Man, woman, other? Extra-binary gender systems
In their article ‘Teaching Alternative and Indigenous Gender Systems in World History: A Queer Approach’, Tadashi Dozono advocates for studying gender diversity in world history because it “allows students to imagine the world differently, to think about gender beyond predefined terms”. Their hope is that through education, students will be able to recognise how “exotic, strange, limited and narrow our dominant categories of gender are”. In the UK, there have since been institutional blocks to teaching alternative gender systems, not least Sunak’s notorious guidance that schools should “not teach about the concept of gender identity”, lest they risk exposing children to “disturbing content”. Although the official guidance has since been updated, stating “sexual orientation and gender identity should be explored [...] in a clear, sensitive and respectful manner”, the topic is still approached with a Eurocentric gaze, rarely, if ever, looking beyond the borders of Western thought and the gender binary. This article will look at a few instances of cultures that have not strictly adhered to a gender binary.
Hijras or Khawaja Saras in South Asia
‘Hijra’ is an umbrella term used in South Asia to describe a eunuch, AMAB, or intersex person who presents themselves in a typically ‘feminine’ way. It has been a culturally recognised identity for over 2000 years. They appear in various Hindu scriptures and mythology: for instance, the Ranyana (composed sometime in the third century BCE) recounts a story in which Rama leads a group of hijras by the hand through the gates of his city, Ayodhya. His rule – the Rama Rajya – would be welcoming and inclusive of everyone. In the Ram-charit-manas (composed around 400 years ago), a passage of Rama’s speech has been translated as follows: “Man, queer, woman, even plants and animals, free of meanness, full of devotion, are all equally dear to me.” This attitude towards gender diversity continues up the hierarchy, as many Hindu gods manifest as both male and female, sometimes transcending the confines of gender altogether; for example, Sri Ardhanarisvara, Shiva’s hermaphrodite form, or Sri Arjuna, in Vedic narratives, is said to manifest “all three genders – male, female, and hermaphrodite”. Although hijras' lives followed a different trajectory from men's or women’s, they were nevertheless accepted; they were understood to be the sacred gender and, as Vinay Lal writes, they “are thought to have the power of conferring blessings and inflicting curses”.
When I told the librarian at my sixth form I was interested in researching alternative or extra-binary gender systems, she immediately asked if I would look into the hijras – she grew up in India, and “used to be so scared of them,” she told me. Her childhood image of them reflects a society-wide shift in the treatment of hijras, brought about by British colonial occupation. Arguably, the most insidious thing about colonial occupation is not the treacherous taking of land, exploitation of resources, or even violence; these things only fuel national rage and opposition to the regime. The worst poison is the colonisation of people’s minds, the way Western ideology infected national values and structures. When the British merchant James Forbes arrived in India, he saw hijras and declared “the objects disgusting”, while the sub-collector of Poona found it “lamentable to think that we are living amongst people who look upon hijras without a feeling of horror”. They were denounced as one of the “barbarities of Hindu customs”, and so in 1871, the British named all hijras criminals, instructing colonial authorities to arrest them on sight.
Although the law was repealed shortly after India gained independence, British occupation destroyed the ancient respect for hijras, tarnishing their image and inflicting damage from which they have not yet recovered. The word ‘hijra’ is now used as an insult or slur, and they are often victims of violence and abuse on an institutional level: they are harassed by police, refused treatment at hospitals, and are almost always excluded from employment and education.
A qualitative study conducted in 2020 by Ray, Mondal, Ras, and Banerjee uncovered a great tragedy at the heart of the hijra existence: many have an affinity with the feminine identity, and dream of getting married and having children, but cannot. Many want to live as women but are unable to within their communities, and are instead forced to play the role of spectator. It has become customary for hijras to leave home young and live together in communes, because their relationships with their families are often less than ideal.
