Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity 3031053664, 9783031053665

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Brian Joseph Gilley Giuseppe Masullo   Editors

Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity

Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity

Brian Joseph Gilley • Giuseppe Masullo Editors

Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity

Editors Brian Joseph Gilley Department of Anthropology Indiana University Bloomington, IN, USA

Giuseppe Masullo Department of Human, Philosophical and Education Sciences University of Salerno Fisciano, Italy

ISBN 978-3-031-05366-5 ISBN 978-3-031-05367-2 https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2

(eBook)

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Brian Joseph Gilley, Alexandra S. Marcotte, and Giuseppe Masullo Part I

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Methodologies and Epistemologies of LGBTQ2 Communities

Social Research Methodologies to Understand LGBTQ+ Families . . . . . Fabio Corbisiero

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Body and Sexuality Between Nature and Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paola Di Nicola

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Finding Family and Affective Resistance to the Social Order . . . . . . . . . Massimo Del Forno

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Part II

Expanding the Notion of LGBTQ2 Family

Citizens of an Unqueered Nation: Tradition and the Same-Sex Marriage Debate in Indian Country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Brian Joseph Gilley

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Families in Sociocultural Change: From Structure to Relationship . . . . . Emiliana Mangone

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Scottish Same-Sex Families: Relational Negotiations and Belongings . . . Dora Jandrić

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Transgender Couples’ Lives: Between Specificity, the Need for Normalization, and New Forms of Social Discrimination . . . . . . . . . Giuseppe Masullo and Marianna Coppola

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Queering Motherhood and Mothering Queers in Morocco . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Benjamin Ale-Ebrahim

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Part III

Contents

Social and Legal Challenges of LGBTQ2 Parenting

Coming Out into a Transparent Closet: Gays and Lesbians and Their Families of Origin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 Roman Kuhar and Alenka Švab Pluralizing the Debate on Same-Sex Parenting: Strategies and Narratives of Italian LGB Parents with Children from Heterosexual Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 Luca Trappolin Same-Sex Parenting in Contemporary Italy: Constructing Parenthood on Insecure Grounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Salvatore Monaco and Urban Nothdurfter Mother and Father? Ideas and Possibilities of Starting a Family by Transgender and Nonbinary People in the Czech Republic . . . . . . . . 171 Iva Baslarová, Jitka Círklová, and Giuseppe Maiello Born to Be Different: LGBTQ2 Children of Heterosexual Families . . . . 189 Claudio Cappotto, Cirus Rinaldi, and Marco Bacio Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205

Introduction Brian Joseph Gilley, Alexandra S. Marcotte, and Giuseppe Masullo

Abstract The existence of nonnormative relationship formations presents us with the difficult task of accounting for relatedness in ways that do not prioritize marriage and domesticity. This volume seeks to elaborate on the experiences of LGBTQ2 families and the various ways in which notions of family are deconstructed and reconstructed to fit identities, sexualities, and nonnormative arrangements. We also examine the reasons why LGBTQ2 people find family, which we argue reflects ideas about the necessity to receive and the desire to do family work. With whom and how people find family is the result of tradition, religion, and state-level politics, as well as the very localized experiences of everyday life. As discussed, conversations about and policy on LGBTQ2 rights largely center on rights related to the construction of the family, such as marriage equality and adoption. This focus on familial rights, however, diverts attention from the various lived experiences that inform how and why people seek family, kinship, and connection, as well as the plurality of ways people create these relationships. What might familial work look like when we remove it from the private, consanguineal family sphere? What might familial work look like when family is not determined by romantic love, but rather by a commitment to one’s queer community? This volume engages these and many other research questions with the goal of providing an international perspective on the lives of LGBTQ2 people as well as proposing multiple theoretical and methodological interventions. Keywords Non-Binary · Queer Family · Same-sex parents B. J. Gilley (*) Department of Anthropology, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] A. S. Marcotte The Kinsey Institute, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] G. Masullo Department of Human Sciences, Philosophy and Education, University of Salerno, Fisciano, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_1

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When the United States Supreme Court ruled in favor of Obergefell in 2015, the United States and its territories could no longer refuse to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples (Obergefell v. Hodges, 2015). The Obergefell victory was the culmination of decades of activism, court filings, and lobbying—both local and national. Marriage equality, many hoped, would begin a transition in the United States away from homophobia and toward widespread acceptance of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and two-spirit (LGBTQ2) people.1 In some ways, we have seen the positive impact of the Obergefell decision, particularly in the realm of partner and parental rights. Yet, as many transgender and nonbinary people would argue, Obergefell does little to address the particular sociopolitical issues encountered by individuals who exist outside the more normalized categories of cisgender gay and lesbian.2 The existence of nonnormative relationship formations presents us with the difficult task of accounting for relatedness in ways that do not prioritize marriage and domesticity. This volume seeks to elaborate on the experiences of LGBTQ2 families and the various ways in which notions of family are deconstructed and reconstructed to fit identities, sexualities, and nonnormative arrangements. We also examine the reasons why LGBTQ2 people find family, which we argue reflects ideas about the necessity to receive and the desire to do family work.

Queer Relatedness With whom and how people find family is the result of tradition-, religion-, and statelevel politics, as well as the very localized experiences of everyday life. As discussed, conversations about and policy on LGBTQ2 rights largely center on rights related to the construction of the family, such as marriage equality and adoption. This focus on familial rights, however, diverts attention from the various lived experiences that inform how and why people seek family, kinship, and connection, as well as the plurality of ways people create these relationships. Even before the Obergefell decision in the United States, the legalization of samesex marriage in Northern Europe, and the creation of nonmarital civil unions in Southern Europe, scholars and activists questioned the degree to which the focus on marriage to the exclusion of other queer projects served to heteronormalize queer

1

We have included the term Two-Spirit, which references the sex and gender diversity traditions of the Americas, as a way to acknowledge the presence of non-Western traditions. While the chapters in this volume collectively focus on a wide range of cultures, most of which are outside of the Americas, we use Two-Spirit throughout the introduction to call attention to indigenous and non-Western identity formations. We are also acknowledging the ways in which, despite significant histories of indigenous nonbinary people, Two-Spirit people are subject to the same levels of disenfranchisement as other sex and gender nonconforming individuals. 2 This is not to say that some transgender and nonbinary people have not found ways of creating more normative families in the United States and elsewhere, but rather to acknowledge that this move often occurs at the expense of the recognition of their sex/gender nonconformity.

Introduction

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folks, and how this focus alienated transgender and nonbinary people. Because same-sex marriage emanates from the heteronormative foundation of traditional marriage, it disrecognizes the ways queer families may be doing sexuality, gender, relatedness, and family work outside of the binary (Fish & Russell, 2018; Oswald et al., 2005). Although expanding marriage to include same-sex couples in the United States queered marriage (insofar as it is no longer limited to heterosexual couples), it simultaneously aligned homosexuality with the goals of the nation-state.3 In their 2015 article, “Introduction: Antinormativity’s Queer Conventions,” Robyn Wiegman and Elizabeth Wilson argue that queer theory has demonstrated a clear and consistent commitment to antinormativity since its inception (p. 2). Engagement with queer theory has become synonymous with the disavowal of the normative, whether in terms of sexuality (heteronormativity), gender (cisnormativity), or myriad other objects of study. Queer theory’s attachment to antinormativity has long been critically and theoretically generative: “The allure of moving against appears to have greater critical currency than the more intimate and complicit gesture of moving athwart” (Wiegman & Wilson, 2015, p. 11, emphasis in original). Following Wiegman and Wilson’s idea of moving athwart, this volume explores not only the moments when queer family formations and networks of family work exist in direct opposition to hetero- and cisnormative structures, but also when more normative family structures are the objects of desire. This is not to say that desire is not significantly informed by normative institutions. It is important to acknowledge the privileges attached to social and legal legibility and that the desire for these privileges is not necessarily a desire for normativity. The move to make oneself intelligible through marriage, for example, comes with affordances of privileges whose importance should not be overlooked or minimized as they can significantly benefit the lives of queer people. There is no universal or proper way of enacting queerness—insisting on a hierarchy of queerness is an inherently antiqueer project. In other words, the critiques of marriage as a hegemonic institution for coupling and reaffirming affinal and consanguineal kinship only bring us to a point of criticism. To propel us forward, let us first step back to some of the ideas proposed by Kath Weston in her seminal ethnographic work, Families We Choose: Lesbians, Gays, Kinship. She begins her discussion with the idea of found family, which exists outside of heteronormative institutions and holds family work as central to the construction of relatedness (Weston, 1997). According to Weston (1997), family is a “contested concept implicated in the relationships of power that permeate societies” (p. 3). Weston conducted her ethnography of lesbian and gay families in San Francisco in the 1980s, a time when LGBTQ2 people had to navigate legal and social systems designed explicitly for their exclusion. In the absence of the legal

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The idea that marriage is used as a way to advance the agenda of the nation-state has long been acknowledged. Modern marriage is the nation-state’s way of regulating the private sphere by declaring certain unions and families respectable and others not. It is an institution based in eugenics and ableism.

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rights afforded to heterosexual couples through marriage, LGBTQ2 people created chosen families (nonconsanguineal and nonaffinal kinship networks) with others who shared their identities and had similar histories. The reasons why gay and lesbian people created chosen families in 1980s’ San Francisco were complex. The AIDS epidemic and widespread homophobia, as evidenced by the rise of the Christian Right (whose focus on legitimate family formations impacted gay marriage legalization efforts for decades), among other significant sociopolitical events at the time resulted in the need for queer people to create their own networks of kinship. In both romantic and platonic contexts, Weston found that mutual aid—whether in the form of financial help, labor, or navigating the medical system, among others—was the centering ethic in most of the chosen family relationships she encountered. Importantly, there is nothing inherently queer about chosen family or nonconsanguineous kinship formations. Rather, queerness comes both through the assemblages of bodies that comprise these formations and through the mutual recognition of queerness in the other. These nonnormative networks, formations, and families can take many different forms and are culturally and historically specific. The chapters that comprise this volume collectively highlight the need for specificity.

A Queer Ethic of Family

We need care in order to heal from transformative physical and emotional experiences. We need it when the milieu we inhabit becomes radically reorganized. We need it especially when our lives fall in the gaps between institutions and conventional familial structures. Those gaps are worlds, and those worlds don’t function without care work. – Hil Malatino, Trans care

This passage from Malatino’s recent work highlights both the necessity of family in sustaining queer life and its importance in the creation of nonnormative kinship networks. Familial work is a defining characteristic of these kinship networks that serves as a way of demarcating community, of drawing a boundary around one’s family work. This volume operates under the idea that familial work is a necessity; it is a crucial component of self-determination and survival that is an especially pressing need for those who cannot access it in normative ways. Familial work is about more than having one’s basic needs met, it is also about intelligibility (in whatever way is desired) and community formation. It is self-created, informed, and self-maintained (Fish & Russell, 2018, p. 16). In her book, Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law, Elizabeth Brake (2011) positions the products of familial work as a “primary good,” and argues that they should not be contained solely within marriage, regardless of the structure of the partnership (i.e.,

Introduction

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homosexual, heterosexual) (p. 92). Fish and Russell echo this sentiment when they argue that “chosen family is constituted through caring relationships that largely operate outside of or in contradiction to medical settings or institutional contexts” (2018, p. 16). Shifting familial work outside the home runs counter to the ways in which states often configure such critical things as healthcare, parental rights, late in life care, and more. What might familial work look like when we remove it from the private, consanguineal family sphere? What might familial work look like when family is not determined by romantic love (amatonormativity, to borrow Brake’s term), but rather by a commitment to one’s queer community? In “Is Kinship Always Already Heterosexual,” Butler (2002) argues that we need to “rework and revise the social organization of friendship, sexual contacts, and community to produce non-statecentered forms of support and alliance” (p. 21). Or, as Malatino (2020) writes on what transfamilial work might look like: “This means decentering the family and beginning, instead, from the many-gendered, radically inventive, and really, really exhausted weavers of our webs of care” (pp. 6–7). This is no easy task, but it is a very important one.

Structure of This Book Drawing from a variety of epistemologies, methodologies, and spatialities, the essays in this volume address the everyday lives of queer folks and their complex relationships to normative structures and institutions. The aim of this anthology is to call into question the ways in which the category of family is shifted and reconfigured through its application to queerness. Many questions are raised throughout. How do people and their partners form families (including a focus on medically assisted reproductive technologies)? How does the perception of discrimination change in LGBTQ2 families? What form do the processes of coming out take within different family configurations? What gender models and division of labor and family work do LGBTQ2 couples with children pursue? What parenting strategies do these families employ to comply with the legislation on family law? How do they interface with social and institutional environments about the social and psychological development of their children (health, education, etc.)? From whom do they receive support and what role does this support play in the realization of their parental projects? How does the intersection of factors such as age, gender, race, and ethnicity lead to multiple forms of stigmatization and inequality, thus generating different challenges for both families and children? Throughout our introduction, we cite American examples of queer families and the various pieces of legislation that make them legible. Much of the scholarship upon which we draw also has its roots in American queer and feminist theoretical traditions. In this anthology, however, we resist arguments in favor of American exceptionalism when it comes to queer family and LGBTQ2 rights. Rather, we engage with American legislation and theory in an attempt to acknowledge that

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United States legal policies and queer movements have had significant impact on LGBTQ2 movements elsewhere, for better and for worse. As Barry Adam argues in The Rise of a Gay and Lesbian Movement, “postwar hegemony of the United States, especially among the advanced capitalist nations, as well as among much of the third world, has also had an impact upon the social organization of homosexuality and the development of a political movement” (1987, as cited in Jagose, 1996, pp. 35–6). Several of the essays in this volume grapple with this very idea. The collection of essays presented in this anthology represents a plurality of perspectives from different social and political contexts. This anthology comprises three parts, each of which contains ideas about what family means, how family work can and/or should be reconfigured to address the needs of various LGBTQ2 communities, and how preoccupations and needs shift under different geopolitical contexts. Part I explores methodologies and epistemologies related to LGBTQ2 communities. This part includes Fabio Corbisiero’s “Social Research Methodologies to Understand LGBTQ2 Families;” Paola Di Nicola’s “Body and Sexuality Between Nature and Culture;” and Massimo Del Forno’s “Finding Family and Affective Resistance to the Social Order.” Part II focuses on expanding the notion of family. Authors in this part question existing norms and legal structures that deny access to family work. Essays include Brian Gilley’s “Citizens of an Unqueered Nation: Tradition and the Same-Sex Marriage Debate in Indian Country;” Emiliana Mangone’s “Families in Sociocultural Change: From Structure to Relationship;” Dora Jandric’s “Scottish Same-Sex Families: Relational Negotiations and Belongings;” Giuseppe Masullo and Marianna Coppola’s “Transgender Couples’ Lives: Between Specificity, the Need for Normalization, and New Forms of Social Discrimination;” and Benjamin Ale-Ebrahim’s “Queering Motherhood and Mothering Queers in Morocco.” The final part is dedicated to LGBTQ2 parenting, from the perspectives of both parenting as an LGBTQ2 person and parenting LGBTQ2 children. Essays discuss social and legal challenges that LGBTQ2 people face when trying to conceive and secure parental rights, whether through adoption or reproduction. The anthology concludes with discussions of the challenges heterosexual parents face when their children come out of the closet. Essays in this part include Roman Kuhar and Alenka Švab’s “Coming Out into a Transparent Closet: Gays and Lesbians and Their Families of Origin;” Luca Trappolin’s “Pluralizing the Debate on Same-Sex Parenting: Strategies and Narratives of Italian LGBTQ2 Parents with Children from Heterosexual Relationships;” Salvatore Monaco and Urban Nothdurfter’s “SameSex Parenting in Contemporary Italy: Constructing Parenthood on Insecure Grounds;” Iva Baslarová, Jitka Cirklová, and Giuseppe Maiello’s “Mother and Father? Ideas and Possibilities of Starting a Family by Transgender and Nonbinary People in the Czech Republic;” and Claudio Cappotto, Cirus Rinaldi, and Marco Bacio’s “Born to Be Different: LGBTQ2 Children of Heterosexual Families.”

Introduction

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References Brake, E. (2011). Minimizing marriage: Marriage, morality, and the law. Oxford University Press. Butler, J. (2002). Is kinship always already heterosexual? Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies, 13(1), 14–44. Fish, J. N., & Russell, S. T. (2018). Queering methodologies to understand queer families. Family Relations, 67(1), 12–25. Jagose, A. (1996). Queer theory: An introduction. NYU Press. Malatino, H. (2020). Trans care. University of Minnesota Press. Obergefell v. Hodges, 576 U.S. 644 (2015). Oswald, R. F., Blume, L. B., & Marks, S. R. (2005). Decentering heteronormativity: A model for family studies. In V. L. Bengtson, A. C. Acock, K. R. Allen, P. Dilworth-Anderson, & D. M. Klein (Eds.), Sourcebook of family therapy and research (pp. 143–166). Sage Press. Weston, K. (1997). Families we choose: Lesbians, gays, kinship. Columbia University Press. Wiegman, R., & Wilson, E. A. (2015). Introduction: Antinormativity’s queer conventions. Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies, 26(1), 1–25.

Part I

Methodologies and Epistemologies of LGBTQ2 Communities

Social Research Methodologies to Understand LGBTQ+ Families Fabio Corbisiero

Abstract This chapter assesses the research methods used to study LGBTQ+ families and the implications of current knowledge for applied social research, practice, and policy. To explore the dynamics of interpersonal family relationships and multiple family members, one must need the complexity in conceptualizing and designing research with these populations. Mainstream methodologies often constrain approaches to the study of normative families. The concept of LGBTQ+ families challenges scholars to interrogate what normative is, including the research methods used. This chapter considers social sciences methodologies to describe what research exists or should exist about non-normative families, revisiting methods to address current challenges and opportunities in studying LGBTQ+ families. Keywords LGBTQ+ family · Social research · Qualitative research · Quantitative research · Mix methods

Introduction Although attitudes about LGBTQ+ rights have become increasingly liberal, many people are still uncertain about the consequences of same-sex parenting. More than other family groups, LGBTQ+ families frequently encounter conflict with society’s cultural and normative structure, experiencing negative barriers to the right to create families. There are still very few countries that recognize full citizenship rights for LGBTQ+ families. In Europe, some countries grant full rights to same-sex parents; others, such as Italy, offer only insufficient protection to homoparental families or even maintain discriminatory anti-LGBTQ+ laws. Discrimination contrasts scientific studies showing that LGBTQ+ parents are fully capable of providing stable

F. Corbisiero (*) University of Naples Federico II, Napoli, NA, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_2

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family environments; in fact, they raise their children’s quality of life as much as their heteroparental counterparts (Fedewa et al., 2015; Patterson, 2016). Questions about the well-being of LGBTQ+ families have emerged prominently in social science literature. These questions have often focused on juridical issues, values, and morality of these families, social behaviors, and resilience strategies. However, many have also included empirically testable assertions about the relationship (or lack thereof) between parents’ sexual orientation and their children’s developmental outcomes. Several of the earliest sociological studies concerning LGBTQ+ families centered on questions related to the well-being of children growing up with LGBTQ+ parents (Manning et al., 2014). This still happens today, albeit with a minor impact on the volume of literature available. For instance, a recent study addressed methodological challenges and identified children raised by same-sex parents from birth while still maintaining a large representative sample (Manning et al., 2014). Using population data from the Netherlands, some researchers from Leuven Economics of Education Research (LEER) identified over one million children born between 1998 and 2007, of which 2971 lived with same-sex parents (2786 lesbian and 185 gay male parents). The results showed that children raised from birth by same-sex parents outperformed children with differentsex parents in both primary and secondary education (Mazrekaj et al., 2020). Scholars have advocated shifting the focus from examining whether children raised in LGBTQ+ families have equivalent outcomes as heteroparental families toward understanding how social and institutional structures produce constraints or inequalities for LGBT families (Baumle & Compton, 2014; Meadow, 2013; Moore, 2011). These findings illustrate that countries that expanded homoparental rights in the last decades (e.g., France, Ireland, Italy, or Spain) must create social environments in which the concept of postmodern family can thrive. Thus, this chapter focuses on the social science research that empirically assessed the validity of those assertions, explicitly investigating how social science research and its methodologies offer new understanding and richness for studying LGBTQ+ families. I consider the methodological needs of the study of these families and discuss the methods used in homoparental research. Currently, the field has two primary methodology-related endeavors. The first is to meet the challenge of further including underrepresented populations in LGBTQ+ family research. The second is to create more nationally representative research. In this chapter, I put forward ideas for improving measurements and thoroughly discuss qualitative and quantitative methods and recruitment strategies that seem promising to include traditionally underrepresented populations into LGBTQ+ family research. I conclude with recommendations for future methodological endeavors from LGBTQ+ family scholars. This conclusion summarizes the practical implications of methodological issues, providing practical tools and approaches for a more critical investigation of nonnormative families and the diverse, often un(der)represented, experiences that define them.

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Methodologies to Understand LGBTQ+ Families Beyond Heteronormativity Historically, the study of families as a field of social science research has been characterized by norms across multiple axes fundamental to and embedded in the family, including age, social class, gender, and sexuality. Recently, scholars began to study the complexities of how LGBTQ+ families differ from normative families just in the way they are supported or not by the state’s family policies. Early studies of these families led to the development of within-group conceptual models and analytic approaches that focus on a culturally situated understanding of minority families, with particular stress on strengths and challenges that families navigate in a society characterized by heteronormativity (Monaco, 2022; Wills et al., 2007). Thus, the study of LGBTQ+ families historically has taken a between-groups approach, often comparing LGBTQ+ or queer people and families to (ostensibly) non-LGBTQ+ or nonqueer people or families (Biblarz & Stacey, 2010). The point is not that within-group studies are better but that each approach offers possibilities to contribute to understanding this kind of families. Producing and understanding research outputs on how and why this group engage in parenting processes is essential if we want to overcome the impasse of the heteronormative family. The social sciences have long since initiated the most varied surveys on LGBTQ+ family units and related issues. Recent notable articles include studies of gay fathers (Goldberg, 2012), second-generation queers (Kuvalanka & Goldberg, 2009), parents of transgender or gender-creative children (Johnson & Benson, 2014; Kuvalanka et al., 2014), and the recent introduction of transfamily theory (McGuire et al., 2016). These research approaches deconstruct prevailing mainstream notions of family and illuminate diversity within all kinds of families. For too long, family studies emphasized the heteronormative perspective. Traces of heteronormativity are evident in many study designs that compare marginalized to dominant groups. Such designs often limit the identification and understanding of unique characteristics, processes, and strengths of LGBTQ+ families not captured within many comparative perspectives (Few-Demo et al., 2016). Heteronormative assumptions continue to underpin most research on families by focusing on heterosexual partnerships and parenthood. Álvarez-Gayou (2003) underlined the strong relationship between motherhood and families in some Mexican neighborhoods, referring to the heteronormative assumption that motherhood is only associated with heterosexual women: “Lesbian women who are interested, desire, aspire or actually exercise maternity are not only not understood, but persecuted, criticized or stigmatized” (p. 66). LGBTQ+ people are considered individuals within groups, but not as family members. A fundamental challenge is that interrogating (only) heteronormativity reflects a single-axis view of oppression (i.e., from the vantage point of a single identity; Crenshaw, 1989). Focusing on LGBTQ+ identities as the focal axis of analysis is a significant advance for the field of family science (Allen, 2015); however, it may obscure intersectional diversity and prevent a deeper understanding of rainbow families (Lewis & Grzanka,

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2016). Thus, to capture the experience of these families, sexual and gender identities cannot be isolated from other socially positioned identities, such as race, ethnicity, class, geographic location, nation, religion, and ability.

