out” is thus a partial and selective visibility that appears to mostly refer to being out to friends.

What it meant to be “out” is thus embedded in context-specific cultural norms. Leading what may, according to dominant Western understandings, be labeled a “double life.” For many, being partially out or opting for selective visibility was neither considered shameful nor strange (Svensson and Strand, 2023). Evan didn’t want anyone in Uganda to know about his same-sex desires. In the future, he envisioned himself in the United States as it would allow him to live openly as gay and still honor obligations to his family—providing for them while hiding his same-sex desires from their view. He explains that his family has given him respect and helped him in his life, so he wants to give back and not bring shame upon them.

“Coming out” has often referred to coming out to one’s family, but family is understood differently around the world. In Uganda, the extended family of aunties, grandmas, and neighborhood adults becomes important when raising many children (something Draper, 1989: 145 labels “delegated parental responsibility”). Andy (unaffiliated) explains that a child is for the whole community. So, the supposed shame of having same-sex desires impacts not only the nuclear and immediate family but the whole community, which most likely has been part of their upbringing. Some participants tell us that mothers, mostly, but sometimes also fathers, may be OK with them having same-sex desires if they keep them secret. In these cases, a “double life” was pushed for by the parents seeking to keep the shame of breaking with traditions away from them in their wider community. This is about empiisa, good manners in relation to sexuality in the public/ community sphere, and what is supposed to be visible and what is supposed to be hidden. Furthermore, as in many other contexts, talking about sex in public is considered contrary to cultural norms. According to this view, homosexuality may not be un-African, but talking about it is (Ssebaggala, 2011:50). Thus, it may be somewhat acceptable to be out to your mother while talking widely about your same-sex desires is against the moral code.

As homosexuality is understood as more than a particular form of sexuality, but rather as a self-selected separation from the community, visibility means different things in different realms of life. It then becomes important to separate the visibility of the LGBT + struggle from the visibility of individuals. Therefore, several of the unaffiliated participants could talk optimistically about the visibility of LGBT + rights while rejecting the notion of being open about their own preferences. These accounts challenge the idea that there is a link between public visibility of the LGBT + community as a collective, and individual acts of coming out, which is often an unspoken assumption in Western LGBT + struggles (Edenborg, 2020). This finding resonates with Peters’ (2014: 11) argument that the practice of queer self-making in Uganda is a balancing act, where the individual negotiates and balances interdependent relationships, which blurs easy distinctions between “closeted” or “out.”

The idea of coming out of the closet is an important trope in LGBT + culture and politics, repeated in individual life stories, popular culture, and activism. While the coming out narrative continues to be influential, it has been problematized in LGBT + scholarship. The idea that LGBT + individuals experience a universal coming out process, evolving from repressed closet cases to “out” and liberated individuals, has been criticized for assuming a simplistic linear model of identity formation (Klein et al., 2015). Foucault-inspired scholarship has questioned the notion that revealing one’s “authentic” self to the world makes one a fuller and more liberated subject, instead arguing that subjectivity is fragmented and that making subjects visible to the state or society may be a technology of domination (Brown, 2005). Multiple ethnographic studies have shown that the Eurocentric preferential treatment of the coming out narrative calls upon us to revisit the applicability of Western-style visibility politics in non-Western contexts (Stella, 2015).

Participation and contribution to organized resistance

The unaffiliated interviewees did not express any interest in taking part in LGBT + activism or even being seen in the vicinity of known LGBT + organizations. Ahmed explains that he, as a doctor, is easily recognizable and that he doesn’t want to be connected to the community; “I want my peace of mind.” Evan has heard about LGBT + organizations but never visited them: “I don’t like them.” Why? Because he wants to keep his sex life and what he labels as his “normal life” separate from “politics.” Yussuf says that he doesn’t want to reach out to LGBT + organizations because then people would know that he occasionally has sex with men, and that could potentially have negative consequences. The interviews with unaffiliated indicate a fear of losing autonomy if they were to be connected to the LGBT + community. Being part of an LGBT + organization or utilizing their services equals coming out to some degree. “Once you enter the building, everyone knows,” as Andy puts it. Edgar took the precaution of even wearing a cap and a mask when he went to see one of his friends in one of the organizations.

The unaffiliated interviewees spoke of invisibility as a guarantor of peace of mind and, as we interpret them, also a way to ensure their physical security. LGBT + activism would require them to make their same-sex desires a defining aspect of their life and identity. They were not interested in sacrificing their ability to enjoy same-sex relations quietly and remain a member of their larger kin group. While they considered the visibility of the LGBT + struggle to be important, it was not worth the loss of the life they knew—an attitude which, of course, can also be found in Western contexts.

Tension around LGBT + organizations within the community

The interviews also indicated a rift between unaffiliated and organized LGBT + activists. When unaffiliated individuals were asked to elaborate on their unwillingness to engage with organizations that at the same time were seen as important for the cause, they cited suspicion of the organizations’ true motives. Several argued that organizations were driven by greed. Sam stated that organized LGBT + activists are “nasty” and that they take advantage of their position as gatekeepers to resources. According to Adam, who was very critical of LGBT + organizations, they are only in it for the money “to buy fancy cars and stuff.” Roger claims he was defrauded of an economic empowerment grant of 50,000 Ugandan Shillings (approximately €14). As he never saw the grant, he suspects the LGBT + organization pocketed the money. Several unaffiliated interviewees were under the impression that funding that was intended to further human rights for people with same-sex desires generally had ended up in the pockets of some privileged individuals or wasted on workshops and training opportunities for a few activists (see also Ssebaggala, 2011: 57). Also, among the organized activists, this rift was acknowledged. The trans-activist Precious, for example, confirmed that there was a distance between some LGBT + organizations and people on the street.