One participant in the study, who remains anonymous, was asked about their experience of the institution. They responded: “There is no government that would give us money or work. People say government has money, but they never give us a goddamn penny; I have seen that since I was born. There is no one to look after us, take care of us. There is no law for us, nothing.”
Two-Spirit people in America
While each Native American community has a slightly different approach to gender, all believe some people are both male and female, and most have four ways to describe gender: masculine, feminine, masculine-feminine, and feminine-masculine. In Navajo, the word ‘Nadleehi’ means ‘those who transform’, and is used to describe people who take on gender roles contrary to their sex at birth. Alternatively, the Anishnaabe author Ma-Nee Chacaby does not speak of a transformation, but of an innate awareness of their gender that they first discovered when their grandmother told them: “You’ll know when you’re born that’s who you are. And you can ignore it and not pay attention to it, or you can just start accepting that part of you, and start learning from it.”
The categories of the indigenous world are different from Western norms: in the West, the goal of a societally acceptable transition is to move from one side of the gender binary to the other, keeping any period of non-conformity to a minimum, and living a life where being trans* is undetectable. But implicated in the word ‘Two-Spirit’ is the suggestion of an existence encompassing both sides of the binary, rather than a total rejection of one in favour of the other. It is their double spirit – male and female – often leading them to take on spiritual or ceremonial roles in the community, because they have more spiritual connection than someone with just one spirit or gender. Ma-Nee Chacaby recounts how elders often imparted their knowledge to them because of their gift, such as medicine or bringing messages from spirits.
However, when colonial powers came to America, they tried to erase Native communities and cultures, and to replace pre-existing ideas with the Enlightenment-driven dualistic tendency towards binaries of all kinds: ‘civilised’ versus ‘savage’, man versus woman. Native Americans were robbed of their land, histories, traditions, and their lives; as a result, Two-Spirit people are often ostracised, with some communities going as far as to outlaw Two-Spirit practices.
The term itself was created in the recent push to reclaim what was lost to colonial decimation; by remembering their heritage, they can reclaim their place within their communities. Cherokee author and activist Qwo-Li Driskill speaks on the difficulty of tracing Cherokee Two-Spirit history through the existing records – largely ignorant, culture-erasing colonial accounts – because the colonists “thought that all of our genders were ‘variant’”.
“Colonists likely saw female warriors or women in positions of leadership as living as men, even though these were acceptable – and important – roles for women in Cherokee gender systems. Trying to glean from colonial accounts which of these female-embodied people might now be called ‘Two-Spirit’ and which were simply acting in accordance with Cherokee traditions for women is very difficult.”
Driskill further writes that one reason colonists so despised Two-Spirit people was their dangerous power to change patterns of tradition. They can “move back and forth between gendered spaces”, which gives them knowledge that can be “transformed into radical, non-violent action against sexism and transphobia”. With this gesture, they call for a great “rebalancing of the world”, led by Cherokee Two-Spirit people.
When I started my research, I was under the illusion that somewhere there existed a completely genderless society, where the only time biological sex mattered was in procreation, but it soon became apparent: this vision was unrealistic. In place of non-binary societies, I realised, were extra-binary societies: cultures where most people operate within prescribed gender roles, but also make space for those who cannot. The United Kingdom is a way off from recognising non-binary people culturally, light years away from legally. I think of the dentist, who read my name as “Mr Townsend”, because she thought “Mx” was a typo; of an old teacher, who apologised when I asked her to use they/them pronouns for me, then said it is too difficult for her to change; and of how, even within Queer spaces, we have a tendency towards heteronormativity.
Working towards a non-binary society must involve letting go of all binaries. It must involve an acceptance of our shared human condition, so we may dispel rhetoric of hate; an acknowledgement of colonial history, so we can reprogramme our unconscious to reject ideas of ‘race’; and a change in the late-stage neoliberalist nightmare we find ourselves in, keeping people too burned out to participate in, as Qwo-Li Driskill puts it: the “rebalancing of the world”.