Comparative Approach A broad set of methodological issues are relevant to LGBTQ+ families (Umberson et al., 2015). For example, a host of issues exist regarding measurement, including what to measure and how (Badgett et al., 2009; Durso & Gates, 2013; The GenIUSS Group, 2014) as well as the need for sexual and gender minority measures in national and representative data relevant to families (Cahill & Makadon, 2017; Durso & Gates, 2013). A growing number of large, publicly available datasets offer new opportunities to unveil unique and significant within-group differences among LGBTQ+ families (see http://www.lgbtdata.com; Russell & Muraco, 2013). Similarly, advances in complicated and rigorous quantitative methods provide avenues for analyzing data in novel ways that capture intersecting identities and diversities in experiences (Grzanka, 2019; Masyn, 2013) or familiar processes that may (or may not) differ for or among LGBTQ+ families. Collecting information on multiple family members fosters understanding these elements (Jenkins et al., 2009). Comparative or between-group studies have been essential for identifying and documenting LGBTQ+ disparities in health and well-being, which fundamentally transformed scientific and public understanding of LGBTQ+ lives (Graham et al., 2011). Such studies have highlighted, for example, the structural conditions that disadvantage LGBTQ+ people, such as state bans on marriage for same-sex couples. Comparing the distinct gender dynamics in same-sex couples with different-sex couples has shown that health behavior work is gendered in different-sex couples, whereas patterns of cooperative work are more commonly found in same-sex couples (Reczek & Umberson, 2012). Comparative approaches also have played a role in securing fundamental rights for homoparental families (Obergefell v. Hodges, 2015). However, many studies designed to compare LGBTQ+ people, couples, or families to heterosexuals reinforce homonormativities in sampling and design. That is, studies have been based on samples that reflect race and social-class privilege (Van Eeden-Moorefield et al., 2018) or on heteronormative assumptions that monogamous coupling and parenthood are typical relationship characteristics (Moore & Stambolis-Ruhstorfer, 2013). A recent content analysis of rainbow research in top family journals (Van EedenMoorefield et al., 2018) showed that two-thirds had primarily or entirely White samples (with 13.5% not reporting racial or ethnic details of the sample). The predominant view of LGBTQ+ families in family science and at large is that they consist of White, cisgender, middle-class, educated, gay- or lesbian-identified people living in urban and coastal areas who transition to parenthood together through

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adoption or assisted-reproductive technologies (Biblarz & Stacey, 2010; Corbisiero & Monaco, 2021; Gates, 2012). In the context of research on LGBTQ+ individuals and families, considering diversity in homosexual life experiences may lead to deeper understanding and create the potential to identify more appropriate strategies that promote LGBTQ+ well-being. For example, by delineating the sexual and gender diversity among Black men who have sex with other men (BMSM), Wilson and Miyashita (2016) identified experiences of racism and poverty shared among BMSM. The authors also illuminated various HIV risk and intervention strategies by distinguishing subgroups of experience among BMSM. In an Italian study examining social support networks of lesbian couples, Corbisiero (2018) found that lesbians are more likely to seek support from their family of origin, particularly for such instrumental needs as social capital resources. Through the social network analysis method, the author showed that a sample of 50 lesbian families overcame the ancient homophobic conflict with their parents and strengthened ties with their families of origin, above all thanks to the presence of children in their new households. These findings demonstrate distinct strategies among LGBTQ+ people in their support-seeking behavior.

Quantitative Versus Qualitative The ongoing argument within family studies over the relative merits of qualitative and quantitative research is clouded by the beatification and glorification of a particular method over the other. Social researchers often overemphasize the differences between these approaches “by portraying quantitative work on general patterns as scientific but sterile and oppressive and qualitative research on small Ns as rich and emancipatory but soft and subjective” (Ragin, 2000, p. 22). Like the broader field of family science, empirical LGBTQ+ family studies are more likely to use quantitative rather than qualitative approaches (Van Eeden-Moorefield et al., 2018). Mixed methods offer unique perspectives to enrich and contextualize experiences; however, content analyses of top family journals demonstrate that mixed methods are rarely used in LGBTQ+ family scholarship (less than 4% of LGBT empirical studies; Hartwell et al., 2012). Generally, qualitative approaches lend themselves more readily to understanding and deconstructing the intersectional systems of power and privilege that situate the experience and processes of LGBTQ+ families (Oswald et al., 2009). Quantitative investigation of homoparental families is still in its infancy in this scientific area. The reason for this lack of knowledge is linked to the intrinsic complexity of this population, the rarity of the involved phenomena, and the elusiveness of the people who make up this community (Corbisiero, 2013). Studies that use quantitative methods often rely on fairly small sample sizes of LGBTQ+ families (Goldberg & Sayer, 2006), thereby decreasing the power and ability to detect effects. These problematic aspects entail research difficulties, both at the

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methodological and epistemological levels, that are indissolubly linked to the dichotomies of male/female and heterosexual/homosexual by which people have been categorized for decades but do not fit with our contemporary society. Hypergendered categories such as males and females or husbands and wives will not suffice. The sociological or statistical approaches to distinguishing partners based on gender are not valuable for researchers of same-sex couples and their families. In some cases, same-sex partners may be distinguished based on a characteristic relevant to the analyses, such as biological versus nonbiological parent (Goldberg & Perry-Jenkins, 2007). In other cases, no such meaningful distinctions can be made, such as analyses of lesbian/gay nonparent couples or lesbian/gay adoptive parents where neither partner is the biological parent. In these instances, social surveys need to rethink the measurement of sex and gender to avoid producing statistical representations that erase essential dimensions of variation and likely limit understanding of the processes that perpetuate social inequality (Westbrook & Saperstein, 2015). For example, in Abbie Goldberg’s work on lesbian couples who used alternative insemination to become parents (N ¼ 29–34 couples), the researcher distinguished between the biological and nonbiological mothers and found differential predictors of relationship quality and mental health across the transition to parenthood (Goldberg & Sayer, 2006; Goldberg & Smith, 2009). Other distinguishing features relevant to analyses are work status, social capital resources, or child caregiver status. In addition, other studies have analyzed data from multiple family members. This approach focuses on LGBTQ+ families using multilevel modeling (MLM), a relatively straightforward extension of the more standard multiple regression. This technique offers a flexible and powerful platform for assessing multiple respondent processes and between- and within-family associations or intraindividual change over time (Smith et al., 2013). Extensions of MLM allow researchers to test exchangeable (or indistinguishable) dyad models (i.e., couples that are not defined by two distinct genders) to analyze data outside the confines of the gender binary. MLM methods also can model more than two interdependent data points, accommodating triadic (or higher-order) interactions (e.g., child–parent triads, polyamory triads; Lyons & Sayer, 2005). The application of MLM to understanding LGBTQ+ family processes also offers chances to model variability in context (i.e., people nested within families and families nested within neighborhoods, communities, or cities) and captures the variety of experiences within these contexts. Other approaches to dyadic data analysis, such as actor partner interdependence models (APIMs), allow researchers to model dyadic processes across groups or conditions via multiple-group APIMs (Kenny et al., 2006; Monk & Nelson Goff, 2014). Largely untapped in the study of LGBTQ+ families, these methods represent rigorous quantitative approaches to examine the sociocultural and interpersonal factors that contextualize how queer individuals, couples, and families operate. Mixture modeling techniques, such as latent class and latent profile analysis, offer one vantage point to measuring LGBTQ+ family experiences by modeling profiles that characterize multidimensional, interdependent, and mutually constructed identities and experiences in context.

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Much of the social research on rainbow families is even today qualitative and exploratory instead of quantitative (Goldberg, 2010). One of the most significant benefits of the qualitative approach is that different methods generate different kinds of data (such as interviews, emotion maps, and visual data), thus adding novel dimensions and distinctive perspectives that can enrich understandings of the phenomenon investigated. Some scholars demonstrate the value of a qualitative approach to the study of this kind of families, especially for deepening individual and subjective dimensions (Bowleg, 2008; Bowleg et al., 2003). This level of specificity is not captured in quantitative approaches that are primarily restricted to testing these experiences as additive or interactional. The former is criticized as an independent investigation of identity and the latter as susceptible to power and interpretability limitations (Lewis & Grzanka, 2016). Qualitative studies seem necessary in elucidating LGBTQ+ family experiences and social processes. Qualitative investigations have found that same-sex couples’ gender-based partnership and parenting behaviors manifest in alternative ways. Reczek and Umberson (2016) found that the ways couples do gender and family vary as a function of both an individual’s gender and the gender with which they partner. In the context of heterosexual relationships, for instance, intergenerational caregiving is a gendered activity. Women most often perform caregiving roles for both their own and their spouse’s parent(s). In comparison to same-sex spouses in caregiving roles, who reported a high level of instrumental and emotional support from partners and demonstrated a more integrated and coordinated action of care for ailing parents, heterosexual women reported less support from their spouses than heterosexual men in caregiving roles. In the qualitative parenting literature, same-sex parents are described as mothering and fathering their children regardless of gender (Schacher et al., 2005). More qualitative studies have reported that gender-role behavior among children of lesbian mothers fell within typical limits for conventional sex roles (Brewaeys et al., 1997; Gottman, 1990). For instance, Kirkpatrick et al. (1981) found no differences between children of lesbian versus heterosexual mothers in toy preferences, activities, interests, or occupational choices. Qualitative approaches also have uncovered differences in the experience and motivations for behaviors that, on the surface, appear similar across LGBTQ+ and heteronormative families. For example, in a qualitative study of parents, Kane (2006) noted that both heterosexual and same-sex parents expressed concerns regarding their child’s gender nonconforming behavior. However, same-sex parents discussed the fear of societal judgments as a motivating factor for suppressing their child’s gender creative expression, whereas heterosexual mothers primarily cite adverse reactions from their male partners. These insights speak directly to the pressure of normativity regarding gender, sexuality, and family and the distinct experiences of queer and heterosexual parents in the context of discrimination. Despite their unique insights, most qualitative researches of LGBTQ+ families (and quantitative studies) are based on White, cisgender, and middle-class samples. Although qualitative studies can accommodate homoparental family experiences in the face of normativity and stigma, social researchers must purposefully seek out and sample those traditionally on the periphery of rainbow family research. LGBTQ+

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family studies must also be geared to represent the many intersecting systems of oppression that these people and their families face (Moore, 2008, 2011).

Considerations Moving Forward As I highlighted at the beginning of this chapter, the field of research on rainbow families has increased significantly over the past decades in the diversity of approaches and methods. In this chapter, my goal was to identify conceptual and methodological tensions related to scholarship on this kind of families. Social science methods require explicit attention to how questioning might illuminate interlocking systems of power and privilege that shape life experiences of those whose identities and experiences do not reflect normative expectations of gender, sexuality, and family (Oswald et al., 2009). An essential contribution to moving this field forward can be found in the mixed methods approach, which consists of a set of designs and procedures where both quantitative and qualitative data are collected, analyzed, and mixed in a single study or series of studies (Creswell & Plano Clark, 2007). The mixed methods approach is not new to family studies. It offers rich possibilities for capitalizing on the inherent strengths of both qualitative and quantitative approaches. However, family scholars must assess when it is the appropriate design choice, anticipate challenges associated with this choice, and critically evaluate its application. After the November 2006 United States election, some American researchers documented quantitatively higher exposure to critical messages in the media and more significant adverse effects among relatives of LGBTQ+ people in states that had passed amendments to restrict marriage rights. Qualitative data illuminated a source of negative effect: Family members of homosexual communities in states that passed restrictive amendments reported feeling more concern for the safety of those family members (Horne et al., 2011). Community-based participatory action research techniques provide methods involving study populations in identifying research questions, informing study design, and (in some cases) providing their interpretation of findings to represent their lived experiences better. Studies of historically marginalized populations, such as LGBTQ+ people, may benefit from such methods. Various sorts of participatory action research techniques have been used in studies of LGBTQ+ children (Wagaman, 2015), LGBTQ+ college students (Stover, 2014), and LGBTQ+ military personnel (Ramirez et al., 2013), but not in homoparental families. In addition to the dearth of mixed and participatory methods, it is challenging to acquire large, diverse samples when studying underrepresented and marginalized groups. Using examples from within and outside family scholarship, I highlight strategies to reclaim traditional methods in ways that reflect research practices and epistemologies that might attend to and challenge normativity and privilege. Analyzing these families through mixed methods compels not only an analytic critique but also a critique of the ways that science may confront family normativities.

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For family scholars, the questions arise: What new questions are on the rainbow horizon? How can social scientists conduct research for rainbow families in ways that do not reinforce the subjugation of rainbow identities and families who are noticeably absent in LGBTQ+ family scholarship? In other words, how can we put order and pull out new dowels from the messiness of homoparental families research? Research on LGBTQ+ families must inform and address the relative erasure of LGBTQ+ families in the broader family literature. Comparatively, research on this type of families is concerned with empowerment (Thompson, 1992); situating LGBTQ+ family experiences in a broader social context; attending to diversities among LGBTQ+ families according to ethnicity, race, generation, class, and more; and challenging mainstream assumptions on rainbow families. Building methods for these families also implores responsibility from scholars to “effectively disseminate our research findings to policymakers and other persons in positions of power” (Goldberg, 2013, pp. 33).

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Body and Sexuality Between Nature and Culture Paola Di Nicola

Abstract We are born male or female and become men or women: on this “transformative” process in all the few historical and among all peoples, men have built “narratives,” social imaginaries, myths, customs, and institutions. These narratives have informed and made possible man–woman relationships and practices at all levels of social reality. In the founding myths of the world, of becoming, of birth and death, the coexistence of the male–female dyad is recurrent, of opposing and/or complementary principles rooted in biological difference, understood as a data directly accessible to experience. Just as it is an evident fact, directly accessible to experience, that there is no childbirth without a woman, there is no birth without pregnancy, there is no conception without the union of an egg and sperm. But this natural, biological “evidence,” which can also be inscribed in man's sexual instinct to reproduce, has given rise to narratives that have read, interpreted, given meaning to this evidence, making it accessible to experience and knowledge: such evidence has become a “social” reality. Moving on the level of social “reality” means moving on an exclusively cultural level, on a symbolic level: social reality is created by culture, within which even the biological data (which belongs to the world of nature) becomes a social construction: not in the sense of “invented,” but in the sense of “interpreted” and lived. Keywords Social imaginary · Gender studies · Masculinity index · Sexual hierarchy · Asexual conception

Introduction: Nature as a Cultural Product After being born male or female, we become men or women. Narratives, social imaginaries, myths, customs, and social institutions have been built around this transformative process in every historical period and across all cultures. These

P. Di Nicola (*) Department of Human Science, Università di Verona, Verona, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_3

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constructs have influenced and enabled both practices and relationships between men and women at all levels of social reality. The founding myths of the world, evolution, birth, and death all feature the male–female dyad with opposing and/or complementary principles rooted in biological difference, which is seen as a demonstrable fact. Other similarly evident truths are that childbirth requires a woman, birth requires pregnancy, and conception requires the fusion of a woman’s egg with a man’s sperm (Filippini, 2017). This natural biological evidence, which can also be attributed to the innate human drive to reproduce, prompted narratives providing interpretations and meanings. In this way, the evidence was incorporated into experience and knowledge, thereby becoming a social reality (Berger & Luckmann, 1966/1969). Western philosophy emerged in Ancient Greece to answer two fundamental questions. First, it explained the composition and origin of the world outside our bodies (the sky, stars, earth, seas, trees), namely all the things that were succinctly defined as nature. Second, it analyzed how people study, comprehend, and subsequently dominate this world, of which they are also constituent parts. Since its origin, Western philosophy has produced a dualism or epistemological rupture between nature and society. According to this, nature is guided by universal laws, which have gradually been discovered over the centuries. On the other hand, society is an artificial, constructed world whose laws are simply conventions, customs, traditions, and habits (Remotti, 1996c). Nature has been objectivized in the social imaginary of Western culture so that it is seen as populated by nonhuman living subjects (Taylor, 2003/2005). Man is viewed as the master of nature in this imaginary. After all, in the biblical tradition, Adam named all God’s creations and was allowed to use them to satisfy his needs. However, men and women lost this privilege after Eve picked the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, leading to expulsion from Paradise. From this moment on, nature’s subservience required a sweating brow and the pain of childbirth. Humankind and nature are symbolically separated in our cultural tradition and are positioned in two distinct, hierarchically ordered dimensions, with people placed at the top of the pyramid of evolution. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, with the reassuring phrase “don’t panic” prominently displayed on the cover, establishes one of the many human errors that lead to the extinction of humanity in the novel (Adams, 1995). Beyond fiction, however, the admonishment should raise more than a smile as its mocking style describes the typical human attitude toward the rest of the living, especially in the West. This is a disdainful haughtiness, tinged with paternalism at best, of those who know they are unique and incomparable, as the exceptional product of divine acts or statistically impossible processes, and can therefore indulge whatever thoughts they have without any consideration of the other (D’Andrea, 2020, p. 23). So, what has become of the natural element of humankind? From Aristotle through Augustine of Hippo and Thomas Aquinas to Hobbes, our cultural tradition foregrounded a negative view of human nature that is antisocial, individualist, driven by passions and interests, and dominated by an irrational dimension (Remotti, 1996c; Sahlins, 2008). It was felt that humans needed to be guided and laws were

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required to force them to respect others and always pursue their interests in a collective social dimension to prevent “the war of all against all” (Hobbes, 1968). Women were inextricably linked to nature because of their menstrual cycle (out of their control and the same length as the moon cycle) and pregnancy (typically lasting 9 months, again out of their control). This made them less human or more natural than men, and, as a result, they were subjected to male control. Today, the pessimism of Hobbes is more tempered. The notion of human nature is less gloomy, although still negative. According to this view, the shortfalls of human nature mean that survival cannot be entrusted to natural biological facts alone. Instead, an artificial world needs to be constructed. This predominantly cultural world consists of symbols, rules and products, and technologies that enable people to compensate for the weakness of their instincts and bodily limits (Crespi, 2003; Geertz, 1973/1987). This brief excursus regards the comprehensive and complex debate that has drawn in philosophers, anthropologists, psychologists, sociobiologists, and sociologists. There is still a split between scholars who cite biological determinism, for whom culture is simply an epiphenomenon of the natural human condition, and those who defend cultural determinism, for whom human nature is entirely molded by culture.1 The former claim that universal human behavioral traits can be found in all societies and historical periods. The latter stress that human behavior features so much cultural and historical variability, both at diachronic and synchronic levels, that it becomes nearly impossible to understand whether it has retained any natural elements, even concerning such basic survival needs as food, shelter, defending, attacking, and reproduction. Culture is the second human nature, which nevertheless takes shape as unstable and variable.

1

The relationship between nature and culture has been under analysis since the eighteenth century and the emergence of the epistemological problem of which status to attribute to the sciences of the spirit and nature. In terms of the object of study, the variability and contingency of culture stood in contrast to the stability, regularity, and objectivity of nature. Initially, the sciences of the spirit became subordinate to the sciences of nature, thereby favoring the evolution of such disciplines as sociology that underlined that society and its culture are also based on universal laws of development (Durkheim, (1895/1964). This was followed by a stage in which the human sciences, above all cultural anthropology, acquired their independent epistemological status due to the development of anthropological fieldwork and the questioning of the objectivity of the cognitive paradigms applied to the sciences of nature. The heated debate prompted by biologists, ethologists, and anthropologists focused less on describing different cultural forms than on answering the following questions: Is culture only a question of human heritage, or does the animal world also feature cultural forms of the transmission of skills through learning? Is culture the second nature of humankind, explaining the modification of certain biological traits? For example, was the development of the brain favored and the evolution of specific physical and neural characteristics inhibited? Can we speak of an anthropopoietic human? Is culture an expression of strategies employed by the human gene, which operates through it to adapt more effectively? These questions are still the subject of scientific debate, rekindled by the development of medical technologies in the two crucial human stages of life and death and the field of medically assisted procreation. It is not in the remit of this chapter to discuss the complex structure of nature and culture, on which see the essays by Remotti (1996a–1996c) and other classic human science works listed in the references.

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It could be said that the cultural answers relied on to a significant and decisive degree are written on water. The paradoxical nature of the human condition is, therefore, precisely this: Although a substantial part of humankind depends on the culture and would perish without it, culture in itself cannot be genetically reproduced in any shape or form in the transition from one body to another (Remotti, 1996c). Over the last few decades, sociobiologists have been actively engaged in explaining the most common human social behaviors (selfishness and altruism, love and hate, competition and cooperation) and differences in the reproductive strategies of men and women as manifestations of an “intent” that can be attributed to the “selfish gene” (Dawkins, 1976; Wilson, 1975/1979, 1978/1980). In the field of reproduction and sexuality, however, efforts are contradicted by the most recent gender-related research, which emphasizes the separation of sexual behavior from the biological dimension of male–female difference, thereby creating a new social imaginary of sexuality that inevitably generates new practices. At the same time, a comprehensive debate has developed in the broad cultural category of gender studies. Focusing on the relationship between men and women, the idea of difference, and women’s socially constructed reliance on men,2 the debate highlights a naturally imposed limit in male and female biological and sexual differences. This limit can only be overcome through medicalization (Teman, 2003), gutturalization, and denial of difference. Labeling nature as a cultural product with detectable differences that are social constructs does not preclude the existence of differences in nature. It simply means that these differences are loaded with positive, negative, and neutral values based on social constructs, placed in a hierarchy, and often arranged in value scales. There is nothing in nature to indicate that men are superior to animals and women or that one race is better than another. Although such differences are culturally constructed, they are often perceived as limits or insurmountable distinctions. In reality, though, the actual insuperable limits for humankind are living underwater or flying without any technical support, just as it is an indisputable biological fact that human reproduction occurs through a heterosexual relationship with the fusion of a woman’s egg and a man’s sperm.3 It might be thought that studying same-sex families, validating their parenting skills, and documenting the often arduous (if not traumatic) paths taken to construct sexual and social identities by subjects who do not identify with male–female binary logic or the heterosexual code raises the issue of broadening the confines of the current social imaginary for inclusion in a niche of normality. In reality, though, these factors have led to the creation of a new narrative in which technique and technology redefine the meaning attributed to the body, sexuality, and conception.

Simone De Beauvoir (1949/1961) famously wrote, “one is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” 3 Even though fertilization can occur outside a woman’s body without any sexual intercourse, an embryo is formed as soon as an egg joins with a sperm. 2

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New technologies play a leading role in this narrative: demiurges of a posthuman society in which planning has replaced generation (Di Nicola, 2016, 2019).