It was obvious that a handful of LGBT + activists in these organizations had acquired expensive cars, smartphones, and fashionable clothing (as already underlined by Peters 2014: 180). A few elite activists lead cosmopolitan lifestyles and are invited to participate in international advocacy and decision-making processes worldwide. It is not unusual for some top-tier activists to travel extensively as they are invited to be keynote speakers or have their work recognized through various human rights awards. This high-profile life appears to trigger both jealousy and suspicion that these activists are driven by self-interest rather than care for and solidarity with the larger LGBT + community.

However, nothing in our interviews with organized LGBT + activists suggests anything but a genuine interest in improving the situation for LGBT + individuals—a concern which did not necessarily exclude seeking a better life for oneself at the same time. Many of the unaffiliated interviewees didn’t want to be represented, visible or connected to organized LGBT + activism. Many were happy with their “double life” or didn’t see their future in Uganda anyway (Svensson and Strand, 2023). Furthermore, some of the expectations of LGBT + organizations to offer help in all kinds of situations and react in no time to various urgent needs were, in our interpretation, somewhat unrealistic.

Visibility and the role of media

Several interviewees identified social media as a catalyst of visibility. Sam underlined how social media have made it easier to connect to members of the community and facilitate selective visibility, as well as enable more openness and visibility in general. Ahmed explains that the biggest change during his years as sexually active is that there is more visibility of the cause now, which has led to more straight allies in the country, at least in his generation. He attributes this change to social media representations. David, who works at an LGBT + organization, says that people get the news on social media before on mainstream media. David explains that diaspora social media influencers that have a large following in Uganda have contributed to the change by talking positively about LGBT + rights and issues in their channels.

Development actors navigating visibility

While visibility for the LGBT + struggle more broadly, as opposed to single elite LGBT + activists, was largely welcomed and considered as a positive development both by unaffiliated and organized LGBT + activists, international development actors have moved towards dialing back their own visibility as LGBT + advocates. Both Victoria and Stephen, working for two different LGBT + organizations, provide examples of how development partners have become more discrete in their support in the wake of that vocal and visible support in the past has harmed local actors and made them vulnerable to accusations of being neo-imperialist lackeys.

Some donors also fund religious or children’s rights organizations, and they would get into trouble if these other recipients knew they were funding an LGBT + organization. Development specialist Isobel (development organization) explains that her organization is not hiding that they support LGBT + rights but are not broadcasting it either. They brand their work as human rights efforts; “we don’t tell lies; we are just a bit clever on how we frame it.” According to her, her organization is not explicit with support to LGBT + activists due to Ugandan state regulations requiring registration as an NGO for organizations that receive foreign funding. At the EU delegation, we are told that the EU does not ask to be visible when it comes to LGBT + funding. If they previously would demand “a huge EU flag on everything,” times have changed. The EU doesn’t want to create a “West-LGBT + link,” risking recipients of credibility locally and opening up for accusations of Western influence. The change of visibility strategy indicates a recognition that visible Western LGBT + rights promotion may provoke a backlash and possibly that some Western development actors have taken in some of the critiques of homo-colonialism and adapted their work.

Concluding discussion

Our study shows that there are multiple visibility logics at play and that these are complex in a postcolonial, NGO-saturated, and donor-dependent context such as Uganda. Unaffiliated individuals and local organized activists generally emphasized the importance of making LGBT + rights struggle more visible. This, however, did not translate into a readiness or wish to “come out” themselves and contribute to LGBT + visibility, not even for activists (except for LGBT + organizations’ top executives). International donors, cognizant of the risk of backlash, appeared to have adopted what could be called strategic invisibility. All donor-related interviewees emphasized the need for approaching visibility with great caution in the Ugandan context, which seemed to signal, at least partially, a shift of strategy. By unpacking different understandings of visibility and how they relate to each other or not, our study adds to a more nuanced understanding of visibility and its role in LGBT + rights struggles. More specifically, our findings extend the literature on LGBT + visibility and development by highlighting voices from a range of actors—including people not affiliated with NGOs—and by identifying a disconnection between visibility as a collective process and personal visibility.

Our findings are reassuring in terms of how increased visibility of LGBT + rights is said to lead to conversations around the dinner table and broader acceptance generally. This finding must, however, be understood in the context of cultural norms that put community and childbearing at the center, which may nudge people with same-sex desires to lead “double lives” to conform to cultural codes (see also Svensson and Strand, 2023). On the one hand, Uganda is certainly impacted by Western-style sexual politics, where sexuality, gender identity, and LGBT + issues have become a public concern, highly visible and publicly discussed. On the other hand, public LGBT + visibility and rights discourse are not necessarily connected to individuals and their individual human rights.

Finally, a key question is how to support Ugandans with same-sex desires best. The unaffiliated individuals with same-sex desires who didn’t want to organize, who had occasional same-sex sexual encounters but whose main struggles in life were not centered around sexuality, who balanced their desires with community obligations through a “double life” and didn’t see anything wrong in that—how can they be supported to explore sex in an allowing, safe and consensual manner without imposing essentializing and static sexual categories? The disconnect between unaffiliated same-sex desiring individuals and LGBT + organizations revealed in this study suggests that such support cannot solely be extended through LGBT + organizations. Instead, attention to diverse sexual practices and non-normative forms of gender identification should be integrated within development frameworks and support programs generally—as is to some extent done already within health and HIV programs (King et al., 2020; Muwanguzi et al., 2023). When support is extended through funding of LGBT + organizations, donors should avoid putting all eggs in one basket and instead include a diverse range of actors—something which is sometimes difficult to reconcile with current donor demands for accountability and organizational stability.