Body and Sexuality: The Cultural Domestication of Sex As the container of our organs and the barrier that “contains and defends,” according to Fornari (2008), the body is the instrument through which we act and do things while awake and asleep: It is a “writing surface,” used to reveal oneself to the world (p. 17). It is of interest to the human sciences because the complex link between the body and society can be explained in the social system of signs, rules, restrictions, and symbols. The body is the outward manifestation of symbols and signs shown to others, through which a more in-depth grasp of verbal language can be attained. The body is the visible part of ourselves shared with every living thing in the natural world. We use the body to display emotions, feelings, and passions, such as fear, hatred, love, pain, and desire. Above all, the face is the first aspect that others notice. Various expressions show its strong communicative value that reveals others’ perceptions of us and/or what we convey through our bodies. Consider these common expressions: you’ve got a mouth on you (have you no shame?), put your face on the line (assume responsibility for your actions), you’ve lost face (made a bad impression), you have the face of an angel (beautiful and good), you do something until you’re blue in the face (become exhausted through anger or strain), you’re two-faced (devious and unreliable), you have a punchable face (you’re impudent, shameless, arrogant), and you put on a mask (you hide your face so as not to show who you really are), to name but a few. Our ultimate interface is (as the name suggests) the face, with all its many facets. With this face, we face the outside world (sometimes cheekily), occasionally at the risk of losing face (unless we adopt a poker face). The lexical richness associated with the term face confirms its importance (Longo, 2012, p. 103). The fact is that all living species have a body—both individually and collectively—that is born, develops, decays, and dies. However, the body is also subject to the constant change in its countenance, which is variable over time and space. All human societies have actively marked the bodies of their members, indicating their surface, size, and proportions, almost as if they wanted to stamp their seal. Through cultural and symbolic forms, different societies and groups within them that have produced a reasonably autonomous subculture have molded the bodies of their members in a double movement of self-hetero identification (in subjective terms) and construction of reality through direct intervention in material culture (in this case represented by bodies) from an objective perspective (Secondulfo, 2008, p. 125). Initiation rites are often marked by the induction of changes that may also be physical (cuts, tattoos, excisions, etc.). Members of a particular body (that term again) dress in uniforms to level out individual physical differences; in the eighteenth century, for example, servants were obliged to wear a livery that identified the family that employed them. It was also normal for those working in certain

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professions to wear unique clothes, while the victims of discrimination and derision were forced to display specific colors (Jews, prostitutes). These dressed bodies indicated social, economic, and political affiliations that obscured the individual faces. This concealment was overturned at carnival time with the day-long pretense that the world and society’s rules had been reversed: Faces were covered with masks, and bodies were dressed in special clothes. As the subversion was ritualized, the constituted order became relegitimized as normal. With the waning of medieval and premodern society, fashion took on the social task of dressing bodies according to two seemingly contradictory lines, favoring processes of individualization and affiliation. Appearance can be changed by dressing like those to whom resemblance is desired. However, the development of unisex fashion over the last few decades has led to a rupture in the clothing sector. Unisex fashion sends out two key messages after centuries in which male and female apparel was designed to highlight sexual differences. It is now necessary to overcome sexual differences and, above all, to wear whatever makes you feel good, regardless of whether you are male or female. Nevertheless, the body is sexed at birth, and there has been a fixed percentage of male and female babies (105 of the former are born for every 100 of the latter) all over the world throughout history.4 This natural sexual diversity is so important that demographers use the masculinity index (males to females) to indicate social development. For instance, a significantly higher than expected number of male children aged between five and ten (or of male youngsters in general in a region or country) shows the practice of selective abortion (to the detriment of females) and/or female infanticide (Braglia & Nicolini, 2017, 2018). The masculinity index indicates human attempts to modify the sex ratio at birth. The body has become the subject of renewed attention due to the deep-rooted cultural and social changes associated primarily with processes of individualization and the spread of constructivist paradigms. However, it is no longer viewed as an element that encapsulates the natural human dimension—and as such needs to be controlled and stifled—but as an essential component of the self that needs to be worked on (Le Breton, 2003/2007). In Western culture, according to Taylor (2003/2005), the position assumed by body and sexuality in the social imaginary can partly be understood through reference to certain constructed oppositions: pars extensa-pars cogitans (D’Andrea, 2019), body-soul, body-work, body-identity (Viviani, 2017). Like all elements of the

4

The male–female ratio is known as the masculinity index: At birth, it is 105 males for 100 females in all societies with only minor variations. This index changes in different societies because of the country’s economic, social, and cultural conditions or depending on the age cohort in question. For example, there is a female majority in countries with a high migration outflow of young males; similarly, the importance of adult women increases in countries with a high rate of male mortality from alcoholism. However, in some countries (like Pakistan, India, and China), males significantly outnumber females even in the youngest age cohorts. This is a sign that sons have a substantial symbolic and economic value in these contexts, whereas daughters are suppressed at birth or not afforded the same level of care in infancy, subsequently dying more frequently than male babies in accidents or from illness.

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complex structure of our imaginary, humankind has created and given meaning to these oppositions. After being constructed at a theoretical level (as knowledge and ideology), the constituent elements brought life and meaning to the practices, thus making human action possible within a framework of shared knowledge. In the Catholic Christian tradition (prevalent until the late nineteenth century), the soul embodied the good side of humankind: the rational component, breathed into human beings by God and therefore seen as a divine particle. The flesh, the natural component, was a mortal receptacle of all human weaknesses. The mortal body thus stood in contrast to the immortal soul. The body was perceived as weak because it is dominated by passions and instincts, of which sexuality is the ultimate expression. Lust was classed as one of the seven deadly sins, chastity was seen as a path to sainthood, and, according to St Paul’s teaching, marriage was a necessary evil to keep sexual instincts under control. In the High Middle Ages, the path to sainthood was charted by the flagellants (Verdi, 2006). Sexuality outside marriage was a sin, especially if it was not aimed at procreation. Homosexuality in the Middle Ages, however, was in many respects tolerated since most men who committed the sin of sodomy generated (many) children with wives and mistresses. At the very least, homosexuality was an indicator of male sexual power. The same reasoning held true for lesbianism, which did not prevent women from generating children with their husbands. Love as an enduring attraction between a man and a woman, as a passion, and as an expression of early forms of individualism branded heretical by Zweig (1968/ 1984) was adulterous and did not always translate into sexual relations. Think, for example, of courtly love (in the fantasy world of knights and damsels) and the love of the dolce stil novo, the Italian literary movement in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries that, through poetic introspection, transcended carnal desire into that of divine love (Dante and Beatrice, Petrarch and Laura; Alighieri). When it led to a sexual relationship, it also led to death, such as the forbidden love of Tristan and Isolde (Zweig, 1968/1984). Erotic passion was harshly condemned, illustrated by the infamous story of Abelard and Heloise. Although the affair between Abelard and Heloise was consensual, it was outside the confines of marriage. Abelard was castrated for his sin of lust. The condemnation of all forms of sexuality (both heteroand homosexual) became more pronounced during the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation in tandem with the development of industrialization and the birth of modernity. Indeed, the only legitimate sexual practice was for procreation within marriage. Love was seen as an effect rather than a prerequisite of marriage; it blossomed through courtship and became a key factor for a successful union. Marriage was indissoluble, centered on fidelity, and strengthened by children’s birth. In this way, courtly love was replaced by romantic love. Just as passion—an uncontrollable attraction—was viewed as adulterous, all forms of birth control were condemned (above all, abortion and infanticide). Men and women were entrusted with primary responsibility for reproductive work to renew the population and workforce during major economic and urban expansion.

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The State exercised systematic and regular control on the bodies of men and women, while the Church influenced their consciences on matters of sexuality, reproduction, and conception. This ascendancy started to wane when the burgeoning of scientific medicine and psychology reclaimed sexuality as an essential and natural human component at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries. As a result, the sexed body became the fundamental basis of identity construction processes, forming the cultural and ideological premises for questioning the sexual model of heterogamy and monogamy. Although the body and sexuality are undoubtedly cultural constructs, they are complex and well-structured, taking their cue from the biological fact of male– female difference. Indeed, gendered names are chosen based on this self-evident natural distinction; sex is the first distinguishing characteristic noted in a newborn. This is the first act in the social construction of sexual difference with its many implications in social roles, developed skills, nurtured aptitudes, acquired expertise and knowledge, preferences, power, authority, and clothing. These qualities and/or limits are applied differently to males and females, who duly become men and women. When these differences were naturalized, social and cultural differentiation between men and women was considered innate and natural, even in societies in the fairly recent past. Because the differences could not be modified, they vindicated the socially constructed inequality and discrimination. Nature was thus invoked to justify a cultural order. This typically human mechanism (construct) does not alter the fact that babies are born male or female without any form of hierarchy between the sexes. The sexual hierarchy is nothing but an attempt to naturalize socially constructed differences, thereby reiterating their irremovable nature. The mechanism was enabled because the body is visibly sexed at birth, with nature seemingly embodying this culturally weighted difference. Our social imaginary thus encapsulated Aristotle’s claim that women are inferior because of their biological link with nature, making them unable to access knowledge, good, or virtue. This teaching was observed until the middle of the twentieth century.

Sexuality and Conception: The New Social Imaginary of Asexual Conception5 The feminist idea of difference and gender studies in general introduced elements of discontinuity and fracture into the social imaginary of sexual difference. Feminist thinking highlighted the central role played by male–female biological difference, which was interpreted as a distinctive existential feature of women and, for better or worse, conditioned lives throughout history. The notion of difference envisages

5 The adjective asexual indicates conception without male–female sexual intercourse; as the fusion of a female egg with male sperm, conception is always sexed.

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many ontological and ethical dualisms: nature versus culture; other-oriented versus self-oriented; ethics of care versus ethics of self-realization; passion versus interest; expressive rationality versus instrumental rationality; complying with nature versus controlling nature; and gift versus expropriation. Such dualism places women and men on opposing levels arranged in a hierarchy according to the historical dominance of male instrumental rationality. In the new imaginary taking shape, the revival of the myth of Antigone,6 who acts in accordance with divine laws (burying the dead) but against the laws of man, is a point of rupture between the archaic world dominated by the female principle and the historical world governed by the male principle. This has given rise to a new utopia with the construction of a society founded on the values of responsibility for others and care. The typically female ethics of care have become the archetype for building a new society where men and women look after nature and their neighbors. In this way, the (instrumental) rationality that leads humankind toward disaster and destruction plays a less prominent role. Gender studies researchers7 have followed two analytical paths. On the one hand, they have attempted to supplement male-dominated history by underlining female input in the development of human societies, a contribution previously hidden and omitted. On the other hand, they have set out to demonstrate that the apparent absence of women from history was no more than the result of the longstanding contempt and disparagement created and fuelled by the dominant mindset. In so doing, they have revealed the depth and persistence of the social construct of male–female difference. Nevertheless, the directly observable fact that babies are born male or female has never been questioned in the notion of difference or gender studies. These disciplines have highlighted maternity experience (having children: conception, nine months of pregnancy, childbirth, and childcare) as the distinctive feature of women’s life stories, even though it is a source of discrimination. Direct experience still demonstrates that there is no childbirth without a woman, no birth without pregnancy, and no conception without the fusion of female eggs with male sperm. Indeed, these aspects have become part of our social imaginary. However, concerning this evidence, varying action strategies have been adopted by feminists and some gender researchers. While feminism raises the political and cultural problem of acknowledging and highlighting sexual difference, militant female scholars in LGBTQ2

6

The revival of the myth of Antigone, championed by E. Fromm, has often been accused of ideology. In the debate about the power of women that started in the early twentieth century following the success of Bachofen’s work Mother Right, many questioned whether human society—particularly Mediterranean culture—had experimented with a phase dominated by maternal law before it was replaced by the spread of paternal law following the Indo-European invasions (Di Nicola, 2021). Many anthropological studies on the most important Neolithic and Paleolithic sites, notably those by Maria Gimbutas (1989/1990, 1997/2010, 1999/2020), do not highlight forms of matriarchy but populations with cultural systems characterized by female cults and divinities. 7 More than just a theory or set of theories, gender studies is a multi- and interdisciplinary perspective, which rereads history and interprets contemporary society by analyzing the historically created relations of power, authority, and affection between men and women

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movements broach the political issue of making sexual difference at birth irrelevant and no longer visible. Sex is neutralized to remove inequalities, destroy sexual stereotypes, and show the largely arbitrary nature of a social order based on monogamy, heterosexuality, and binary sexual identities. Although these are important struggles, they treat sexual differences at birth as a contingent datum. The risk is that the fight to acknowledge diversity in sexual preferences, proclivities, and behavior to counter all forms of marginalization and discrimination might be equated with the claim that the body—our natural component—can be manipulated in its entirety. The resistance offered by the body is well known to anyone who has gone through a sex change, which is a complex and onerous undertaking in psychological, social, legal, and financial terms. The cultural sense of the importance of diversity is lost along with the recognition of heterogeneity as a dynamic element for creating change and innovation in the name of a new utopia, a society in which we are not all similar, even in terms of difference, but identical as neutral bodies. The boundaries of this utopia are partially defined by the new techniques for medically assisted procreation (Di Nicola, 2021). Our social imaginary features new sex, sexuality, conception, and procreation elements. After the detachment of sexuality and procreation and the dissociation of sex and sexual identity, sex and conception are now being separated due to the spread of various forms of medically assisted procreation. Conception can now occur outside a woman’s body with the pregnancy carried by a surrogate. The female body is once again considered a mere container (whether for love or money), managed, manipulated, and controlled by external subjects (experts and doctors). At the same time, men have become dispensers of seminal fluid carefully collected (and purchased) by specialized clinics. In this way, conception becomes asexual as eggs and sperm combine without contact between male and female bodies (Di Nicola, 2021). A child is thus an individual right to which anyone is entitled regardless of their sex, age, or sexual orientation (Di Nicola, 2019). Babies are the product of a body on which technology has been working for decades: They are cared for and modified, and perfected with enhanced potential. This regular, systematic, and increasingly invasive work has led to a change in the representation of our human element (Bonifati & Longo, 2017; D’Andrea, 2017, 2019, 2020; Longo, 2012, 2017). The idea of the imperfect nature of human beings has been reinforced, with culture and technology compensating for defects by creating symbolic and material instruments to overcome bodily restrictions and limits. However, technology has developed so rapidly that it is no longer under control, and humankind has become its field of experimentation (Habermas, 2001/2016; Jonas, 1974/1991, 1985/1997). About the essence of human nature, it is no longer necessary to raise the issue because the human being has simply become obsolete, surpassed in terms of skills and performance by technological creations. Despite being the inventor of such creations, humankind is forced into self-transcendence, becoming an increasingly integral part of a new world—as it currently stands—in which there is no chance to compete or perhaps even to survive (Corvino & D’Andrea, 2018, p. 9).

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As asexual conception is achieved using techniques for manipulating human material without any physical contact between a woman and a man, the body has become useless and superfluous in its entirety. Indeed, all needed are eggs and sperm, which are often donated and/or sold in total anonymity. The process generates an embryo and then a fetus, which comes to life with a genetic, biological, social, and cultural heritage deemed irrelevant to its future path in life. The embryo created is now planned rather than generated, which renders the old expression “flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood” somewhat superfluous, along with all the material and natural elements of conception, pregnancy, and childbirth.

Conclusion: A World Without Humans? As Jonas maintains (1985/1997), there is nothing to stop us from wondering whether there is still meaning to human presence on earth; after all, the planet survived for millions of years without us. At present, however, we are producing increasingly advanced technologies to repair the damage of centuries of human action and plan for a better future, for humankind at least. The role of technology in this enhancement process is paramount. The development of biotechnology has enabled a form of manipulation that targets the human body (Jonas, 1985/1997). These new technologies can physically enter the body to make a specific diagnosis, rectify glitches, replace parts that have ceased to function, and combat genetic diseases (Longo, 2012). In addition, they can be employed for body perfection, enhancement, improvement, duplication, and modification, also in aesthetic terms. These techniques sometimes even promise eternity. As improbable as this may seem, it is already possible to generate a baby from biological material given by a now-deceased heterosexual couple using a surrogate mother to carry through the pregnancy. Biotechnology has evolved extremely rapidly and in a largely selfsustaining manner. If it became possible to create an artificial womb, biological pregnancies would no longer make sense with all the costs involved. Techniques and technologies must not be demonized as they are responsible for the survival of our species. Human development is intrinsically linked to the technologies conceived, planned, and created to dominate nature. There is currently a phase in which human beings themselves have become the object of technological manipulation. It is, therefore, necessary to enforce the principles of responsibility (Jonas, 1974/1991) and prudence (Jonas, 1985/1997) because new technologies do not always provide a clear distinction between the feasible and the impossible (a mere promise) or between the permissible and the unlawful, with shifting boundaries between the two extremes. These shifts become even more critical when the confines of life itself—birth and death—are influenced by biotechnology. Due to the complex interaction between body, conception, and sexuality, the new techniques for medically assisted procreation assume a highly significant role in

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redefining men and women’s relationship with the body, sexuality, and conception.8 Our social imaginary now entertains the possibility of asexual conception, albeit only at an ideological or theoretical level. This notion is growing stronger as time goes by—like all theories and ideologies—in tandem with the spread of asexual conception practices.9 There is now a common perception that the biological difference between men and women is ultimately irrelevant from a social perspective and individual identity construction processes. Initially little-used, these practices have spread to the point that they are normal. Denying the reality and poignancy of male-female sexual differences means negating or rejecting the natural component of our body. We think of ourselves as mentally autopoietic and omnipotent subjects with neutral bodies that can be manipulated in their entirety. Despite all our efforts and delusions of grandeur, we fail to realize that bodies develop, decay, and die and often react to our stimuli unexpectedly and negatively.

References Adams, D. (1995). The hitch hiker’s guide to the galaxy: A trilogy in five parts. Random House. Berger, P. L., & Luckmann, T. (1966/1969). The social constructions of reality (Trans.). Il Mulino (original work published 1966). Bonifati, N., & Longo, G. O. (2017). Homo immortalis: Una vita (quasi) infinita. Springer. Braglia, C., & Nicolini, L. (2017). Infanticide and sex ratio at birth in contemporary Italy. Collegium Antropologicum, 41(4), 1–9. Braglia, C., & Nicolini, L. (2018). Consideraciones sobre el índice de masculinitad al nascer en España. Antropo, 39, 25–33. Corvino, I., & D’Andrea, F. (2018). Riconoscersi. Cosa dicono le migrazioni delle comunità occidentali. Mediascapes Journal, 10, 16–31. Crespi, F. (2003). Manuale di sociologia della cultura. Laterza. Dawkins, R. (1976). The selfish gene. Oxford University Press. (tr.it.: Il gene egoista, Zanichelli, Bologna 1979).

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Sexual pleasure is still an insufficiently thematized element in the new social imaginary gradually taking shape. Condemned as a sin, it has only been socially and culturally acceptable for a few decades, clearly separating sexuality and reproduction. Although worthy of further discussion, the subject does not fall within the scope of this article. Nevertheless, it can be suggested that in a society characterized by increasing indifferentiation of the sexes (Di Nicola, 2021), sexual pleasure can be transformed into something more polymorphous and general, thereby losing its longstanding dominance. It is no longer an obsession for the religious and secular authorities, which have always branded it a disruptive factor in society. Similarly, it is no longer an individual relationship goal, often sought but often not achieved. 9 Self-fertilization kits can now be purchased online by women who want a child without sexual intercourse (either out of choice or necessity). As they do not cost so much, several attempts can be made without going through the often long and arduous procedure prescribed by clinics in the sector. As new opportunities are available, why not embrace them practically? Furthermore, market research institutes in medically assisted procreation have developed marketing techniques to make the options and choices available to clients even more extensive and varied.

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Taylor, C. (2003/2005). Gli immaginari sociali della modernità. Meltemi (original work published 2003). Teman, E. (2003). The medicalization of “nature” in the “artificial body”: Surrogate motherhood in Israel. Medical Anthropology Quarterly, 17(1), 78–98. Verdi, L. (2006). Corpo sano e corpo malato. Figure sociali e paradigmi dell’arte. Salute e società, V(2), 88–108. Viviani, D. (2017). It is not mine. Surrogacy: Between natural body and artificial body. Italian Sociological Review, 7(3), 369–382. https://doi.org/10.13136/isr.v7i3.196 Wilson, E. O. (1975/1979). Sociobiologia: la nuova sintesi (Trans.). Zanichelli (original work published 1975). Wilson, E. O. (1978/1980). Sulla natura umana (Trans.). Zanichelli (original work published 1978). Zweig, P. (1968/1984). L’eresia dell’amore del sé. Storia dell’individualismo sovversivo nella cultura occidentale (Trans.). Feltrinelli (original work published 1968).

Finding Family and Affective Resistance to the Social Order Massimo Del Forno

Abstract Why do nonbinary identities remain unintelligible in dominant society? Is family an interpretative criterion for understanding relatedness, or is it a construct that inevitably binds individuals to the trap of normativity? Inquiry into these questions requires us to disrupt the authority of the social order and the epistemologies of heteronormative institutions that deny LGBTQ2 and nonbinary people access to affective social institutions. The creation of families by nonbinary and transgender people challenges the notion that there is no space for affective construction of familial ties among nonheteronormative people in civil society. Institutions such as same-sex marriage and state-controlled domestic partnership construct bureaucratic and political–economic rationality for nonbinary and nonheteronormative people that inevitably deny their ability to access affective relations acknowledged within civil society. These restrictions are categories institutionalized through a genealogy of morals, which regulate how the family is accessed by all people but explicitly denies intelligibility for nonbinary forms of relatedness. Dismissing binary rationalistic categories of thought to understand carefocused families among LGBTQ2 and nonbinary people is the only way the social sciences will adequately and ethically conduct research among this population. Keywords Biopower · Scientism · Judith Butler · Michel Foucault · Two-Spirit

Introduction The ways nonbinary and queer people build their families continue to be largely unintelligible within models of hetero- and homonormativity. At the center of this disrecognition are intersecting ideas about gender, sexuality, and the emotional life of people. These issues, which articulate with scientific, pseudoscientific, and unscientific constructs, often accompany catastrophic prophecies and imaginative

M. Del Forno (*) Department of Political and Social Studies, University of Salerno, Fisciano, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_4

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anthropologies. In the public and political spheres, rigorous and extremist positions on gender continue to coexist with orientations toward sexually fluid and polymorphic identities, only to explode when the conflict fuels games of force and power for consent and political control. Traced back to the heteronormative order, the strategic opposition to LGBTQ2 and nonbinary families tends to present a distorted model of normality. Institutions become the prerogative of traditional families; the LGBTQ2 family exists outside the range of acceptable (and intelligible) forms of coupling and familial relations. In this paradigm, LGBTQ2 people and families can become targets of expressions of hatred in increasingly sophisticated and allusive forms that escape censorship. The boundary between normality and abnormality does not appear to be insurmountable, as long as we recognize ourselves in a liminal antistructure subject to the rules of the road, a no man’s land in which it is possible to enter and exit without being seen and recognized. This image, built on the border between them and us, does not speak to us of reality but of its binary construct and performative potential that rely on people’s willingness to believe (Sedgwick, 1990). It expresses a potential for symbolic violence that is all the more insidious because it is attenuated by the spectacularization of the struggle of good against evil and by the collective rituals that follow (Alexander, 2003; Butler, 2004). The heteronormative order is a binding and enabling structure; it constitutes the intelligibility grid through which some behaviors can be acceptable or not. It guarantees that those who behave in accordance with the dominant culture can enjoy all the opportunities available, have access to public life, and have the freedom to form a family. Alternatively, there are the others: LGBTQ2 people and families who do not meet conditions of domesticity. Only when LGBTQ2 and nonbinary people live anonymously can they enjoy the advantages that compliant behavior offers. Although today we talk about conquests in the rights of LGBTQ2 people, these positive norms could be just a screen hiding heteronormative cultural residues on sexuality, gender, and family. Ultimately, homosexuality, transsexuality, and intersex are noncompliant phenomena and therefore not suitable for developing parenting projects and dealing with the growth and care of children. Children, in particular, are the target of heteronormative policies. The formation and normalization of children affect their families’ production and consumption relations (Butler, 2004). Arguably, LGBTQ2 people in Western countries participate in political and economic life with a feeling at ease in the heteronormative order, which gives them good prospects for the future and good chances of success. Therefore, it would seem that the heteronormative order does not equally oppress people identified according to the triad of race, class, and gender. Instead, individuals embody cultural models and translate them into actionable schemes, becoming, thus, prisoners of their beliefs. However, people’s willingness to believe does not entirely determine the persistence of the heteronormative model to the habitus and ritual character of life in society. The urge toward polymorphous sexuality makes heterosexual subjectivity more fragile, vulnerable, and, in some cases, covertly and secretly queer. Faced with

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the weakness of these constructs, we continue to ask why the heteronomative postulate that is “ontologically uncertain” continues to persist in history as proof of its natural evidence and unassailability, thus shaping consciences and reflecting in an often-dramatic way on the intelligibility of LGBTQ2 families (Butler, 1997a, p. 4; Kitzinger & Wilkinson, 1994; Ward & Schneider, 2009). The production of meanings around LGBTQ2 families seems to emerge from the structure–agency nexus as a short circuit between knowledge and interests in the field. Despite the methodological validity of gender and queer studies and their dissemination in the popular, scientific, and academic fields, the same conditions continue to lead families, including LGBTQ2 families, to fall into the trap of heteronormativity. Given that practices precede theories, the deconstruction and denaturalization of the meaning of gender risks being overwhelmed by the interests in the field supported by the heteronormative order and its powerful objectivism. While more and more theories have reevaluated queerness, the political and economic conditions responsible for its devaluation have remained unchanged (Abbatecola & Stagi, 2015, p. IV). Considering the tremendous political investment of movements and intellectuals in favor of the rights of LGBTQ2 families, can another norm inscribed in the queer paradigm overturn the norm that binds sexuality to male/female? To answer this question, we will first define the theoretical scenario in which the debate occurs.

Heteronormative Order and Society Game Gender studies think a lot about body politics and their effects on the cognitive (intellection perception), conative (impulse to act on those perceptions), and emotional (the effect those perceptions have on an individual) spheres (Butler, 1990). The concept of compulsory heterosexuality expresses not only the criticality of a bodily essence defined in a heterosexual matrix reduced to the binary male–female canon but also the consistency of “a hegemonic discursive/epistemic model” that “is oppositionally defined through the compulsory practice of heterosexuality” (Rich, 2003, pp. 11–48). This model constitutes the criterion of intelligibility in which people’s imaginations are unconsciously reflected (Butler, 1990, p. 151). The heteronormativity reproduced in various spheres of life structures its meaning and polarity. At the agency level, the practical interest of the actors leads them to choose styles of behavior and suitable tools that give a shared meaning to their actions. The ritual matrix of daily life acts as a reinforcing element for heteronormalization. People use beliefs to build the roots of prejudice and gender discrimination against which anyone can be exposed as a woman, as a homosexual, as a parent, as a worker. Indeed, the intersectionality of these aspects has a multiplier effect on the potential of symbolic violence and social exclusion. Due to its invasive, pervasive, and persuasive character, the heteronormative order ends up seducing and colonizing even LGBTQ2 environments and families (Ward & Schneider, 2009; Wolkomir, 2009). Suppose we remove the ideological

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varnish that covers the rhetoric of the hetero–homo contrast. In that case, it is easy to find that the adaptation to the heteroparental model often begins right from the homogenitorial project, expressing itself in such typical forms as genomania and phenomania. In the practice of gestation for others, some LGBTQ2 families, instead of deconstructing the kinship, tend to normalize and naturalize their choice by opting for a biological solution. The same happens for the obsessive search for phenotypic characters that can simulate a continuity in a biological and anatomical sense with LGBTQ2 parents (Parisi, 2017; Pichardo, 2009; Stolcke, 2010). The parenting project for a child’s growth also replicates this attitude. Often same-parent families seek a context of care within their biological families or in compliant institutional structures. The school, the gymnasium, and the parish are fields of existence in which the heteronormative order exercises its dominion. We inevitably share their rules, stakes, and cultural goals when people participate in these contexts. There is a double naturalization effect due to the agency–structure nexus in which the heteronormative order is inscribed in things and bodies, constituting the habitus of people (Bourdieu, 1998, p. 190). The willingness to invest in gambling and its stakes produces and reproduces the social order; alternatively, field practice structures their habitus, which is rooted in the body in the form of “tastes and dislikes,” “likes and dislikes,” and “attractions and repulsions” (Bourdieu, 1998, p. 189). While the habitus incorporates a history of which the social actor loses track, the field of action is objectified in a heteronormative sense as “a construction that regularly conceals its genesis” (Butler, 1990, p. 140). Continuous reiteration inscribes the genre in the body and language as a performative and not expressive act (Glick, 2000, p. 32). Butler (1990) says: “Gender is the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being” (p. 33). In externalization, the genre becomes a style to be used as a tactical tool of a parlor game functional to the relations of force and power, detaching itself from the real experiences of people’s experiences and feelings. Gender constructs can become symbolic levers of specific interest groups that steer people toward certain goals instrumental to power and success. Gayle Rubin, in “Thinking Sex” (1984/1993), was the first to support the strength of “sexual normality” and its multiplicative effects in the processes of subjugation at a national and global level, transverse to the different forms of privilege and oppression (Abbatecola & Stagi, 2015, p. 3; Ward & Schneider, 2009, p. 433). In its wake, many feminist sociologists have challenged gender studies centered on an essentialist or constructionist perspective to shift research into domain analysis. The aim is to understand how regulatory power is exercised over people until subjectification occurs. However, note that the scientific objectives pursued by these studies concern the broader purpose of finding tools and strategies for the political struggle for the affirmation of LGBTQ2 rights. We will now try to briefly reconstruct the theoretical itinerary from Michel Foucault to Judith Butler.

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Subjectivity as an Instrument Effect According to Michel Foucault, the transition to a liberal security society responsible for modifying the tactical-discursive repertoires of governmental power over bodies using persuasive strategies that would be less violent and more permissive marks the contemporary era (Foucault, 2009). A security society justifies itself by the need for protection and control systems to preserve the population from the harmful consequences to which the subversion of an established order could lead. However, it would not be a question of the honest assessment of the danger to avert risks to humanity but of tactical-discursive procedures of a governmental power aimed at maintaining the status quo and protecting the interests in the field. The contemporary tendency to build apocalyptic scenarios around an almost always virtual and pretext enemy, as in the case of homogenitorial families, corresponds to this principle. Taking up the Deleuzian lesson, these categories of people represent threats to social order, private property, acquired status, health, well-being, and conservation of the species. However, these discourses are not a direct emanation of power. They are the modalities in which knowledge, power, and truth come together by acting in different domains for the production and control of conforming subjectivities. Biopower has two “governmental modus:” biopolitics and anatomopolitics (Bazzicalupo, 2015, p. 27). Science, religion, pedagogy, literature, cinema, theater, and even dance are the conditions of possibility that this biopower needs to exercise dominion and control over bodies in every area of public and private life. The different modalities have two fundamental aspects in common. First, their truths descend from morality in terms of good versus evil, licit versus illicit, and normal versus pathological. Second, the structure is a disciplinary and institutionalized form using resources and strategies to maintain order and control over bodies. In the first case, we are dealing with policies aimed at producing a species body. Security, defense from global risk, sexual behavior, prevention, family, children’s education, student training, and physical and mental health are some tacticaldiscursive repertoires offered as criteria of intelligibility for knowledge of the world and the self, experienced as a natural datum. These issues also constitute stakes of salvation, normalcy, and well-being that attract the interest and expectations of social actors. The municipality, school, hospital, gymnasium, beauty center, and parish actively discipline, allocate resources, and authoritatively produce and control the body-machine. In this way, they also perform subjectivity. Foucault attributes two meanings to the term subject: “subject to someone else by control and dependence, and tied to his own identity by a conscience or self-knowledge. Both meanings suggest a form of power which subjugates and makes subject to” (Foucault, 1982, p. 781). Because of its productive and alienating effects, the discursive epistemic structure of biopower lends itself to being an effective tool of political economy. The modern subject is at the center of a protean power that incites pleasure rather than repressing. The biopower strengthens and controls subjects rather than oppressing and limiting.

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It is ready to answer questions of meaning and propose offers that can attract all individuals. It elucidates paths that support individuals to start families, have children that grow up healthy and beautiful (male and female), send them to the best schools, and make them successful people. At the same time, however, the biopower must ensure that this sort of game of cat and mouse, a tactical winner of its productive function, does not subvert the order that governs the game itself. From birth, the individual faces a world that precedes him, triggering implicit questions. Who am I? Who are the others? Only after having satisfied this desire for knowledge can life take on the character of a project. To be recognized by others, this state of indeterminacy, void of identity and knowledge, must be filled. Life projects (such as looking for a job, starting a family, having children) need to find objective references, in reality, leading individuals to enter into a relationship with the cultural meanings and rules that determine the social order. In the routine of daily life, the will to know is not given by the search for truth in the abstract but by the need to extort from the world the order that allows individuals a life worth living. In doing so, individuals constitute themselves as subjects by sculpting the characteristics of their own culture on themselves (Foucault, 1988). Judith Butler takes this intuition of Foucault to criticize the conception of the subject understood in an essentialist key. The subject “ought to be designated as a linguistic category, a placeholder, a structure in formation,” a performance that discursively emerges from the structure–agency nexus (Butler, 1997a, p. 10), thus determining “the paradoxa of subjection [that] implies a paradox of referentiality” (Butler, 1997a, p. 4). The subject enters a role-playing game, except those disciplinary skills and legal capacity given the rules of the relationship have the task of resolving the mechanisms of imposition–opposition in favor of the norm. The dynamics of the game force those who respond to the norm to make a “reflexive turn” to the male–female categories on which the heteronormative order is based (Butler, 1997a, pp. 96–98; Mastroroberti, 2016, p. 52). Described in the tropological register as folding, the subject’s narrative risks bringing to the surface a “tragedy without ties,” deprived of its fundamental causes and memory and experienced by each in the form of negation and foreclosure. According to Butler (1997a), the drama due to self-annihilation has not been deepened enough by Michael Foucault, who would not have investigated the “concrete mechanisms” that determine the creation of the subject (pp. 7, 31). In the end, by theorizing the gentle submission of the subject to institutions, Foucault establishes that legal systems regulate political life in purely negative terms without worrying too much about the actual repressive implications of particular categories of people. The limitation, the prohibition, the control, even if balanced by effective compensation mechanisms aimed at replacing the real needs of the people, make it impossible to circumvent the imposition–opposition mechanisms that operate in the field as a matrix of a surface game that is constitutive of the modern subjectivity (Butler, 1997a, p. 100). The power entrusted to Foucauldian devices becomes an instrumental good or a bargaining chip at the exclusive service of political economy (Mastroroberti, 2016, p. 100). If there are no political spaces for redemption in the field, the will of the subjects is canceled, and the possibilities for the agency to make

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LGBTQ2 families intelligible, whose survival—or rather resistance—would be possible only through subjugation or escape from the system (Butler, 1990, p. 2). Foucault has the merit of placing the production and control of the subjectivity of a scientist, capitalist, and colonialist society on a heteronormative foundation. However, he tends to conceal the instrumental effect of fear as a tactical principle that economic imperialism has exercised through science and knowledge. By emphasizing the structural perspective, he does not take emotions into account. Feelings and passions cannot be reduced to the effervescence of the ritual, as they represent an element of mediation both for the acceptance of the rule and for controlling its opposition. Biopower is not as persuasive as Foucault would have us believe, but it leverages the experience of personal experiences.

The Form Power Takes If the subject manifests an intrinsic weakness toward the system in which it is experienced, then the heteronormative order cannot afford the luxury of losing a battle, fearing the pain of its overthrow. The norm must be persuasive to carry out a normalization strategy; otherwise, people must be forced to comply through blackmail. It is enough to fill the void of meaning with a metaphorical language, alluding to scenarios of persecution and death that evoke the physical and symbolic violence exerted by judicial systems, revolutions, and diseases (Abbatecola & Stagi, 2015, p. 12; Butler, 1997a, p. 178). The emphasis on some issues discourages any reaction and forces the subject to practice renunciation. “What would masculinity” be “without this aggressive circuit of renunciation from which it is wrought?” (Butler, 1997a, p. 143). The heteronormative incorporation of gender is not a painless operation without costs and psychological consequences for the individual. The renunciation of desire, the fear of the loss of its object, and the void of identity and recognition bring no fewer devastating consequences than an explicitly aggressive form of repression. The violence suffered can backfire on oneself and others. The removal of desire involves a loss of the language and words that give meaning to reflect on that loss. However, the materiality of the sign transforms into a bodily symptom—something that cannot always be grasped as the text of a discomfort (Habermas, 1965/1983, p. 234; Lacan et al., 2020). Heteronormative performance can be considered a compensatory ritual for the loss of the loved object since it offers a scenario in which people can find redemption in symbolic or physical forms that are offensive to families and LGBTQ2 people (Butler, 1997b; Virgili, 2015). For Judith Butler (1997a), melancholia represents the expression of mourning for loss, in which love can turn into fear of losing the object or into violent anger toward the lost object. Melancholia also appears in societies with refined power. Such renunciations cannot be compensated for by the marginal substitution of her “miserable surrogate,” as Foucault and Freud would seem to argue in their respective contexts (Butler, 1997a, p. 169). There is a discrepancy between governmental

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power connected to the heteronormative order theorized by Foucault and the social reality in the concreteness of experience. Heteronormative institutions cannot govern the security of vulnerable people nor stop the hatred unleashed toward them in often peripheral areas of life, where individual or groups behavior challenges the rules of coexistence and respect for minorities. There is, however, another aspect that does not convince Butler: The structuralist vision of power and personality, alienating the conscience of individuals, does not give enough space to the role of agency. The subject is not only acted upon by the rules but can, if he wishes, oppose that power which attempts to constitute his identity as her. Fear must be reversed in favor of LGBTQ2 policies to overcome the regime of dependence on the heteronormative order. Even if it has a decisive effect on the relations of force and power, fear cannot prevent the agency from restoring a balance in relations between people and transforming itself into a struggle for redemption by introducing new contents into the circuit of power that overturns the structure of the heteronormative order. Ultimately, the norm remains the condition of possibility for the agency, through which a norm itself can be revised, transformed, rejected, or subverted (Butler, 1997a, p. 115). Gender identities can be undone and redone (Butler, 2004); thus, opening the possibility for multiple, heterogeneous identities rethought in a male–female continuum (in a fluidity that includes transsexual, intersex, transvestite, genderqueer, genderfluid, agender), the subjectivity of which is too often relegated to the margins in public, political, and social narratives. Butler’s challenge is not directed only externally, against the performative style of heteronormative governance, but also internally, especially toward those gender studies that tend to reason about discrimination based on race, class, and gender without reflecting on the dynamics of identity construction and the possibility of change. The victimization of socially disadvantaged and vulnerable populations due to their sexual orientation legitimizes the idea that the intelligibility of LGBTQ2 people must pass through the reference to biological sex, bringing gender trouble back to the paradigm of kinship and its natural character. The condition of victims must be traced back to the speeches and mechanisms of their affirmation since what we become does not correspond to who we are. If the individual’s destiny would be to fold back to governmental power and its reality principle, why do it precisely in the face of compulsory heterosexuality? Why should the heteronormative order dictate the conditions of intelligibility of entire categories of people, condemning the others to misunderstand or renunciation? “That the tactic can operate in feminist and antifeminist contexts alike suggests that the colonizing gesture is not primarily or irreducibly masculinist” (Butler, 1990, p. 19).

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The Scientist Trap Butler seems to be correct. The manipulation of knowledge is not an irreversible process. As Alexander (2003) argues, “evil is epistemological, not ontological” (p. 31). In discursive practices, evil is expropriated from the body and rebuilt in morality—as a struggle between good and evil, legality versus illegality, normality versus perversion. Morality becomes a fight against the enemy, which can be the gay, the immigrant, the poor, the HIV-positive. A new epistemic-discursive model in the institutional circuit that denaturalizes and denormalizes heteronormative models of gender intelligibility can reverse imaginative constructions of evil. Many postcolonial studies challenge the empirical evidence regarding the essentiality of sex and gender and their natural character and often indicate in the Western colonizer the cause of the eradication of inclusive Native traditions toward the LGBTQ2 condition. In his 2017 essay, Brian Gilley documented that the Native American Indian culture has an evolved and complex conception in the conception of the genre. Two-Spirit is the term used by LGBTQ2 historians and Native Americans to indicate the different sexual and gender variants due to the mixture of male and female traits present in the sensibilities of Native traditions. Two-Spirit people enjoyed a respectable status in their communities because having multiple genders was considered an expression of a spiritual talent. They performed special tasks and held high-ranking roles. As stable and harmonious as these civil traditions were, Christian missionaries and American colonization wiped them out. The puritanical and rationalistic drift exported from Europe and America imposed itself in these cultures through analytical categories used by modern science wholly detached from the authentic life, feelings, and will of the Natives (Gilley, 2017, p. 79). There is an expression in the Lakota language that roots the Two-Spirits to the Native philosophical culture, mitakuye oyasin, which means we are all in relationship or for all my relationships. It describes the sense of belonging to a community in which everyone is related. This paradigm—extended from the daily life of Native populations to the object of this discussion—could help us get out of another trap: scientism, from which the second nature of the heteronormative order seems to originate. We are all related could also be interpreted another way. All identities make sense, even if we fail to explain and theorize them rationally. They make sense simply because they exist. Moreover, because they exist, they are related to everyone. These mentalities do not perceive diversity as an anomaly but one of the infinite possibilities in which nature can present itself to us. This concept contrasts with modern Western science, according to which everything that cannot be explained makes no sense, is an error, or is an anomaly. The mitakuye oyasin is not only a mystical expression but an instrument of political action chosen by the “Two-Spirit societies,” associations which, through a series of cultural and thematic initiatives, mobilize themselves to encourage encounters between LGBTQ2 people, their families, and their communities (Gilley,

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2017, pp. 80–81). This method can take us a step further in understanding LGBTQ2 families. Postcolonial studies support the objectivist perspective of Foucault’s structuralist hermeneutics, later amended by Butler, highlighting some limitations. The idea of promoting political action through the renewal of discursive repertoires without engaging in building a larger community from below can prove to be unsuccessful. The structure of law cannot resolve gender conflicts once and for all. Cultures manage to coexist peacefully in the presence of evident contradictions if these are not fertile, that is, if they do not lead to a real awareness of gender and the change of personal experiences. Even in the face of rules favorable to equal opportunities, marriage, and homogenitorial families, struggles can disperse in a thousand streams. Contradictions can be resolved in idiosyncrasies, in microconflicts, with results that are often no less violent from a physical and symbolic point of view for LGBTQ2 people. The normative solution built ad hoc on the rights of LGBTQ2 people and families could thus be resolved to the benefit of particular categories of people with high status, level of education, and relational capital. Legal interventions do not seem to have eradicated the stigma toward LGBTQ2 families, which remains latent in the form of murmuring, omissions, misinformation, complacency, and denial. The heteronormative order continues to represent the frame of reference in the conceptions of the family. It prevails at the level of ideas, methods, and practices with the formation of social constructs on sex, gender, and families, tracing the boundaries of their intelligibility. Thinking that the norm can hydraulically determine people’s behaviors appears unrealistic; its causal power is limited if people’s conscience actions do not exemplify it. More sophisticated performative practices (speeches and language, public and private rituals, and common-sense reasoning) reiterate homophobic behaviors, even if moved more to the peripheries. A norm can undoubtedly modify the social structure, but this does not mean we can speak of cultural change in relation to LGBTQ2 families.

Understanding LGBTQ2 Families Given its complex construction, one gets the impression that the normative performance that Judith Butler intends to develop must inevitably rely on intellectuals’ support without taking into account the resistances found in common sense. The discursive repertoires built ad hoc around the doctrine of fluid identities do nothing but dissect the ontology of sexual life and gender into discrete units. Paradoxically, the strength of the Butlerian theory is transformed into an element of weakness since it could only serve to guarantee a name and a political space for an oppressed population, or at the most to add a character to the acronym LGBTQ2, without developing a network of solidarity that includes all the people with whom one is in a relationship. It is not sure that the reification of the differences between homosexual and heterosexual families can make intelligible the different configurations of the intimate relationships of LGBTQ2 families (Bertone, 2015, p. 39).

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By doing this, the Butlerian construct falls into the trap of scientism. There is no way to decide on gender issues based solely on the language of the variables and the political weight they could have in speeches. Using such rational categories as sex and gender has served to bring order to chaos but has failed to reveal the mystery of life regarding sexuality. The selection of discrete, partial, and limited elements has complicated rather than solved the problem of the intelligibility of LGBTQ2 families. In this situation, progress is not possible. We must focus our attention on personal experiences to integrate life and thought. Sexual orientation can be understood from motives and intentions, values, and interests that arise from emotional life in terms of feelings, will, and desire, conceived in their preconceptual and antepredicamental nature. We are not reason, sentiment, culture, or social order—as if these were different aspects in our psyche and then made the subject of scientific disciplines like biology, anatomy, neurophysiology, psychology, anthropology, sociology, pedagogy, and law. To understand sexuality, one must decentralize oneself from the images and representations of the body that have been generated by scientific consciousness and move to the border between science and mystery. Germans have two words to describe the body: korper, which is the body of biology, anatomy, neurophysiology, pedagogy, and law; and leib, which concerns the experience of having a body, a body that loves, a body that ardently craves, and a body that identifies its object by planning an encounter with it, perhaps wishing to have a family and children. It is an intentional body, which orientates itself based on feeling and wanting and not on the genitals, which only afterward encounters on the street the cultural systems and norms that can facilitate or make her life unlivable (as Butler argues). In relationship with others and things, anyone can experience the contrast between the mystery of life and the rational determinations of thought; between the pleasure, joy, and excitement one feels in front of this world; and the pain of renunciation when our feelings are experienced in cultural systems and institutions. Feeling pleasure where others see evil is a typical condition of our time, which can find poetic (and prophetic) expression in Pierpaolo Pasolini’s scream. This understanding seems to be independent of a norm based rationally on essential cultural characteristics of gender or sexual difference. This understanding focuses on the entire family project and is people-centered, taking into account their autonomy and responsibility, ability to be in solidarity, and ability to take care of children. People find it easier to understand others through the categories of life. By looking at feelings and will, everyone can understand what it means to love, be attracted to someone, yearn for a good job, build a family, and have children. Many other prejudices, such as racism, classism, and ethnocentrism, could be interpreted with these categories of life. Some people spring to their adversarial feet when they hear about homosexual families, claiming the sacrosanct rights of children. People erect barricades when the defense of children is instrumental in the battle against homosexuals and yet turn away from children who unjustly suffer from continuous famines, diseases, and guerrillas. They turn away even from children dying in the Mediterranean while embracing their mothers in search of the best living conditions—situations usually

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connected to the economic interests of Westerners. One cannot form an awareness of diversity without creating the conditions of possibility for participation, that is, without restoring a horizontality between people, without testing those mechanisms of reciprocity that only feeling part of the same community can reactivate. Harmoniously declining life and thought could be a way to saturate identities and describe belonging as something that develops from the fullness of life. The concept of humanity and its implications on sexuality cannot circulate in the discourses regulated by a governmental power regardless of its ordering matrix; it must be continuously experimented upon within the good practices of participatory democracy. This experimentation could be good for LGBTQ2 movements. The battle for the rights of LGBTQ2 families is not isolated from other human rights battles. Successful experiences, such as Two-Spirit societies and recent experiences in Argentina (Parisi, 2017), seem to have gone in this direction.

References Abbatecola, E., & Stagi, L. (2015). The heteronormativity between construction and reproduction. AG About Gender, 4(7), 3, 12, IV. Alexander, J. (2003). The meanings of social life: A cultural sociology. Oxford University Press. Bazzicalupo, L. (2015). Biopolitics as governmentality: The neoliberal capture of life. La Deleuziana, 1. http://www.ladeleuziana.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Bazzicalupo.pdf Bertone, L. (2015). The discreet charm of same-parent families. Dilemmas and responsibilities of research, 9. Bourdieu, P. (1998). Masculine domination. Standford University Press. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. Routledge. Butler, J. (1997a). The psychic life of power: Theories in subjection. Stanford University Press. Butler, J. (1997b). Excitable speech: A politics of the performative. Routledge. Butler, J. (2004). Undoing gender. Routledge. Foucault, M. (1982). The subject and power. Critical Inquiry, 8(4), 777–795. Foucault, M. (1988). Technologies of the self. The University of Massachusetts Press. Foucault, M. (2009). Security, territory, population: Lectures at the College De France, 1977-78. Palgrave MacMillan. Gilley, B. J. (2017). For all my relationships. In R. Parisi (Ed.), Family choreography between homosexuality and parenthood: Practices and narratives of the new forms of living together (pp. 77–92). Aracne Editrice. Glick, E. (2000). Sex positive: Feminism, queer theory, and the politics of transgression. Feminist Review, 64(1), 19–45. Habermas, J. (1965/1983). Knowledge and interest. Suhrkamp. Kitzinger, C., & Wilkinson, S. (1994). Virgins and queers: Rehabilitating heterosexuality? Gender & Society, 8(3), 444–462. Lacan, J., Sheridan, A., & Bowie, M. (2020). The function and field of speech and language in psychoanalysis. In Écrits (pp. 33–125). Routledge. Mastroroberti, C. (2016). Assoggettamento e passioni nel pensiero politico di Judith Butler. Firenze University Press. Parisi, R. (2017). Family choreography between homosexuality and parenthood: Practices and narratives of the new forms of living together. Aracne Editrice. Pichardo, G. J. (2009). Entender la diversidad familiar: Relaciones homosexuales y nuevos modelos de familia. Bellaterra.

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Rich, A. C. (2003). Compulsory heterosexuality and lesbian existence (1980). Journal of Women’s History, 15(3), 11–48. Rubin, G. S. (1984/1993). Thinking sex: Notes for a radical theory of the politics of sexuality. In H. Abelove (Ed.), The lesbian and gay studies reader. Routledge. Sedgwick, E. K. (1990). Epistemology of the closet. University of California Press. Stolcke, V. (2010). Homo clonicus: ¿Entre la naturaleza y la cultura? Campos, 11(2), 9–34. Virgili, E. (2015). Slut! la costruzione dell’eteronormatività attraverso l’insulto. E una possibile risposta. A G AboutGender: International Journal of Gender Studies, 4(7), 81–89. Ward, J., & Schneider, B. (2009). The reaches of heteronormativity: An introduction. Gender & Society, 23(4), 433–439. Wolkomir, M. (2009). Making heteronormative reconciliations: The story of romantic love, sexuality, and gender in mixed-orientation marriages. Gender & Society, 23(4), 494–519.

Part II

Expanding the Notion of LGBTQ2 Family

Citizens of an Unqueered Nation: Tradition and the Same-Sex Marriage Debate in Indian Country Brian Joseph Gilley

Abstract Liberal social activists, Indian and non, have to their best efforts couched the same-sex marriage opposition in Indian Country as an extension of generalized homophobia in the USA and a form of assimilated consciousness among Native peoples. However, in order to better understand the stakes for all sides of the debate, we must first understand that citizenship is explicitly tied to sovereignty, which is explicitly tied to Native tribal nationalisms, which is then derivative of governmentto-government relations with the US Federal legal and legislative system. Second, we must understand, and this is the focus of this paper, that citizenship as conceived of on a national level lies in contrast to the ways in which many highly local communities view group membership and the rights and responsibilities of group membership. The anti-same-sex marriage camp, liberal social activists, and the people “who just don’t care” all cite tradition as the determining factor for the legitimacy of all sides for and against same-sex marriage sanctioned by Native nation-states. Tradition - as sets of highly contested discourses, as sets of historically founded social practices, and as epistemological understandings of cultural knowledge - provides an insight into the ways in which community-sanctioned partnering and state-sanctioned marriage diverge. This divergence hinges on the ways in which national sovereignty agendas slowly “unqueered” Native nations and embedded social policies in the logic of heteropatriarchy. Keywords Two-Spirit · Gender Fluid · Third gender · Gender differece In the spring of 2006, I was contacted by Lena Ayoub, an attorney for the National Center for Lesbian Rights (NCLR), concerning a same-sex marriage case before the Supreme Court of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma. Two years prior, Kathy Reynolds and Dawn McKinley had filed for and were issued a marriage certificate by the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. In certain company in Oklahoma, one only has to say “Kathy” and “Dawn” together, and everyone B. J. Gilley (*) Department of Anthropology, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_5

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knows to whom and what you are referring. Kathy and Dawn were taking advantage of a loophole in Cherokee Nation law that defined marriage as between two citizens of the Cherokee Nation and did not delineate gender or bodily sex. However, a month after news of the marriage was picked up by the press, Cherokee attorney Brad Hembree filed a Petition for Declaratory Judgment with the Cherokee District Court to revoke the marriage license. The court upheld Hembree’s request and nullified the marriage. Dawn and Kathy filed a Motion to Quash and began an appeals process with the pro bono assistance of the NCLR that would last until late 2006 when the Cherokee Supreme Court upheld the issuance of a marriage certificate. However, the certificate was never filed with the court clerk. Liberal social activists, Indian and non-Indian, have given their best efforts to couch the same-sex marriage opposition in Indian Country as an extension of generalized homophobia in the United States (US) and as a form of assimilated consciousness among Native peoples. To better understand the stakes for all sides of the debate, we must first understand that citizenship is explicitly tied to sovereignty, which is explicitly tied to Native tribal nationalism, which is then derivative of government-to-government relations with the US federal, legal, and legislative system. Second, we must understand, and this is the focus of this chapter, that citizenship, as conceived on a national level, lies in contrast to how many highly local communities view group membership and its rights and responsibilities. The antisame-sex marriage camp, liberal social activists, and the people “who just don’t care” all cite tradition as the determining factor for the legitimacy of all sides for and against same-sex marriage sanctioned by Native nation-states. Tradition—as sets of highly contested discourses, as sets of historically founded social practices, and as epistemological understandings of cultural knowledge—provides an insight into how community-sanctioned partnering and state-sanctioned marriage diverge. This divergence hinges on how national sovereignty agendas slowly unqueered Native nations and embedded social policies in the logic of heteropatriarchy.

Gender Diversity and the Cultural Crossfire Two-Spirit people are well aware that, at one time in the history of Native America (mainly before European contact), sexual and gender diversity was an everyday aspect of life among most indigenous peoples. They are also aware that historically they enjoyed the same rights and privileges as other tribal members. Two-Spirit, a term adopted by contemporary lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) American Indians, means “of two spirits.” This concept draws on the tradition among most North American Indians of recognizing gender differences and multiple sexualities. That is, a tradition that recognized that individuals could have a gender and sexuality that incorporated aspects of both male and female characteristics. This distinction is separate from the existing terms in the LGBTQ acronym; thus, this chapter (and book) includes Two-Spirit in the acronym—LGBTQ2—to emphasize the importance.

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The following historical overview of Native American gender diversity is intended to help frame the ways contemporary Two-Spirit people are caught in the cultural crossfire between current constructions of Native identity and historical knowledge. As I have seen throughout my research, the history of acceptance of sexuality and gender diversity within Native communities places the desires of Two-Spirit people at odds with contemporary community expectations. What scholars generically refer to as Native American gender diversity was a fundamental institution among most tribal peoples. The fact that there were men among North America’s tribal peoples who preferred to do women’s work, dressed in a mixture of female and male clothing, and had sexual and domestic relationships with men is extensively documented in the academic and colonial-era literature. There is also documentary evidence showing a comparable institution for third gender women, who took on male social roles; women as warriors, chiefs, and hunters. However, among Native societies, these male- or female-bodied, genderdifferent people, referred to as berdaches in the academic and colonial literature, were in fact not considered men or women; rather, they were a separate or third gender (Roscoe, 1993, pp. 336–349). This third gender often embodied a mixture of the social, ceremonial, and economic roles of men and women, not to be confused with transvestitism. For example, among the Zuni there were men, women, and lhamana. Lhamana was the third gender occupied by a male-bodied person. The lhamana dressed as women and performed women’s crafts (such as weaving and potting) but also had the physical strength to fulfill certain male-oriented pursuits, such as hunting bigger game and cutting firewood (Roscoe, 1991, pp. 22–28). Roscoe (1991) describes the Zuni lhamana We’wha, who lived until 1896: We’wha could not undergo the rites of passage specific to women because those depended on biological functions he did not possess. Even so, it is likely that he learned a certain amount of women’s lore and ritual and joined female members of his household when they observed domestic rites. And since he did not give birth he was not subject to the taboos that required the periodic separation of the women from men. Thus, he could move freely in both male and female social worlds. The lhamana was, in functional terms, a nonwarrior or nonaggressive male, a crafts specialist rather than a primary producer, an individual who combined elements of male and female social, economic and religious roles. (p. 145)

Accordingly, historical Native ideas about gender did not employ the gender binary (bodily sex equals gender) commonly found in European society. Rather, male- and female-bodied persons had a myriad of gender roles that they fulfilled within the society. Genders as social categories of persons were a malleable part of an individual’s identity and alterable throughout a person’s lifetime (Lang, 1998, pp. 59–66; Roscoe, 1991, pp. 147–168, 195–198; 1998, pp. 6–16; 1993, pp. 338–341; Williams, 1986, pp. 65–86). As a separate category of persons, the gender different went through a socialization process distinct to their gender role. In general, families and community members observed children and noted their behavior before guiding them toward a particular form of gendered socialization. For example, if a young boy showed a tendency to “play war,” his relatives would take notice and guide his education and social and ritual incorporation in the direction of being a warrior. Young boys who

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showed a proclivity toward women’s work and same-sex desires were socialized into the social role of the third gender. The gender different had specific rites of passage through which they passed before becoming a full member of their community. For example, Williams has noted that every child suspected to be a winkte, the Lakota male-bodied third gender, were taken to a ceremony to communicate with winkte ancestors to be reassured whether the child was going through “a phase” or if their behavior was a “permanent” state of being (1986, p. 54). If winkte status was confirmed during the ritual, then a child’s path to becoming an adult, such as being taught to cook and sew, was determined. Another form of test, was to give a child a choice between implements of work, such as a basket versus a bow (Whitehead, 1993, pp. 504–5). Among the Northern Paiute, for example, if the male child suspected of being a tüvasa chose the bow, then it was assumed that they were making a choice about their future gender socialization as a man; if they took the female implements, they would be socialized as the third gender (Lang, 1998, p. 236). Being confirmed as a person who should be socialized as a third gender determined subsequent rites of passage and an individual’s eventual status as an adult. Because third gender people were not men or women, but their own gender, they were not bound by the same expectations and responsibilities. In most societies, third gender men did not participate in the prestige system of hunting and war honors required of men. They did not have to earn the respect of their people through acts of bravery because they gained their prestige through the obligation to the people built into their role. Just as men were expected to hunt and go to war, the third gender person was expected to help their extended families with domestic and ritual tasks and care for children. In addition, the role of the third gender person was to make their specific talents available for the betterment of their society. Third gender people were specialists whose work included taking on special roles in community rituals and producing specialized crafts (Lang, 1998, p. 151). For example, their gender neutral status allowed them to cook ceremonial meals among peoples with menstrual taboos surrounding food preparation, such as the Navajo. Hastiin Klah, the well-known Navajo nadleeh, was recognized as a talented weaver of Navajo-style rugs. Klah learned weaving from his mother and sister and by his 20s, was an esteemed weaver among collectors of Native arts and crafts. During the increased influx of manufactured blankets and goods into Native society in the late 1800s, Klah single-handedly saved the art of Navajo weaving. Eventually, Klah and his weavings traveled to the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago in the late 1800s (Roscoe, 1998, pp. 47–48). Klah was unique in his public persona, and the acceptance traders and collectors gave him, undoubtedly because he chose to dress as a man instead of in mixed gendered clothing. More importantly, Klah stands as an essential example of the significance of the role of third gender men in the maintenance of local culture. Third gender people’s willingness to make sacrifices for the good of society earned them a considerable amount of prestige and veneration. Third gender difference was also seen as the design of the Creator (God), and, therefore, they were to be approached with reverence. Williams (1986) notes:

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In a religion like the Lakota’s, “berdaches” [winkte] are magical holders of unique ritual instructions. Since a spirit guides them, they are not bound by normal rules of conduct. This unusualness is an indication of their sacredness. (p. 32)

The gender different were to have possessed a special relationship with the Creator because they were seen as being able to bridge the personal and spiritual gap between men and women. In this way, they were to have come to the Creator with a neutral heart. The neutrality of Cheyenne hemaneh made them sought out “go betweens,” providing services in courtship and marriage, such as bringing gifts from a suitor’s family to that of the bride (Schaeffer, 1965, p. 224; Hoebel, 1960, p. 77). Among the Lakota, the naming of children to ensure they would grow up “without sickness” was a common role of the winkte (Hassrick, 1964, pp. 122–3). Communities called upon the gender different to direct or take part in particular ceremonies, because their gender ambivalence lacked the potentially dangerous extremes of men’s virulence and women’s reproductive capacity. Bowers (1965) notes the following about the gender different among the Hidatsa: Since the “berdaches” were viewed as mystic possessors of unique ritual instructions secured directly from the mysterious Holy Woman, they were treated as a special class of religious leaders. When the Sun Dance ceremonies were to be performed, it was the “berdaches” duty to locate the log for the central post . . . The “berdaches” comprised the most active ceremonial class in the village. Their roles in ceremonies were many and exceeded those of the most distinguished tribal ceremonial leaders. Not being bound as firmly by traditional teachings coming down from the older generations through the ceremonies, but more as a result of their individual and unique experiences with the supernatural. . . (pp. 106–7)

Accordingly, the institution of the third gender was less about an individual’s sexuality, but more about the ways their special qualities were incorporated into the social and religious life of their community. Evidence of important social roles has done little to quiet the controversy and speculation over the sexuality of third gender people. It is well documented that third gender people had sexual relations and domestic partnerships with other same bodied persons designated by society as men or women. Were women–men then homosexual? If we go by Western definitions of sexuality and bodily sex, we could say yes, most were. There is evidence that the alternatively gendered also had sexual relations with men and women, thereby being bisexual by contemporary Western definitions. However, we wish to classify their sexuality and sexual behavior. The historical record supports, with little detail, that third gender people had sexual relations with other same-sex bodied persons. It is misleading to examine a third gender person’s sexuality outside of tribal cultural context because third gender people were sexually active within many social institutions. Furthermore, the scant information on exactly how women–men’s sexuality was incorporated into tribal people’s cultural ideology has led to significant speculation on the part of scholars. However, it is apparent that Native societies had an incredibly sophisticated way of viewing sexuality and how it fit into an individual’s social identity. The gender different had a variety of sexual and partner relationships in the forms of marriages as well as short trysts. Among the Mojave, the alyha were courted by men and were considered wives upon marriage, having

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the same duties, responsibilities, and household membership as female-bodied wives. Devereaux (1937) interviewed one local Mojave leader who had multiple alyha wives, and gave vivid descriptions of the ways they “imitated menstruation” and pregnancy, noting that they were more difficult to divorce because “they are so strong they might beat you up” (pp. 511–14). Gender different people also had occasional sexual encounters with married men or women who were following sex avoidance taboos. Winktes were to have “taken visits” from young men who did not have socially acceptable outlets for sex, presumably because they lacked wealth or rank to be married, and on occasion taken women as marriage and sexual partners (Lang, 1998, pp. 206–7, 186–98; Williams, 1986, pp. 100–1). Regardless of actual sex acts, what remains important to contemporary Two-Spirit men is that third gender people’s sexuality and gender difference were fully incorporated into tribal cultural ideologies. Gender diversity, as with other Native cultural practices, had difficulty surviving amid the onslaught of Euro-American aggression. From the first contact with Europeans, gender diversity and same-sex relations were repressed by religious condemnation and violence. The Spanish were the most appalled by the acceptance of same-sex relations among the Native peoples they encountered. Indeed, sodomy and transvestitism among indigenous populations became a central reason to justify the conquest of North America. By displacing Native licentiousness against their own virtuous Catholicism, the Spanish convinced themselves of the divine nature of their violence against Native peoples and the gender different. To the Spanish cultural sensibilities, Indian susceptibility to European diseases was the rout of God against sodomites rather than a lack of immunity. In an often-quoted passage, Balboa “saw men dressed like women; [he] learned that they were sodomites and threw the king and forty others to be eaten by his dogs, a fine action of an honorable and Catholic Spaniard” (Roscoe, 1991, p. 172; Williams, 1986, p. 137). Little is known about the fate of gender diversity between European conquest and the sparse mention of the institution in early anthropological accounts and the documents of Indian agents. Scholars assume tribal people reacted to EuroAmerican condemnation of the gender different by taking the practice underground and removing it from publicly held ceremonies. As Kroeber (1940) observed: “While the institution was in full bloom, the Caucasian attitude was one of repugnance and condemnation. This attitude quickly became communicated to the Indians and made subsequent personality inquiry difficult; the later berdaches [led] repressed or disguised lives” (p. 209). Roscoe (1991) points out that as the Spanish “engine of conquest” in New Mexico was slowed by changing attitudes within the Spanish government, they no longer needed moral justifications to dominate local Natives (pp. 171–6). The gender different were to have simply blended into the cultural landscape and the new Spanish indifference. However, we again find evidence of outside intervention in Native sexuality under the American bureaucratic system for dealing with and “assimilating” Indians on reservations. By 1883, the Indian agents overseeing Native populations on reservations and the Christian missionaries they supported used the Religious Crimes Code to attack Native sexual and marriage practices aggressively. The Code

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outlawed many ceremonial and public gatherings that Native people used to maintain their social and religious organization. The Code also attempted to restrict tribal practices of polygamy and pressure Natives to adopt Euro-American ideals about monogamy and life-long marriage. Tribal peoples who did not abide by the Code were arrested and punished. Well into the late 1920s, “Indians were jailed, penalized, and denied rations to enforce the Religious Crimes Code, while individual agents, far from Washington’s supervision, often devised additional standards of their own” (Dozier, 1958, pp. 446–7; 1964, p. 97; Roscoe, 1991, p. 177). In the 1890s, the Crow boté Osh-Tisch became the target of the Crow reservation agent’s disgust with the “debased standard of the people among whom he lives” (Roscoe, 1998, p. 35). Anthropologist Robert Lowie (1912) noted that “former agents have repeatedly tried to make him [Osh-Tisch] don male clothes, but the other Indians themselves protested against this saying it was against his nature” (p. 226). The agent cut botés’ hair, made them wear men’s clothing, and forced them into manual labor (Roscoe, 1998, p. 35; Williams, 1986, p. 179). Williams (1986) quotes a Crow consultant: When the Baptist missionary Peltotz arrived in 1903, he condemned our traditions, including the badé [boté]. He told congregation members to stay away from Osh-Tisch and the other badés. He continued to condemn Osh-Tisch until his death in the late 1920s. That may be the reason why no others took up the badé role after Osh-Tisch died. (p. 183)

Besides direct intervention with adults in gender different roles, children who might be third gender were swept up in the push to use education as a tool of assimilation in the boarding schools. Roscoe (1991) points out that “the environment in these schools was openly hostile to all forms of traditional Indian culture. ‘Berdache’ behaviors were quickly spotted and suppressed” (pp. 199–200). Any gender different children who came to boarding school cross-dressed were made to wear men’s or women’s clothes and do gender specific work. In some cases, women–men children were taken from boarding school never to be seen again, and winktes began killing themselves because they could not handle the pressures placed on them by government agencies and their changing communities (Williams, 1986, pp. 181–3). The change from public incorporation to the suppression of gender different peoples’ public roles is easily located in Native religious and cultural adaptations. As governmental efforts at assimilating Natives grew more intense, the gender different became increasingly a less visible part of the public culture of Native society, which worked in tandem with the loss of ceremonial traditions and social practices in general. The result was a decline in the ceremonial use of women–men’s roles and responsibilities. Once Indians began to convert to Christianity en masse, they also accepted ideologies about the sinfulness of same-sex relations. As a result, the history of gender diversity in Native North America has gone largely unnoticed by contemporary Native peoples. Those non-gay Indians aware of third gender traditions mostly fail to connect contemporary LGBTQ2 Natives and historical forms of sexuality and gender difference. At the same time, contemporary LGBTQ2 Natives consistently look to the example set by historic gender different

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people, whom they call Two-Spirit ancestors, for inspiration and guidance in how they conduct themselves and, more importantly, construct their identity.

National Culture and Sovereignty These are the basics of a story with historical and theoretical importance that extends beyond the fight for marriage equality by one same-sex couple. Outside the gay liberation activism framing their struggle, their story reveals how ideas about tradition and citizenship provide the complicating cultural, ideological, and legal scaffolding for the Cherokee same-sex marriage court case and the ensuing debate among Natives throughout the country about national values and culture. When I use national, I refer to Native nations and how tribal governments promote nationallevel social policies to support the continual quest for sovereignty and selfdetermination. Kathy and Dawn’s story also provides a foil for understanding how the heteropatriarchy of sovereignty movements creates a form of citizenship distanced from the cultural history upon which claims to sovereignty rest. For Native nations, tradition, often seen through cultural practice and racial heritage, is explicitly tied to indigenous claims of sovereignty and their unique rights of citizenship in the US. The only time one hears the words citizen among American Indians is in reference to enrollment in a federally recognized tribe. To be a citizen of a particular tribe, for example, the Cherokee Nation, means that an individual has been enrolled in the tribe by meeting the legal standards as set out by the tribal government. For most federally recognized tribes, legal standards for enrollment usually involve some proof of genetic ancestry traced through genealogy to particular treaties or historically documented censuses, known as rolls. In some cases, residence on tribal lands or reserves is required for enrollment. Each federally recognized tribe has its own rules by which it grants citizenship. The Cherokee Nation, for example, has no blood quantum requirement to be a citizen, whereas the Comanche Nation requires one-quarter of blood quantum documented through ancestry. When someone becomes a citizen of a federally recognized tribe, they are registered as Native with the US federal government and given a Certificate of Degree of Indian Blood card (CDIB). While there is much debate between tribal governments and the US federal government about the nature, rights, and responsibilities of tribal sovereignty, the laws upon which sovereignty is based allow tribes to function as dependent domestic nations. Under this authority, tribes may extend citizenship in their nation, make laws under their own jurisdictions, and extend their citizens’ rights (such as marriage).

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Was Same-Sex Marriage a Part of Traditional Culture? There is overwhelming evidence for the presence of multiple gender roles and samesex relations among most if not all Native North Americans. Major scholars, such as Roscoe (1991, 1998), Lang (1998), and Williams (1986), have extensively documented firsthand accounts of multiple gender roles and same-sex relationships for American Indians historically. I have extensively documented the continuation of same-sex relations, same-sex partnerships, and a distinct gender diverse American Indian culture for the present day (Gilley, 2002, 2004, 2005). Accordingly, just as there were specific roles for gender different people within tribal institutions, such as religious practices, there is overwhelming evidence that they shared in the institution of marriage. It is documented that both gender different men and women participated in traditional same-sex marriages. For example, among the Shoshone, Paiute, and Mohave, female-bodied persons taking, on the third gender role took other femalebodied persons as wives and lived in domestic partnerships, not unlike their different sex counterparts (Lang, 1998, p. 274). It was also documented that, among the Apache, that there was a female-bodied chief who had four wives (Denig, 1961, p. 199). The institution of marriage was also extended to male-bodied persons taking on multiple gender roles. For example, it was common among the Lakota for a man to take a winkte wife (third gender) as a member of a polygamous marriage. Was there same-sex marriage among the Cherokee? In considering the evidence from American Indians in general and the evidence for the Cherokee in particular, yes, individuals of the same sex did in fact share in the institution of marriage. We know that a third gender male role was intact among the Cherokee in the early part of the nineteenth century. Amateur historian and traveler C.C. Trowbridge documented witnessing the institution among the Cherokee he encountered on his travels. I quote Trowbridge’s manuscript (n.d.) describing Cherokee customs: “There were among them formerly, men who assumed the dress and performed all the duties of women and who lived their whole lives in this manner.” If we consider this statement in light of what we know about the tradition of multiple sex/gender roles in other Native cultures, we could assume that the Cherokee had some form of institutionalized third sex/gender role. Trowbridge’s statement about men performing the duties of women and “living their whole lives in this manner” leads me to believe that, at the time of his travels, the Cherokee did, in fact, maintain a multiple gender aspect of their traditional culture. Furthermore, because Trowbridge was witnessing the third gender tradition in practice, we would assume that it was intact in all its manifestations. Therefore, I would assume that those individuals living in a mixed gender status among the Cherokee had access to the institution of marriage just as any other member of the Cherokee community.

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First Queers, Local Queers American Indians, besides being the First Nations in North America, were also quite possibly the first queers. The word queer here does invoke a form of sex and gender practice. However, I want to add to the possibilities of a queer analysis by invoking a larger sense of the theoretical power of queer to expand on Duane Champagne’s notion of undifferentiated social elements. It is widely understood that most Natives of North America did not differentiate social institutions into compartments as this would run counter to their understanding of the cosmic community. Instead, social institutions and the individuals within them bled into one another under broader senses of cultural logic and social values. The undifferentiation of social elements allowed for individuals to locate themselves within multiple social institutions all at once. A person’s physical embodiment, personal comportment, and articulation with spiritual influences would place them into a specifically named category of personhood. Personhoods articulated with all social elements. For example, the berdache or Two-Spirit had specifically defined social roles and responsibilities to the community. Undifferentiated social elements provided for the certain forms of fluidity needed to incorporate multiple forms of difference. The history of gender diversity in Native America has inspired LGBTQ2 Native resistance to homophobia and heteropatriarchy among their contemporary tribes’ people in a more modern sense of the notion of queering. In its most basic contemporary theoretical and political sense, queering disrupts the identitarianism of heteropatriarchy and stable normalized categories of bodily subjectivity. Yet, undifferentiated social elements are what made Natives first queers. This precontact state of queer did not require disruption. And heteropatriarchy had yet to become embedded in communal constructions of personhood, rights, and responsibilities. The nation and the notion of a national citizen had also yet to be established as undifferentiated social categories. Yet, we must distinguish this queer state from the postmodern queer who is liberal, humanist, and free from discursive obstacles. Again, my goal is not to romanticize the good ol’ days when men were men and buffalo were scared. Rather, the goal is to think through the moment of divergence that allows tribal governments to bestow citizenship to community members but draw on tradition to deny them what would have been a basic right and subjective position in historic cultural practice. Thus, historic or precontact queering was a state of being maintained on the local level but gradually abandoned tribally through national sovereignty projects. Inevitably, the citizen category became conflated to normalized sex/gender/ sexuality binaries. Banning and adjudicating against same-sex marriage is an example through which national sovereignty movements have progressively unqueered the nation and thus institutionalized heteropatriarchy. Sovereignty movements have remade tradition from a precolonial postmodernity into a late liberal modern discipline vehicle. I am careful in this construction to avoid Butler’s critique of origins by not appealing to a prior state and thus using the Constitution of the current law to mask the power relations of historical inevitability. Andrea Smith points out,

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“tradition often serves as the origin story that buttresses heteropatriarchy and other forms of oppression within Native communities while disavowing its political investments.” As national sovereignty projects invoke it, tradition must be an unqueer discursive mechanism because it must articulate explicitly with a national citizenship marking the difference between the colonizer and the Native nation. To exist, it simultaneously maintains an administrative sympathy for national orders to justify its sovereignty. The question is not whether the Cherokee nation is homophobic and heteropatriarchal. Rather the question is, how does sovereignty as a national project rely on a notion of citizenship with little relation to the subjectivities of the individuals it aims to protect?

The Abuses of Tradition: The Cherokee Case Fundamental to the argument against recognizing the marriage of Dawn and Kathy hinged on the opposition’s use of tradition and the harm a recognized same-sex marriage would bring to the Cherokee Nation as a whole and its citizens. Hembree and the councilpersons who backed his lawsuit drew upon one law and another precedent to argue that it was the obligation of the tribal council, tribal courts, and the court clerk to preserve the traditions of the Cherokee Nation, and I quote from the petition of declaratory judgment: Each Councilor has sworn to uphold the and promote the culture, heritage and traditions of the Cherokee Nation. Same sex marriage is not, nor has it ever been, part of Cherokee culture, heritage or traditions. If the Councilor were to set back and do nothing, while a lesbian couple tries to usurp the laws of the Cherokee Nation to gain recognition of their union, they could arguably be a violation of their oath of office.

Further, our Constitution states under Article 2 Section 1 that our courts will be open to every member of the Cherokee Nation, for every wrong and injury to person, property, or reputation. Petitioners contend that the very reputation of the Cherokee Nation is at stake. If such a union was allowed, in violation of our laws and traditions, the reputation of the Cherokee Nation would be irreparably harmed. Tradition becomes conflated with national culture and enters the colonial administration through sovereignty. And this is where I come into the story. At the request of the NCLR, I crafted an affidavit and testimony addressing the question of whether same-sex marriage had at one time been an aspect of Cherokee culture. My argument hinged on that single entry in the diaries of the aforementioned amateur historian and traveler, C.C. Trowbridge, who documented a same-sex marriage among the Cherokee before removal. Again, I quote Trowbridge’s manuscript (n.d.) describing Cherokee customs, “There were among them formerly, men who assumed the dress and performed all the duties of women and who lived their whole lives in this manner.” In using this argument, I relied on the sexual dimorphic tendencies of Cherokee law to avoid the more complex relationship between gender and bodily sex, given that there was no same-gender marriage among Native peoples.

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Nonetheless, through cross tribal comparison, I presented a convincing case for same-sex marriage in the period prior to removal.

A Queered Sovereignty After my affidavit and testimony were submitted, the Cherokee Supreme Court ruled in favor of Dawn and Kathy and allowed their marriage to stand. According to Cherokee law, the certificate then needed to be filed with the Cherokee Clerk of Court to make it official. Dawn and Kathy refused. They had grown tired of the publicity and the awkward position of being accidental advocates for same-sex marriage on a national level. Something else, however, was also at work. If the Cherokee Clerk of Court had accepted and filed their marriage certificate, their marriage would be a marriage recognized by the US Federal Government and thus in violation of the Defense of Marriage Act. The Cherokee Nation’s sovereign rights exempt it from state-level interference, but it must answer to federal law in a way many states do not. The risk was that a Cherokee-recognized same-sex marriage could be legally challenged in Federal Court, thus producing a case in which the fundamental legal precedents of American Indian sovereignty could be challenged. It is no coincidence that all but one federally recognized tribe banned same-sex marriage. For the Cherokee Nation to protect its ability to act as a sovereign nation, it had to limit the rights of its citizens. In order to avoid seeming as if to replicate the values and morals of the colonizer when limiting rights of its citizens, the Cherokee Nation used tradition to show that “colonial rule was not imposing alien institutions of state on indigenous society, but rather that it was restricting and even violating the true principles of modern government.” According to this logic, a modern queer citizen is no longer an impossibility in the Cherokee Nation because it was protected from losing its sovereignty, and thus its autonomous rights universalized with other citizens. The Cherokee Nation protected all tradition, even that of historic same-sex marriage by denying same-sex marriage rights. Yet, a postmodern precontact, or first queer, subjectivity remains in conflict with the category of national citizen. When Kathy and Dawn refused to file their marriage certificate, to the dismay of social activists, and to the relief of Cherokee Nation attorneys, they were refusing to reinforce the conflation of their relationship and subjectivity to heteropatriarchal national projects. It was an act of queering in an unqueer nation.

References Bowers, A. W. (1965). Hidatsa social and ceremonial organization. Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 194.

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Denig, E. T. (1961). Five Indian tribes of the upper Missouri: Sioux, Arickaras, Assiniboines, Crees, Crows (Vol. 59). University of Oklahoma Press. Devereaux, G. (1937). Institutionalized homosexuality of the Mohave Indians. Human Biology, 9, 498–523. Dozier, E. P. (1958). Spanish-Catholic influences on Rio Grande Pueblo religion. American Anthropologist, 60(3), 441–448. Dozier, E. P. (1964). The Pueblo Indians of the southwest. Current Anthropology, 5(2), 79–97. Gilley, B. J. (2002). Becoming Two-Spirit: Power and difference in Indian country. Doctoral dissertation, University of Oklahoma. Gilley, B. J. (2004). Making traditional spaces: Cultural compromise at Two-Spirit gatherings in Oklahoma. American Indian Cultural and Research Journal, 28(2), 81–95. Gilley, B. J. (2005). Two-Spirit powwows and the search for social acceptance in Indian country. In C. Ellis, L. E. Lassiter, & G. H. Dunham (Eds.), Powwow. University of Nebraska Press. Hassrick, R. B. (1964). The Sioux. University of Oklahoma Press. Hoebel, E. A. (1960). The Cheyennes. Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Lang, S. (1998). Men as women, women as men: Changing gender in Native American cultures. University of Texas Press. Lowie, R. H. (1912). Social life of the Crow Indians. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, 9(2). Roscoe, W. (1991). The Zuni man-woman. University of New Mexico Press. Roscoe, W. (1993). How to become a berdache: Toward a unified analysis of multiple genders. In G. Herdt (Ed.), Third sex, third gender: Beyond sexual dimorphism in culture and history (pp. 329–372). Zone Books. Roscoe, W. (1998). Changing ones: Third and fourth genders in Native North America. St. Martin’s Press. Schaeffer, C. E. (1965). The Kutenai female berdache: Courier, guide, prophetess, and warrior. Ethnohistory, 12(3), 193–236. Trowbridge, C. C. (n.d.). Letter concerning Cherokee Nation. Unpublished manuscript. John Gilmary Shea Papers, Georgetown University Archives. Whitehead, H. (1993). The bow and the burden strap: A new look at institutionalized homosexuality in Native North America. In H. Abelove, M. A. Barale, & D. M. Halperin (Eds.), The lesbian and gay studies reader. Routledge. Williams, W. L. (1986). The spirit and the flesh: Sexual diversity in American Indian culture. Beacon Press.

Families in Sociocultural Change: From Structure to Relationship Emiliana Mangone

Abstract Recently, the debate on which social entity can be defined as a family has been heated and often inconclusive in finding a single and unequivocal definition. One possible problem is the desire to close this entity (the family) within the confines of the law and its morphological structure. Yet, the answer may be right in front of our eyes, provided we looked at the family as an ever-changing social entity whose very formation is in constant evolution. Similarly, how the family understands itself and fulfills its functions is constantly evolving, as is society. These many rapid social transformations affect the way of being and doing family. Hence, in today’s society, it is no longer possible to speak of family but of families (plural) insofar as they come together in doing family, as pointed out by the family practice approach. Keywords Families · Relationship · Approach family practice · Recognition policy · Sociocultural change

Society and Sociocultural Change: A Necessary Premise The last two centuries have seen societal changes that were unimaginable only a few decades ago. The complexity of societies increased almost exponentially in both relationships and processes, gradually unfolding depending on the geographical areas and the sociocultural contexts of reference. Three processes are at work here: secularization (loss of relevance of religion in social life), rationalization (predominance of purposive rationality), and, finally, individualization (gemeinschaft vs gesellschaft with the replacement of Durkheim’s mechanical solidarity with organic solidarity). All have transformed both the social representations and the beliefs through which individuals interpret the surrounding society. Furthermore, they changed the values by orienting themselves within it (Mangone, 2021). Combining these processes has redefined the relationship between individuals and their social E. Mangone (*) Department of Political and Communication Sciences (DiSPC), University of Salerno, Fisciano, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_6

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environment. It is particularly true for the process of social construal: How individuals perceive, understand, and interpret the world around them (Douglas, 1997) that allows them to attribute meaning to the world by promoting actions and judgments. Every form of relationship fluctuates between the exchange of information and symbolic action, thus embodying some ambiguity. The relationships implemented and experienced by individuals are problematic actions that often do not allow for reciprocity between the subjects. Individual attitudes and actions are influenced by multiple factors, predominantly culture and the indissoluble link with the individual’s biography. For example, such elements as gender and ethnicity influence the construction of identities and culture. This calls for a revision of the approach for studying change that must switch from being oriented toward searching for a cause (causality) to focusing on the overall interactions between individual, social, and environmental variables (relationality). In other words, culture cannot be considered merely for its symbolic aspects but its interactions and integrations between the different variables at play in everyday dynamics (Hall, 1997). Culture is made up of both objective and subjective elements and is one of the main factors in assessing individuals’ adherence (integration) to society. All activities and institutions are cultural in that they require the explication of meaning to operate. Social living does not relate to cultural determinism; rather, culture is a crucial situational component (in space and time) for individual actions. The phenomenological approach, for example, accentuates precisely the interpretation that individuals make of their life situation, in which the decisive factor is not only the structure of roles within society but also the culture within which interactions take place. It is not only objective factors that enable social construal but, above all, subjective factors. The individual’s symbolic relationships with their own body, other individuals, and the environment of reference are all paramount for this process of interpretation and signification. This outlines the reciprocation between the life-world (lebenswelt), which Husserl (1970) defined as the “realm of immediate evidence,” and the social system and represents the pivotal moment in which the individual is considered not only a recipient of decisions but a subject and active participant in social processes. All that pertains to the cultural dimension is not stationary but in motion. The first dynamic aspect is how these systems of meanings, norms, and values are born, reproduced, and incorporated by individuals and groups. Human beings are producers of meanings, norms, and values in everyday life because they experience and produce meaningful interactions. Shared values and attitudes, which support structure and actions, concern the experience linked to individual thinking and the processes of symbolic mediation that allow the attribution of meaning. All cognitive activities that allow for the construction of conceptual and representative maps can be considered a balance between the processes of assimilation and accommodation.1

1 The term accommodation refers to the transformation of past experiences when an individual receives new information; the term assimilation indicates the degree to which any information received from the environment can be adapted to the background experiences already possessed by the individual.

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The former ensures continuity in time (understood as chronos: past, present, and future); the latter is the ability in the present to deal with future changes and uncertainties. If culture can be considered the glue of society, what changes in the contemporary globalized society? Various disciplines and scholars, also belonging to different and/or antithetical theoretical orientations, argue that globalization leads to a single social system (Giddens, 1989) or world system (Wallerstein, 1976). Social (cultural, economic, and political) connections have now crossed the borders of individual countries, creating new interdependence between different social actors and affecting the ways and forms of interaction of individuals themselves. Globalization, “the intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa,” must be conceived as a rearrangement of time and distance for social life (Giddens, 1990, p. 64). Some changes move individuals away from shared goals and objectives of social solidarity as they increasingly favor individualistic approaches. Both Bauman (2001) and Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002) speak of an individualized society. In particular, Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002) clarify the concept of individualization as the following: This concept implies a group of social developments and experiences characterized, above all, by two meanings. In an intellectual debate as in reality, these meanings constantly intersect and overlap (which, hardly surprisingly, has given rise to a whole series of misunderstandings and controversies). On the one hand, individualization means the disintegration of previously existing social forms [. . .] the second aspect of individualization. It is, simply, that new demands, controls, and constraints are being imposed on individuals in modern societies. (p. 2)

Part of the population tends to conform to this process, with the negative outcome of inducing distrust and distance and increasing social uncertainty. We are, therefore, faced with what Bauman (1997) defined as an “uncertainty society,” in which we find the view of the future of the “world as such” and the “world within reach” as essentially undecidable, uncontrollable and hence frightening, and of the gnawing doubt whether the present contextual constants of action will remain constant long enough to enable reasonable calculation of its effects. . . We live today [. . .] in the atmosphere of ambient fear. (pp. 21–22)

The changes brought about by globalization did not reduce inequalities; instead, the gaps have often widened. We must thus consider some multidimensional aspects that, through elaboration and interpretation, influence the construction of the reality of individuals and, therefore, their social action. Consequently, they also affect political choices, the economy, culture, and individual actions. Against the background of this necessary premise, the red thread that virtually links the paragraphs of this chapter is precisely the change in the social construal process of the family: from a gender perspective instead of a legal point of view. I will consider the family a system of interactions insofar as it represents the highest form of integration between individuals with its logical-significant character. The individuals who construct their gender identity recognize themselves and others as

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different from themselves. At the same time, they recognize themselves as others. The same happens for and within families. The differences should not hinder action but, on the contrary, prompt the integration of skills and everyday experiences. And yet, this does not happen for the new family forms of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender families (Biblarz & Savci, 2010). Instead, what the family is tends to be enclosed within the legal sphere, defining its structure (how it is composed) instead of focusing on what the family does, which would project it into the social sphere, defining its functions. The individual, as a subject, exists in the social system and is identified through the process of socialization and categorization. This applies not only to individuals but also to all the other systems. Each system has a specific identity that corresponds to its definition and allows it to be located in the social whole. It can produce inclusion and exclusion simultaneously: It identifies the system and distinguishes it from other systems.

The Family: A Problematic Political Category Adopting a gender perspective means studying the social interactions between individuals based on their sexual difference and the cultural categories that define differences between genders and the institutions within which these differences are reified (e.g., marriage/cohabitation, sexuality). Recent research on these issues has focused on individuals with nonconforming gender identity (transgender) and/or nonheteronormative sexual orientation (lesbian, gay, queer). It is especially true of studies with an intersectional approach that investigates the experience arising because of the intersection of different factors of vulnerability (e.g., woman/ nonheteronormative sexual orientation), which, at the level of identity, can cause a double stigma (Goffman, 1990; Masullo & Ferrara, 2021). The gender that always accompanies sexuality is typically human, and studying it means being situated between normative aspects and processes of self-determination. It is, therefore, crucial to overcome Taylor’s (1989) “politics of recognition.”2 We should seek a new way of life able to guarantee justice and equality to all groups even if common sense (van Holthoon & Olson, 1987) could define some of them as belonging to different cultures. Hannah Arendt appears to be one of the most successful attempts to overcome Taylor’s concept by defining a political culture of modernity that recognizes plurality through praxis (action), including the plurality and recognition of the new family entities. A pivotal element for Arendt (1958) is the

If we analyse Taylor’s concept of the “politics of recognition”, its limitations emerge unequivocally. One cannot base multiculturalism, from which interculturality derives, on the attribution of equal dignity and value only to “selected” cultures that have been recognised for a long time: such dignity and value must be attributed to all cultures. Otherwise, we would fall into more refined and intellectualised forms of ethnocentrism, which in substance are no different from the classic forms of that tend to judge other cultures based on the specifics of the culture of belonging.

2

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transformation of the public and private spheres in the modern era that led to the supremacy of the indistinct social of the nation-state: The distinction between a private and a public sphere of life corresponds to the household and the political realms, which have existed as distinct, separate entities at least since the rise of the ancient city-state, but the emergence of the social realm, which is neither private nor public, strictly speaking, is a relatively new phenomenon whose origin coincided with the emergence of the modem age and which found its political form in the nation-state. (p. 28)

Modernity engendered mass society by manipulating public opinion and the various forms of totalitarianism (Nazism and Stalinism) from the institutionalization of terror and violence. It is also the era in which history took on a different role (Arendt, 1961). In all of Arendt’s works, there is a kind of dialogue between the real world and the need to provide answers within the framework of her philosophical-political theories (analysis of concrete events and conceptual reflection). Within this idea of modernity, Arendt developed her theory of action, which can be considered one of the most original contributions to the political thought of the twentieth century, particularly for its revival of the classical notion of praxis. She distinguishes acting (praxis) from doing (poiesis). By linking action to such factors as freedom, plurality, speech, memory, and others, Arendt articulates a conception of politics that allows for a different and original way to address questions of meaning and identity. Action has two main characteristics. The first, freedom, is not to be understood as a freedom of choice (as per the liberalist tradition) but as the ability to initiate something new (something unforeseen): “Calling something into being which did not exist before” (Arendt, 1958, p. 9). This is a characteristic that, according to Arendt, is rooted in human beings right from birth insofar as it is birth itself that introduces that something new into the world. This leads to the second characteristic, namely plurality, which “is the condition of human action because we are all the same, that is, human, in such a way that nobody is ever the same as anyone else who ever lived, lives, or will live” (Arendt, 1958, p. 8). If action amounts to introducing something new, it cannot be done in isolation from others; that is, independently of the presence of a plurality of actors who, from their different perspectives, can judge the quality of what is enacted. Indeed, without the recognition of others, the action would cease to be meaningful. Plurality refers, therefore, to both equality and distinction: Human beings belong to the same species, but two of them are never interchangeable because each is endowed with a unique biography and perspective on the world. In her 1990 book, Gender Trouble. Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, Butler challenges the simplistic (if one can say so) conceptualization of the relationships between sex, gender, and desire. She deems them heteronormative,3 conservative, and patriarchal, characterized by a model of domination and alteration typical of the colonial era (Lugones, 2007; Schiwy, 2007). She also questions the feminist

3

This conceptualisation stems from a patriarchal and conservative model of domination and alteration that is also typical of the colonial era, as many feminist scholars have pointed out since the second half of the last century.

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theories that developed in the late 1950s, partly following and partly criticizing Arendt. As per Butler’s custom, her book is provocative. Starting from its very title, which highlights that she questions what had hitherto been considered real and natural right from the start. Drawing from French structuralism, she aims at legitimizing minority practices excluded from the dominant norm (heterosexuality). The American philosopher argues that gender has produced sexual normativity and, as such, is internalized. To demolish this construction, she proposes destabilizing the categories of identity that the binary man/woman system has naturalized. With the performative theory of gender, Butler (1990) shows how the inner essence of gender (as was previously believed) is externalized and marked on the body through naturalized gestures, that is, constantly repeated acts: “The body” appears as a passive medium on which cultural meanings are inscribed or as the instrument through which an appropriative and interpretive will determines a cultural meaning for itself. In either case, the body is figured as a mere instrument or medium for which a set of cultural meanings are only externally related. But “the body” is itself a construction, as are the myriad “bodies” that constitute the domain of gendered subjects. (p. 8)

Sexuality, which Butler considers culturally constructed within power relations, leaves no room for the possibility of normative sexuality outside of these. The body becomes a privileged variable of study in terms of subjectivity. It allows for biopolitical approaches and sociopolitical visions in which the body is a subjective voice of resistance with specific historical, economic, and sociocultural instances. To support her arguments, she brings the phenomenon of cross-dressing as an example. Cross-dressers manifestly question a normative view of gender (Butler, 1993): With their performances, they violate and highlight the cultural and socially constructed character of gender. The body, burdened by subjectivity, must be understood as the turning point, in opposition to the practice of nonrecognition of legal subjectivity. Foucault's (1976) philosophical speculations on biopower are fundamental to understand the correlation between bodies and power, crucial to listen to this voice of subjectivity and resistance, and thus admit the political dimension of the body, a product of power, shaped by power (Alcoff, 2006; Grosz, 1994), and, in turn, a producer of power. In this way, sex is not an original and initial cause. There is no rule that if an individual is assigned one sex at birth, they cannot belong to the other one. Rather, it should be understood as the effect of a historical process in which identity is constructed, as Simone de Beauvoir (1973) so eloquently wrote: “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman” (p. 301). In this quote, woman is a term in progress, a continuous becoming and building which, as a discursive practice, is open to intervention and resignification. Butler is so convinced that this endless construction is the crux of identity that, in an interview with The Guardian (Gleeson, 2021), she upholds her criticism of feminism and the need to rethink the category of woman. Like this nontrivial consideration of Butler’s politics of recognition, I argue that the category family should be rethought. As already mentioned, it can no longer be based on what it is (role distinction according to sex, the traditional vision) but on what it

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does and, therefore, on its dynamic dimension and as an ever-evolving entity open to new significant forms. In recent years, the debate on which social entity can be defined as the family has been heated and often inconclusive in finding a single, unambiguous definition. The problem is probably the very attempt to pen this entity within the confines of the law and its morphological structure. Yet the answer may be right in front of our eyes if only we looked at the family as an ever-changing social entity whose very formation is in constant evolution. Similarly, how the family understands itself and fulfills its functions is constantly evolving, as is society. If we look at the family from the point of view of interactions (relationships), we see that a single definition is unreachable, if only because different cultures produce different families. Traditionally considered as a central element of the community, with the transition to society, the reflections of the social sciences have focused on its structure rather than the relationships generated in and around it. It is not the family or families (static terms) that need to be studied, but the processes: the interactions and the resulting relationships. More specifically, they need to be analyzed as proximity relations, as social capital (such as friendship and neighborhood relationships). The various rapid social transformations affect the way of being and doing family, which is why it is no longer possible to speak of family, but of families (in the plural) insofar as different types of relationships converge in today’s society in doing family. These various types often go well beyond labels such as homogenous, single-parent, or multiethnic families (and many others). Instead, they converge on the dignity of being, doing, and educating in the terms most corresponding to one’s process of selfdetermination.

Historical Transformations of Family Models Pluralizing the category of the family, something made explicit, especially by sociologists, underlines that this category is still alive and under observation by scholars, although the focus is now on so-called family practices (Morgan, 1996). With the changes stemming from the individualization of life (Bauman, 2001; Beck & Beck-Gernsheim, 2002), the concept of family acquires increasingly blurred contours; the failure to recognize this leads to a lack of complete understanding of the changes in society as a whole. Beck, instead, fully recognizing these transformations, calls some concepts (including the family) “zombie categories” (Beck & Beck-Gernsheim, 2002, p. 203), that is, ideas or concepts more applicable to a previous era than to the present one and, therefore, on the way to being overcome or redefined. A swift description of the fundamental concepts and main steps that led to this state of affairs will help explain the evolution of the reflections around this category. The current situation concerns two aspects: The first refers to the structure (composition) and the second to family members’ relationships. The first aspect is linked to Beck’s processes of individualization, the second to Giddens' (1992) transformations

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of intimacy. Among other things, Giddens outlined some basic concepts, such as family, kinship, and marriage (Giddens, 1989), that previously were undefined: A family is a group of persons directly linked by kin connections, the adult members of which assume responsibility for caring for children. Kinship ties are connections between individuals, established either through marriage or the lines of descent that connect blood relatives (mother, father, offspring, and grandparents). Marriage can be defined as a socially acknowledged and approved sexual union between two adult individuals with certain rights and obligations. When two people marry, they become kin to one another (pp. 206–207).

All three elements are linked to each other, although Giddens does not raise the male/female distinction in the case of marriage, speaking instead of two adult individuals without distinguishing them by biological sex. This seems almost to be the prelude to one of the conditions that will lead to questioning the category of the family as understood by law and tradition. It has long been argued that the watershed for the birth of the so-called modern family was the industrial revolution and the following demographic transformations as people left the countryside and moved to the suburbs of the industrial cities. However, recent studies showed that this is not the case. Instead, the transformations of families in the Western world (especially) had begun well before this period. There have been many classifications of family types by scholars from different disciplines (anthropologists, sociologists, and historians, in particular). At least until a few decades ago, the most accredited one is Laslett’s typology (1972). He classifies the family into five types: lonely individual, without family structure, extended family, multiple family, and nuclear family (see Fig. 1). As it is easy to guess, the family of the lonely individual is made up of only one person. The family without family structure has no conjugal bonds; it is formed by people with other types of parental relationships (e.g., two brothers). The extended family comprises one conjugal unit and one or more cohabiting relatives. Multiple families, instead, are those with two or more conjugal units that become complex when considered in conjunction with extended families. Finally, the nuclear family is formed by a single conjugal unit, whether complete (husband, wife, and children) or incomplete (single parent, e.g., a widowed mother with children). The changes in the Western world since the 1950s have caused a prevailing tendency toward the affirmation of the nuclear family, de facto breaking the previous systems mainly based on the extended family and kinship (Goode, 1963). These processes have been further accentuated by globalization and the secularization of societies. The factors of change worldwide sometimes show strong territorial and cultural differences. If we summarize them, we find mainly three: • The extended family and, in general, kinship are losing their specific weight. • Almost everywhere, spousal choice constraints (often linked to parenthood) have disappeared, together with greater recognition of women’s and children’s rights. • There is greater freedom and different ways of expressing gender and sexuality. These factors show that the transformations of family models do not stem from a trivial (and cynical) crisis of values or narcissistic syndrome (Di Nicola, 2017). Rather, we are faced with a transformative phenomenon that is multifactorial and

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Fig. 1 Graphical representation of Laslett’s typology (Author’s elaboration)

multidimensional. Indeed, it is not by chance that sociologists prefer to use the plural form of families. Industrialization, the emancipation of women, and the marketization of the economy have further transformed family models (Zanatta, 2008). Yet some of them can still be traced back to Laslett’s types. Among these is the lonely individual family, or the de facto families akin to those without family structure. Similarly, the recomposed families resemble the extended families, composed of several parental nuclei deriving from the union of nuclei originating from previous separations. The new family forms of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (Biblarz & Savci, 2010), which appear as noninstitutionalized forms because they are nonheteronormative and thus also defined as “families of choice” (Weston, 1991) or “brave new families” (Stacey, 1998). We are dealing with an old category that needs to be continually problematized (Gleeson, 2021); thus, we need to refer to interactions within everyday life and the constantly changing social reality.

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From Structure to Relationships: The Family Practice Approach Except for a few cases, the previous sections refer almost exclusively to the structural dimension of the family. Given the latest transformations, which take us into the third millennium, it is instead necessary to shift the attention to the relational dimension. This also shifts the focus from being to doing family, i.e., to what is defined as family practice, that, as Dermott and Fowler (2020) explain: Roots our understanding of what family is in everyday expectations and behaviors, thereby connecting the abstract concept to the way it is used by social actors: since “family” is necessarily a social construct, this is of central importance. We use this framework to explain the ethical importance of familial relationships, in particular, why they create moral obligations, and show that this cannot be reduced to either blood relations or to previous choices. (p. 1).

This better conceptualizes contemporary family life and recomposes differences, providing a theoretical basis for further analysis of the transformations in family models. It also helps engage in the political debate on recognition (as previously noted). The word ethics is often frightening, but for centuries ethical principles have governed the entire world. These objective and rational foundations allow (ed) human behavior to be distinguished into good/right and bad/unjust. These principles allow individuals to manage their freedom, especially on its limits and boundaries. Today, applying ethics to the family runs the risk of repeating what has already been said, and yet it is an unavoidable risk when dealing with the problems associated with family life in the present day. Usually, when discussing the family, the contrast is between the two classic dimensions of ethics: secular and religious. To overcome this opposition, and thus reach a possible solution to the debate on what a family is, we should talk about the third dimension of ethics: the public one. It would be superficial to set secular ethics against religious ethics on family-related issues. Based on this juxtaposition, I will not offer speculation since they would flow into an approximate picture devoid of value. Hence the need for a public ethic based neither on individual morality nor on collective ethics (secular or religious). Instead, this new public ethic should represent the worldview and vision of the family as family practice. It results from a compromise from which to draw rules and principles considered superior and, by convention, common to all. By its very nature, public ethics is far removed from both objectivism and hypersubjectivism. It seeks intersubjective and intercultural values that help dialogue between the different positions (political, cultural, and social), focusing on the family’s good as doing rather than being. According to Dermott and Fowler (2020), family practice is a strictly sociological concept: [It] understands families as being dynamic and constituted by the activities of members rather than being defined through legal or blood ties, as such it recognizes the salience of cultural contexts to both reconfirm and alter meanings of family [. . .], the doing of family is

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central; families are sites of bundles of activities through which relationship statuses are embedded, reproduced or challenged. (p. 2)

This moves beyond the biological conception of the family (Brighouse & Swift, 2014) and, in many respects, that of the family of choice (Weston, 1991). It radically shifts the analysis from the family as a structure to which individuals belong to an understanding of families as a set of activities that take on particular significance at a given time. The family/families is/are, therefore, an aspect of everyday social life, not a social institution. It “represents a quality rather than a thing” (Morgan, 1996, p. 186). When constructing their life project, individuals also create their social world. Consequently, their idea of my family changes in their lives because it is closely rooted in their biographies. For Finch (2007): Doing family things’ is at the heart of the way in which people constitute “my family,” and my central argument is that families need to be “displayed” as well as “done.” By “displaying” I mean to emphasize the fundamentally social nature of family practices, where the meaning of one’s actions has to be both conveyed to and understood by relevant others if those actions are to be effective as constituting “family” practices. (p. 66).

Family practices must be displayed because this allows recognition and self- and hetero-understanding, enabling the delineation of family identity on a par with individual and social identity. Therefore, family identity is that system of representations on which individuals also base two core items. First, their existence as a person. Second, recognition and acceptance by others, the group, and the culture to which they belong. It follows that family identity is in movement and is built over time through processes of identification and differentiation, but also through continuous changes due to the transformations of the everyday situations within reference contexts. From the above, we can derive a new definition of family as “something that is socially constructed by particular groups of people in their interactions about the meanings of social relationships” (Cheal, 2007, p. 7). In outlining a possible new definition of family, it is essential to highlight the social and relational character through which families are (re)produced. It is not important who makes up the family (heterosexual, lesbian, gay, or transgender couple) as this order of ideas must be overcome in contemporary society. The bases for categorization are actions ascribable to a set of practices that can be thought of as family. For Dermott and Fowler (2020), the family: Must thus be (i) enacted, (ii) displayed, and (iii) recognized. Enacted means that family is not a person's status, but is created and sustained through action. This need not mean though that family is only created by grand gesture; mundane everyday activities typically sustain practices. (p. 6)

Such activities are displayed (Dermott & Seymour, 2011) because the meaning of actions must be understood by others as family practices, leading to recognition (family recognized). The family practice approach is based not only on the perception and representation of the individuals who make up the family unit and their intimates but also on the expectations of wider society. What counts as family depends on the social

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context and changes over time. Today’s society has more volatile and fluid relationships thus family relationships will have to be redefined and positively established on a more regular basis and in different ways and forms whenever a change occurs (new sexual unions, rebuilding cohabitation after divorce, children leaving home, living alone). As Finch (2007) wrote: It is not simply a matter of identifying who belongs and who does not. The emphasis on families as constituted by “practices, identities and relationships” means that the fluidity of family life is not defined by shifting membership so much as by the continually evolving character of the relationships: how individuals talk to each other, act toward each other, and the assumptions on which their relationships are conducted. (p. 69)

Against this background, the question arises: Is the need to conceptualize the family based on family practices, and, therefore, on the relationship of its members, and the necessity for displaying them, binding only for nonheterosexual communities (nonconventional families)? The easiest answer to this question would be a simple yes. As we move away from those relationships more easily identifiable as family, there is a need for greater visibility and recognition. This consideration, however, would be reductive because the family “represents a quality,” as Morgan (1996, p. 186) maintains, rather than belonging, a quality that is closely linked to relationships. All relationships require their visibility to be categorized as family relationships regardless of who makes up the families. Relationships, therefore, need to be displayed to have a social reality, although the need for display varies in different circumstances and over time. These relationships are important for the meaningful place of each individual in the changing society, which requires continuous recognition by others. In summary, the family practice approach is broadly applicable and not limited to nonheterosexual communities because it shows how families are more easily understood on the basis not of their composition but on their practices within cultural frames of reference. In other words, according to Dermott and Fowler (2020): “Family practices” recognizes that dividing lines between families which may seem fluid to a degree are also contingent on cultural assumptions and develop over time through everyday practices that are often unreflective and experienced as active choices, i.e., it is often not morally possible for individuals to easily opt-in and out of familial relationships. (p. 9)

This leaves the social, political, and even cultural debate open. Such a debate should not be based on the structural dimensions but the relational ones, keeping with the object of study and its objectives. The swift changes in contemporary society inevitably lead to considerations about the role of the social sciences in interpreting social transformations and global society in general. While many world areas are developing new ways of thinking about these transformations, the social sciences often seem to face difficulties in reading these transformations because they are perched on certain paradigms and self-referential positions. Instead, a redefinition of paradigms and methods is a must in this constantly changing context. The family practice approach allows studying the family without considering certain variables (gender, sexuality, religion) and cross-referencing it with cultural contexts, which would not be possible in other ways. It is, therefore, very much welcome. The choice

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is, of course, up to the researchers, who must not, however, lose sight of the original status of the social sciences. We can conclude that the family practice approach can be a relevant point of view for scholars who intend to deal with the family without running the risk of falling into binary categorizations and/or opposition (man/woman, transgender/cisgender, and heterosexual/homosexual). Attention to practices and being fruitful on a theoretical level is also useful in terms of social inclusion and recognition. It can promote specific family policies that would bring added value even to those subjects who interpret doing family according to the canons established by tradition, gender order, or heteronormative order.

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Scottish Same-Sex Families: Relational Negotiations and Belongings Dora Jandrić

Abstract This chapter explores the construction of LGBTQ2 families through narratives of older, same-sex couples in Scotland, illustrating the importance of biological and chosen family members in their lives. By addressing empirical and conceptual considerations of how older, same-sex couples in Scotland imagined their future, this chapter contributes to a better understanding of the formation of LGBTQ2 families through the process of parental coming out and entering new relationships. It explores their children’s acceptance of these new unions, the impact the new family formations had on the children’s sexual identity, and the coming out process. Furthermore, the chapter contextualizes these families within the Scottish framework, arguing that the support received from the Scottish government is vital in realizing their parental and familial projects. Empirically, the chapter illustrates the lived experiences of these families. By embedding these families in the wider sociocultural context in which they negotiate their identity and the relationships within their families, the chapter emphasizes the impact of the social world on the self. In these ways, a better understanding of the concept of imagined families within the Scottish framework can be reached. Keywords Same-sex · Family · Coming out · Imagined family · Scotland

Introduction Chosen families (or families of choice) are “flexible, informal and varied, but strong and supportive networks of friends and lovers, often including members of families of origin” (Weeks et al., 2001, p. 4). This chapter explores the construction of these families through narratives of older, same-sex couples in Scotland, illustrating the importance of biological and chosen family members in their lives. The aim of the

D. Jandrić (*) University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, UK University of Birmingham, Birmingham, United Kingdom e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_7

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chapter is to provide a better understanding of the formation of lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, and intersex (LGBTQ2) families through the process of parental coming out and entering a new relationship, mostly in the parents’ later years. The chapter also presents the children’s acceptance of these new unions and the impact the new family formations have on the children’s sexual identity and the coming out process. The chapter contextualizes these families within the Scottish framework, arguing that the support received from the Scottish government and nongovernmental organizations is key in realizing their parental and familial projects. Finally, the chapter frames these families within the concept of imagined families (Körber & Merkel, 2012), arguing that the term family can include the wider LGBTQ2 community. By embedding these same-sex families in the wider sociocultural context in which they negotiate their identity, the chapter emphasizes the impact of the social world on the self (May, 2013), exploring the familial identity construction through the intersection of the personal and public. The stories presented in this chapter are drawn from a doctoral thesis that explored how older (one partner needed to be over 55) same-sex couples in Scotland imagined their futures.1 The data collection included two semistructured interviews with each couple and a written account of their imagination of the future, which the couples produced between the interviews. The experiences shared in the interviews, and the written accounts, told a story of Scotland as a great place to form a same-sex family; the couples felt supported by their family, community, and institutions (such as the Scottish government). By presenting these stories and experiences, the chapter provides a better understanding of the intersection of the participants’ personal experiences in constructing their family identity and the impact of formal institutions. To provide the relevant historical and cultural context for the lives of my research participants, the following part of the chapter will briefly summarize the legal changes for the LGBTQ2 community in Scotland and the United Kingdom in the last 40 years.

The Scottish Context With the decriminalization of homosexuality in 1980 [Criminal Justice (Scotland) Act, 1980], Scotland started its journey toward greater equality for sexual minorities. Some of the key events that framed the identities and experiences of the older, samesex couples in my research include the abolishment of Section 28 in 2000 (Stonewall, 2016) and the lift of the ban on LGBTQ2 people serving in the armed forces. In 2004, the Civil Partnership Act gave same-sex couples the right to form civil partnerships, which gives them the same rights as married, opposite-sex couples in England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. In 2007, the Adoption and Children (Scotland) Act allowed same-sex couples equal rights in adopting and fostering

1

The age of each participant is written in brackets next to their name.

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children. The Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act was passed in 2013 and 2014 in England, Scotland, and Wales. The most recent developments include the 2017 posthumous pardon to all gay men who were prosecuted because of their sexuality and the introduction of samesex marriage in Northern Ireland in 2020. While all these legal developments frame Scotland (and the rest of the United Kingdom) as “a model of global best practice for protecting the rights and freedoms of LGBTQI communities” (Raj & Dunne, 2020, p.1–2), there are still minority groups (sexual, religious, ethnic) who are not protected and continue to be marginalized. While the critique of the Scottish legal system concerning the LGBTQ2 population is outside the scope of this chapter, it is essential to note that there are still areas to improve. For the families presented in this chapter, these legal advances have portrayed a positive move toward equality and acceptance in the broader society; their lived experiences reflect this. Not only would their family constructions be impossible in a society that did not protect their minorities, but their own family identity would have been negated and marginalized. The stories my participants shared in our interviews are full of examples of the positive change they have experienced following these legal developments. Most importantly, however, was the fact that society changed along with the law.

Coming Out Stories Most of the couples I interviewed came out in midlife, or, if they came out younger, during the 1980s and 1990s in the middle of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. None of these coming out processes was easy. Many couples argue they still need to come out daily, explaining that coming out never ends. For example, Sarah explained how often the coming out process happens for her and Jane: “Every single day you have to come out. Jane gets into a taxi, and they’ll say, ‘What does your husband do?’ You know, and then you have to come out again, or can you be bothered?” Along with the repetition of the coming out process, there was a difference in the coming out stories between male and female participants because of the legal framework that was active at the time of coming out. The following examples illustrate this difference and the various ways the participants came to terms with their sexuality and with coming out to their families. Of the six male participants in the research, only one had children from a previous marriage. Robert (76) says he entered marriage because he was trying to hide from his sexuality: Yes, I was trying. I mean, I think that I was on a sort of denial trip all in all, and that I didn't sort of. . .really. . .I always knew I was gay, but I managed to sort of hide from it and pretend it wasn't there. That's really why I got married I guess, but then when the marriage came to an end, that's when I really had to face it, you know.

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In his youth, Robert used marriage to hide his sexual identity from others and himself, believing that following the heteronormative path would make him normal and ordinary in the eyes of his immediate community (Richardson & Monro, 2012). This narrative was common among all male participants, who tried to hide their sexual identity for fear of being rejected by their family or prosecuted by law enforcement. Robert did not make any references to how coming out impacted his two children, now living in the United States, but he mentioned they visited him every so often. His story illustrates that gay men hid their sexual identity because of societal expectations or the legal system treated them like criminals. While male participants shared stories about hiding and persecution, female participants talked about how their experiences were invisible during their youth. The lack of role models, notably of lesbian women who were out in public, was one of the main reasons why the female participants did not come out earlier in life (Bird et al., 2012). The stories they shared also illustrated the heteronormative gender roles that framed their life and relationships in the past. An example of the impact of gender roles on one’s sexual identity is clear in Sarah’s (61) and Jane’s (56) coming out stories. Their experiences are similar. Both were married to men and had children before they realized they were attracted to women. For Jane, it was not only her husband’s reaction she was concerned about, but her children’s as well: For me, it was complicated because I was married to a man at the time, and I was. . .I had two young children, so it just. . .as the dawning happened to me, I thought, I knew I was unhappy, and then started to think why that might be, and as I began to realize what was happening, I then thought ‘well I can’t do anything about this because I’ve got two small children,’ and I had no role models, nobody else that I knew was in a position like I was, and I just thought I will have to just forget it, because I can’t do this and make my children unhappy.

Jane explained how she perceived her children’s happiness as more important than hers. The difficulty of coming out because she was in an opposite-sex marriage further illustrated the impact of heteronormative gender roles on her life and relationship, suggesting that her coming out process would have meant deviating from the norms she had probably followed her entire life. For Jane, following such established norms implied that if she came out, she felt she could have suffered ridicule and rejection (Van Voorhis & McClain, 1997), and the lack of role models enforced that perception. In the end, Jane realized she could not be a good parent to her children if she was unhappy, so she came out. She recalls that her children “not only survived but actually thrived” once she was comfortable with her own sexual identity. Like Jane, Emily (77) also shared that her coming out story had her children’s best interest in mind: I had a funny relationship with men. I wanted to have children, I only had one partner. . .but as I, as I said earlier, Nick was, he was almost like another one of my children, and I. . .blokes were pals, they weren’t somebody I flirted with, they were pals. Anyway, I realized that, actually, I was gay, but I kept it very much under wraps, because, as I said earlier, Lisa [daughter] was bullied.

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Emily hid her sexuality for several years and relocated from England to Scotland to protect her daughter from bullying. When she decided to come out, she did so to one of her children’s best friends to see how he would react. Of course, the news traveled quickly. Soon all of her children knew and were happy for her, with one daughter also coming out when she learned of her mother’s sexuality. The examples these women set for their children and everyone who knew them portray a great amount of courage in breaking away from expected gender norms and living a life with the people they chose. The coming out process was just the first step in constructing their families, and even that would not have been possible without the support of family, friends, and relevant institutions.

Constructing Families The families I interviewed had positive experiences with Scottish society, government, and nongovernmental organizations. Most of the participants explained that, since 1999 and the devolution of the Scottish government, things started changing for the better. They felt that sexual minorities have been protected and will continue to be so, with more positive changes happening in the future. This positive sentiment toward Scottish institutions constructed a utopian image of Scotland as a utopia, a country moving forward in its quest for equality and inclusivity (Bloch, 1995). The utopian nature of their imagination and thinking about Scotland was based on the support they received in realizing their parental and familial projects. This is best exemplified in stories of how the couples felt welcome and included in Scotland, especially those from England, as some of the participants did. One such couple is Emily (77) and Gloria (58). Gloria came to Edinburgh to study, and Emily relocated because her daughter had been bullied in school. Emily and Gloria are in a long-term living apart together (LAT) relationship, a relationship in which both sides maintain their independence while being long-term partners (Duncan & Phillips, 2009). Emily was married to a man in the past and has six children from that relationship, all of whom Gloria considers as her own. Both of them feel very strongly about continuing to live in Scotland, and a big part of their determination to stay in the country is the fact that the current leading party of the Scottish government, the Scottish National Party (SNP), and the First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, showed continued support toward the LGBTQ2 community. In her written account, Gloria explained her contentment with Scotland: I feel that Scotland has undergone rapid transformation in recent years into a much more socially liberal society, perhaps particularly when it comes to LGBT rights and I really don’t see these advances being rolled back in my lifetime because the majority of young Scots now seem to find the idea of discrimination on the grounds of sexuality ludicrous.

Emily and Gloria actively participated in campaigns for human rights in their youth. Their desire to create a more equal and inclusive society fits into the current government’s political agenda. Emily explained that she wants her children and

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grandchildren to continue being politically active. She wants to share her beliefs with the rest of her family, thus passing on part of her own identity to them. This aspect of Emily and Gloria’s identity, political activism, was one of the identity traits they discussed most during our interviews. It comes as no surprise then that they would want their children and grandchildren to continue with this legacy: It means carrying a part of Emily and Gloria with them into future family constructions. The element of time, illustrated here, was a central aspect of my doctoral thesis. In short, the experiences the couples had in their youth impacted how they constructed their identities in the present and how they thought about the future, both for themselves and for their children (Jandric, 2020). Even though the children in their family are biologically Emily’s, she explained that “they’re Gloria’s grandchildren, not just mine, even though they’re my children’s children,” combining the biological and chosen family aspects to create their own unique family structure. This was a common narrative among the couples, with one partner accepting the other partner’s children as their own, and the children accepting their parent’s partner as a parental figure. The formation of these families and the parental openness about their sexual identity might also positively impact the coming out of the children and grandchildren, simply by creating an inclusive environment in which all members feel safe to explore and be who they are. For example, Sarah and Jane have five children, four of whom have come out as lesbian or gay (they often refer to their fifth daughter as a token heterosexual in the family). One of Emily’s daughters came out as lesbian, as did Sharon’s (64) granddaughter. Being openly out and getting married as a same-sex couple would not have been possible before the Marriage and Civil Partnership (Scotland) Act was introduced in 2014. Most of the couples in my research who were married did so as soon as the law was passed. For them, this legislation was a way to make their relationship equal in society’s eyes and give them protection for the future when they might need to make decisions regarding health and social care issues on behalf of each other. The Marriage and Civil Partnership (Scotland) Act (2014) reflected the Scottish government’s desire to protect Scotland’s minority groups. In their own words, Sarah and Jane argued that “to have the first minister prepared to stand up and say ‘not on my watch will anybody who’s different be treated badly’“ was “so supportive, it’s amazing.” As with Emily and Gloria, Sarah and Jane felt that they could trust the political leadership to stand up for what is right and to support their rights into the future. Coming from a background that they shared with many lesbian women their age (i.e., married to a man because of societal pressures to conform to heteronormative standards), Sarah and Jane were able to form their family because of institutional support. As they recalled, their marriage was an act of support for other same-sex couples as well: “I think it’s really important that other women see that other women are doing this [getting married], so we knew that we would get a bit of publicity because of the circles that we operate in” (Jane). Even before they got married, Jane explained, their children (five in total) “very much saw each other as brothers and sisters.” Sarah and Jane’s family is a textbook example of a chosen family (Weeks et al., 2001), where friends and family both play a part in constructing the family identity of all its members (Karraker & Grochowski, 2012).

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Both couples, Emily and Gloria and Sarah and Jane, came out to their children and other family members in an open way, talking to them and going through the coming out process together. The impact this had on their children was overwhelmingly positive. It served as an example of the change in society toward more inclusiveness and equality. During Sarah and Jane’s wedding ceremony, their children made a speech in which their youngest daughter said they should get married “just because it should be.” Emily’s children also accepted their mother’s sexual identity as a completely normal2 Alan (63) and Jeff (70) often said during our interviews that they are “just another couple in the family,” reiterating the feeling of acceptance and belonging. An interesting story of (not) coming out was shared by Sharon (64) and Anna (46), who started their relationship as coworkers and then friends who began living together. Anna was one of Sharon’s employees and was looking for an apartment. Sharon offered for her to stay with her. When Anna moved it, their relationship slowly changed from a friendship into a romantic involvement. They were married shortly before our interview. Both said they have never come out in a way that, for example, Emily has. Despite this, their family members knew they were in a relationship together. One of the stories they shared with me shows how accepted and ordinary their relationship has been perceived within their family: Sharon: But then about two months ago, we got married in February so it would have been in April, Anna was gonna be out, cause on a Saturday she’s [granddaughter] usually with us because he [father] plays football, and Anna will probably be visiting her mum and dad, and she goes like ‘Anna? What have you got to do?’, and Anna is going ‘I don’t know?’, ‘before you leave, what have you got to do? You have to kiss your wife’, and we were like, ‘ok’. So now she’s got this thing, when anyone of us leave the house it’s like ‘granny Sharon, where are you going? What do you have to do before you go?’ And so I’ve got to kiss Anna, and then all three have to get into a hug, a group hug. And then we’ve got to kiss her, and she’s just ‘you have to kiss your wife.’ Anna: She’s really obsessed with our relationship. Sharon: I look at it, it’s, for her it’s always been a very stable thing, coming to our house has always been very stable, and I think almost she sees that as kind of almost the standard, this is really stable.

The stability of the relationship and the affection Sharon and Anna shared were more important than their sexual identity or that their relationship might not have been considered the standard in a less accepting family. All the examples presented so far demonstrate different family structures where the family is made up of biological family members and chosen ones. The following stories illustrate a more comprehensive understanding of family, where the entire community of LGBTQ2 people is included in its construction. Alan and Jeff, a married couple with no children, consider the LGBTQ2 community their family (along with their biological family). As Jeff wrote: “But there are many people who identify as “gay,” “transgender,“ or whatever, they have the right

2 Normal here denotes belonging to the norm, as opposed to marginalized, which is how same-sex attraction and coupledom has been perceived in the past.

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to a safe society, [and to] be recognised as “family“ and they are my family!” The sense of belonging Alan and Jeff feel with the rest of the LGBTQ2 community reflects May’s (2013) idea about the interconnectedness of the self and society. By identifying as gay, Alan and Jeff feel like they are members of a bigger group of people who also identify as gay or any other sexual and gender identity. Apart from using their sexual identity to feel a sense of belonging to the LGBTQ2 family, Alan and Jeff utilize it to explain their position within their own family. They explained that they are considered as just another couple within their family, emphasizing the importance of feeling normal, but they are also proud to have a slightly different status than the rest of the family: Alan: And so yeah, we’re known as the guncles. So, I often send cards, you know, ‘Happy birthday from the guncles,’ or, you know, ‘Merry Christmas from the guncles,’ so we are actually quite pleased, quite proud of that, you know. And it was a way in which they explained it to their kids. Jeff: We even have t-shirts. We even got t-shirts and caps. Alan: Guncle Alan and Guncle Jeff. [laughing]

The Guncles, a term coined from the words gay and uncle, are a same-sex couple from an American reality show called Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood. The show followed the lives of American actress Tori Spelling, and her husband, also an actor, Dean McDermott, and The Guncles were their close friends. As Alan and Jeff explained during our interviews, they were “in many respects. . .just like another couple who are heterosexual.” Perceiving themselves in this manner was a way to view their relationship as normal and to frame it within the realm of “normality and respectability” (Ingraham, 2005, p.59). The Guncles, however, was also a way to be different from other couples in the families, and to emphasize the importance of their sexual identity in the construction of their family ties. Sexual identity played an important role in constructing a sense of belonging to a wider community of people, namely the LGBTQ2 community. Through the stories participants shared about their futures, they explained how they wanted to leave a legacy for the generations of LGBTQ2 people to come in the form of a more equal and inclusive society. The need to take care of this future generation of people is similar to what a family does: It provides shelter and creates a safe environment for its members. The fact that all the members of such a family might not be known to each other does not stop the couples in this research from caring about their future wellbeing. The sense of belonging to the LGBTQ2 community and an understanding of that community as a family can be explained by the idea of imagined families, as proposed by Körber and Merkel (2012).

Imagined Families “Imagined Families” follows authors such as Deborah Bryceson and Ulla Vuorela (2002) in transposing Benedict Anderson’s thesis of nationalism as imagined community (1983) onto the family, and thus directing attention to the ways that family is made: how it is negotiated,

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symbolically generated, and affirmed through everyday practice, but also how it is changed, for example through altered legal frameworks. (Körber & Merkel, 2012, p.6)

The above quote encapsulates how the families in this chapter are constructed and contextualized within a wider social and cultural setting. The mention of legal frameworks opens a discussion on same-sex families and their transformation from marginalized and invisible to having the right to be accepted like mainstream families, which denotes heterosexual ones. Following Körber and Merkel’s (2012) ideas, I will now explore how the concept of imagined families applies to same-sex families in more detail. Family has been defined in many ways in sociological writing throughout history. The most common definition from around 35 years ago was that “family is a group of people related by blood or by law, living together or associating with one another to a common purpose, that purpose being the provision of food, shelter, and the rearing of children” (Wilson, 1995, p. 2). While Wilson (1995) acknowledges that the family structure is fluid and depends on different social and cultural contexts, he still focuses on heteronormative building blocks that make up a family, such as marriage and having children. Not only have these aspects of family life changed in oppositesex families, but they have historically been denied to same-sex couples. With the introduction of certain legislation, same-sex couples gained the right to form civil partnerships, marry, and adopt children, shifting the narrative of what constitutes a family. Mezey (2015) proposes an argument that what makes a family is the intersection of its own subjective experience and the wider social context: The ways in which families are formed—the roles and functions families perform, their structure in terms of who occupies them, and the experiences of their members—are born out of the social, economic, cultural, political, and historical context in which those families exist. (p. 2)

Existing in the present time has allowed the families in this chapter to construct ties and relationships of their own choosing, and sometimes what they chose was the entire LGBTQ2 community, thus creating the imagined family that can span an entire country. According to Anderson (1991), some of the things that make people consider themselves part of a certain nation are a shared history and common goals for the future. This is true of imagined communities as well, including the LGBTQ2 community. Before 1980 and the decriminalization of homosexuality in Scotland, one of the common goals of the LGBTQ2 community was achieving the right to engage in relationships with people of the same sex. The campaigns for LGBTQ2 equality that happened in the last 40 years in Scotland primarily had the LGBTQ2 community as the main agent, allies, and other minority groups. Looking at these events from today’s perspective, we can see elements of a shared history among the LGBTQ2 community. The Stonewall riots, one of the key events for gay rights, are still the cornerstone of LGBTQ2 history. For the British context, the campaign to repeal Section 28 of the Local Government Act (1988; Weeks, 2007) prohibited promoting homosexuality in schools and framed same-sex relationships as unacceptable family relationships. The participants in my research either were actively

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involved in the campaigns to repeal Section 28, or they learned about it from media, friends, and other sources. Whatever the level of their involvement, the knowledge about this event was shared between all the participants, serving as a collective memory of the past. When it comes to common goals for the future, these were also shared among the participants and revolved around creating a more inclusive and equal society for future generations. The desire to make the future more welcoming to different sexual and gender identities stemmed from the experiences my participants had in their own past. Growing up during a time when same-sex attraction was either punishable by law for men or virtually nonexistent for women (a lot of the female participants explained they only realized women can be in relationships with other women in their 40s and 50s) motivated my participants to become involved in social and political movements that had LGBTQ2 rights at their core. Going into the future, the participants expressed their commitment to continuing the fight for equality. As Alan said: “That is the fight, if there is a fight, to continue, is the fact that we have a society which is open and inclusive and we just need to make sure that it stays that way.” A similar sentiment was shared by Rachel (58): I don’t think as a community, LGBT community, we can sit back on our laurels and think we’ve won. I think we’ve won some battles but we haven’t won the war yet, and if we sit back on our laurels and just think ‘well that’s what we’ve achieved, we’ve got everything now, so we can just sit back and enjoy it’, and we’re doing a service to those who are coming behind us, cause we’ve got to fight for their rights, and for something for them to inherit, and that’s definitely the way I see it.

The idea that there is still more to be done for equality and inclusivity is linked to the events the participants witnessed in the past and are witnessing now. With a move toward being one of the best countries for LGBTQ2 equality in Europe, Scotland has taken steps in ensuring its sexual minorities feel welcome and safe (Equality Network, 2021). In such a climate, my participants feel encouraged to come out and form families and to identify themselves as members of a wider LGBTQ2 community openly.

Conclusion Throughout this chapter, I shared stories told by older same-sex couples in Scotland about their coming out process, family, and future. By contextualizing their lives within the social and legal changes in the past 40 years in the United Kingdom and Scotland, I emphasized the importance of studying not only sexual identity but different family formations through an intersection of subjective experiences and the social, cultural, and political contexts in which these families were formed. Following this, the contributions of this chapter are twofold. First, by exploring the coming out stories, I shared a glimpse of the lived experiences of my research participants during a time when any sexual identity apart from heterosexuality was marginalized, discriminated against, and prosecuted.

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The impact of social norms on the construction of the participants’ identity was visible through their coming out stories, whether they portrayed the need to hide and deny their sexuality, like Robert, or to keep it hidden for the sake of their children, as Emily and Jane did. Whatever their coming out process was, it was a key part of their identity development. According to May (2013), identity construction is an ongoing and relational process. The construction of sexual identity depends on subjective personal experiences, the influence of institutions, historical context, and legal and identity practices (Weeks, 2012). The formation of LGBTQ2 families follows a similar path, combining the personal understanding of what makes a family and the institutional processes, such as civil partnership or marriage, that allow such families to be recognized by law. Second, the families presented in this chapter differ in their composition, but they are similar based on being same-sex. Their construction included biological family members and members of choice, breaking the boundary of the traditional definition of family being made up only of kin. In addition to the people in these families, legal and political institutions also participate in their construction by providing protection and rights they can enjoy thanks to progressive laws and an accepting community. Apart from families composed of parents and children, there were those who included the wider LGBTQ2 community, creating a sense of belonging to an imagined family. By exploring the idea of imagined families in the context of LGBTQ2 families, I argue that this concept is appropriate for studying same-sex families and opens avenues for studying the construction of belonging to the LGBTQ2 community in general. This chapter has shown that, apart from the subjective understanding of what makes a family and the impact of institution on its creation, time also plays a key role in constructing LGBTQ2 families. The different experiences presented in this chapter show that there is no single way to understand what family is and that how a specific family will be formed depends on the lived experiences of its members. Taking the past experiences of the couples presented in this chapter, it is clear that social norms and expectations play an important role in family construction. For some, it was the need to feel normal and accepted within the wider family, and to be perceived as a regular couple. For others, it was the desire to serve as role models for other same-sex couples who are thinking of getting married and starting a family but might be afraid to do so. Whatever their motivation, the LGBTQ2 families of Scotland are an example of what happens when political leadership and society work together to support minorities and make changes for the better.

References Adoption and Children (Scotland) Act. (2007). The National Archives. https://www.legislation.gov. uk/asp/2007/4/contents Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined communities: Reflections of the origin and spread of nationalism. Verso.

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Bird, J. D. P., Kuhns, L., & Garofalo, R. (2012). The impact of role models on health outcomes for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender youth. Journal of Adolescent Health, 50, 353–357. Bloch, E. (1995). The principle of hope (Vol. 2). Verlag. Civil Partnership Act. (2004). The National Archives. https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/2004/33/section/30. Criminal Justice (Scotland) Act. (1980). The National Archives. https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1980/62/contents Duncan, S., & Phillips, M. (2009). People who live apart together (LATs): How different are they? The Sociological Review, 58(1), 112–134. Equality Network. (2021). LGBTI equality manifesto 2021-26 Scottish Parliament. https://www. scottishtrans.org/resources/lgbti-equality-manifesto-2021/. Ingraham, C. (2005). Thinking straight: The power, the promise, and the paradox of heterosexuality. Routledge. Jandric, D. (2020). Imagined futures of same-sex couples. Doctoral dissertation, University of Edinburgh. Karraker, M. W., & Grochowski, J. R. (2012). Families with futures: Family studies into the 21st century (2nd ed.). Psychology Press. Körber, K., & Merkel, I. (2012). Imagined families in mobile worlds. Museum Tusculanum Press. Local Government Act. (1988). The National Archives. https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1 988/9/contents. Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act. (2013). The National Archives. https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/2013/30/contents/enacted/data.htm Marriage and Civil Partnership (Scotland) Act. (2014). The National Archives. https://www. legislation.gov.uk/asp/2014/5/contents/enacted May, V. (2013). Connecting self to society: Belonging in a changing world. Palgrave Macmillan. Mezey, N. J. (2015). LGBT families. SAGE Publications. Raj, S., & Dunne, P. (2020). The queer outside in law: Recognising LGBTIQ people in the United Kingdom. Springer. Richardson, D., & Monro, S. (2012). Equality and diversity. Macmillan. Stonewall. (2016). Key dates for lesbian, gay, bi and trans equality. https://www.stonewall.org.uk/ about-us/key-dates-lesbian-gay-bi-and-transequality Van Voorhis, R., & McClain, L. (1997). Accepting a lesbian mother. Families in Society, 78(6), 642–650. Weeks, J. (2007). The world we have won: The remaking of erotic and intimate life. Routledge. Weeks, J. (2012). Sex, politics and society: The regulation of xexuality since 1800. Routledge. Weeks, J., Heaphy, B., & Donovan, C. (2001). Same sex intimacies: Families of choice and other life experiments. Routledge. Wilson, A. (1995). Family. Routledge.

Transgender Couples’ Lives: Between Specificity, the Need for Normalization, and New Forms of Social Discrimination Giuseppe Masullo and Marianna Coppola

Abstract The essay aims to explore how affectivity and self-determination are now fundamental in the choice of starting a family. It dwells on their importance for transgender people, who build stable relationships as a necessity arising from the intersection of both affective and sexual requirements, and the need for protection from the exclusion and discrimination they suffered in both heterosexual and homosexual environments. This research aimed to describe, analyze, and understand the psychological, emotional, relational, and imaginary aspects of transgender people, and the processes that led them to form a couple with another transgender or cisgender person. The results highlighted that the couples we examined express a strong need for “normalization.” Their elaboration of the transgender identity is in some ways still influenced by the stigmatized conceptions of transgenderism and transsexuality that circulate in a society still rife with homophobic and trans-exclusionary instances. In more than one story, the family model pursued is the ideal traditional, heterosexual family. For some, the transgender condition is a central aspect of the couple, brought into play within the wider relationships, often also a source of pride (evident in the participation in LGBTQ+ movements). For others, it seems to be a

The paper was devised and written jointly by the authors. However, for the sake of authorship, sections “Introduction,” “The Research Path,” “Switch Couples: Heteronormativity and Sexual Normalisation Processes” are attributed to Giuseppe Masullo, while sections “Gender Identity, Transgenderism, and Gender Binarism: Some Key Concepts,” “Gender-Mixed Couples: The Reworking of the Sexual Label and the Search for Destigmatisation,” and “Conclusion” are attributed to Marianna Coppola. G. Masullo (*) Department of Human Sciences, Philosophy and Education, University of Salerno, Fisciano, Italy e-mail: [email protected] M. Coppola Department of Political and Communication Sciences, University of Salerno, Fisciano, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_8

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mere stage on the way to “normality,” lived in the secrecy of the couple, in some cases even denied. Keywords Transgender · Transsexual · Switch couples · Gender-mixed couples · Misgendering

Introduction The essay aims to explore how affectivity and self-determination are now fundamental in the choice of starting a family. It dwells on their importance for transgender people, who build stable relationships as a necessity arising from the intersection of affective and sexual requirements, and the need for protection from the exclusion and discrimination they suffered in both heterosexual and homosexual environments (D'Ippoliti & Schuster, 2011; Duggan, 2003). Intersectional research highlighted how the process of normalizing homoerotic desire contributed to combating discrimination (chiefly directed at White homosexual males). However, it also defined a quasiethnic identity within subcultural theories (Masullo, 2016). Its main effect was to skim over the debate on the social construction of heterosexuality and the cognitive regime imposed by the heterosexuality/homosexuality dichotomy. Above all, these subcultural theorizations defined homosexuality in terms of identity and, more generally, a universal identity category (Rinaldi, 2013). Heteronormativity still weighs heavily in terms of a reference model toward which to converge (or from which to diverge). Against this background, the essay will examine the relationships between transgender and cissexual people or specular transgender people (MtF with FtM). We will highlight the experiences, coping strategies, and reference models of the subjects who come together in these family formations, for whom little is explored in the literature on LGBTQ2 families. While the scientific literature abounds with research on the relationships of transgender people with their family of origin (parents, brothers/sisters), there is a considerable research gap from both a theoretical and empirical point of view. What is missing are studies on the family systems that transgender people create when they decide to form a couple (with another transgender person or with a cisgender person) or the pre-existing relationships with former heterosexual/homosexual partners (Bischof et al., 2017; Jackson, 2013). We want to shed light on the path that the research has already trodden for other nonnormative sexual identities. We start with the formation of the couple and explore vital moments of its constitution, such as the decision to live together under the same roof or to make the relationship public. How this bond affects the transition path and vice versa is central, constituting a fundamental aspect of a transgender person’s experience. In recent years, the issue of transgender families has been gaining increasing interest and consideration in both clinical practice and research (Ruspini & Inghilleri, 2009). The focus on the family environment is mainly for young

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transgender people, while it is often lacking for transgender adults. In clinical practice, for example, the focus of many clinicians in transgender health care is on helping the transgender patient, often ignoring the involvement of their family (including their family of choice) and their social network. Research has shown that one of the foremost factors contributing to the overall well-being of transgender people is the presence of a supportive social network and stable relationships (Davies et al., 2013). The emotional, material, and symbolic support offered to the partners of transgender people is of great importance for the success of the transition and is positive for the mental health of transgender people themselves. Affective ties and social reinforcement can contribute to experiencing the congruity between the physical body and body image (gender integration) and thus help consolidate the chosen gender identity. The attitude and understanding of others play a crucial role in gender identity integration and thus on the well-being of the transgender person (Ainsworth & Spiegel, 2010; Fraser, 2009). Conversely, lack of social support sensibly worsens vulnerability (Fraser, 2009). The role of the newly established family in the success of the gender integration process and the transition path also hinges on how transgender people interpret the signs of these transitions, for example, from a bodily point of view, following surgery. Dissatisfaction after surgery is higher if related to a psychological feeling of loneliness. A stable relationship is essential to achieve postoperative well-being (Gijs & Brewaeys, 2007). Against this background, this paper aims to answer the following research questions. How do transgender people and their partners form families? What are the main differences between the couples formed by two transgender partners and those made by a transgender and a cisgender partner? What is the role played by the gender transition process in the couple’s well-being? What are the main discriminations transgender couples face? To create a theoretical frame of reference for understanding, interpreting, and orienting the results of the empirical section, the first part of the essay will briefly introduce the concepts of gender identity, transgenderism, gender binarism, and nonbinary identity. We will then examine the possible types of transgender couples, highlighting their specific peculiarities, similarities, and main differences. The second part will present and explain the results of the empirical investigation, trying to answer the research questions formulated above. We will analyze the life stories and biographical paths of transgender people in a relationship with transgender or cisgender partners. The concluding reflections will point out and clarify the methodological limitations encountered. In addition, we will try to outline future research scenarios by identifying new dimensions of analysis to broaden and complexify the analysis of transgender people’s family systems.

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Gender Identity, Transgenderism, and Gender Binarism: Some Key Concepts The term gender identity describes the sexual consciousness that individuals have of themselves. It can correspond to the male or female gender or ambivalently to both. The construction of gender identity generally begins with being assigned to a sexual category at birth based on the observation of the newborn’s external genitals. Stoller (1985) coined the term gender identity to identify the process of gender identity construction. He envisaged two possible outcomes of this process. First, a correspondence between gender identity and biological sex according to the binary male/female logic, which he defines as cisgender. Second, and opposite, a noncorrespondence between gender identity and biological sex, where the possible gender identity constructions lie outside of binarism, defined as transgender. To better understand the phenomena studied, it is necessary to distinguish between transsexuality and transgenderism. Transsexuality is when a person experiences a mismatch between physical and psychic identity. This condition is experienced as so negative, invalidating, and totalizing in all areas of life that it pushes individuals to undertake psychological, legal, and medical-surgical paths to align their physical appearance and characteristics with their gender identity. Transsexuality has been considered a psychological and personality disorder for many years. From 1980 to 1994, it appeared in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (versions III and IV) under the section “Psychological and Sexual Disorders,” first as transsexuality and then as gender identity disorder. Subsequently, many battles for self-determination were fought against the social stigma caused by pathologizing transsexuality. To simplify the protocols governing gender transitions, in 2013, the American Psychological Association (APA) eliminated transsexuality as a mental pathology and accepted it instead as a social disadvantage (APA, 2013). Transgenderism, on the other hand, refers to those individuals who feel an incongruence between the gender identity they were assigned at birth (based on their biological sex) and the one they live and experience. However, this does not entail a complete rejection of their body and sexual experience. Therefore, they resort to social and sometimes somatic alignment strategies, but only to a partial extent (e.g., crossdressing, eliminating secondary sexual characteristics). The umbrella term transgender represents a social and cultural macrocategory to identify those who do not perceive their gender identity to fully align with their biological sex, whether binary or nonbinary. Gender binarism is the social and/or cultural criterion that envisages only two sexual genders: male and female, creating a de facto one-to-one correspondence between biological sex and social/sexual gender. Consequently, we can further distinguish transgender identities into those that follow gender binarism and those that disagree with it. The former type is expressed by the polarity MtF (Male to Female) and FtM (Female to Male); the latter encompasses those defined as nonbinary identities (Koehler et al., 2018; Reisner & Hughto, 2019). Nonbinary people do not identify exclusively with either male or female

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gender identity but adopt fluid, open, oscillating, and situational identity constructions. Genderfluid identities oscillate between the two genders or neither at any given time; their gender expressivity shifts according to episodic and contextual parameters. Agender identities deny closed and immutable gender belonging, constructing new gender expressions without linking them to known and considered dominant genders (Richards & Bouman, 2016; Scandurra et al., 2019).

Transgender Families: Switch and Gender-Mixed Couples Current Italian literature is scarce on the formation of a transgender couple and the family styles that take shape. First, we should point out that normativity and the various social and sexual homologation processes also exist within the transgender community. These processes create reference models and identity constructions that determine social inclusion and exclusion criteria. For transgender people, these processes inevitably lead back to binarism and heteronormativity, although with an increasing percentage of transgender people with nonbinary identities and homoerotic sexual orientation (Masullo & Coppola, 2021). Transgender people’s desire for normalization, affectivity, and family construction shows in their search for partners who can satisfy the expectations and set of characteristics ascribed to traditional family construction. However, there is no lack of people seeking alternative family models. On them, research is still ongoing. The first possible relational construction of transgender people is the couple formed by two transgender people, a transsexual man (FtM) and a transsexual woman (MtF). This family construction, defined as a switch, relies on shared experiences, similar biographies, and mutual understanding and acceptance of one’s characteristics and limitations inherent to gender transition. Quattrini (2015) identifies two main psychological motivations underlying the spontaneous formation of switch transgender couples: an affiliative reason and a sexual-romantic one. The first relies on the empathy associated with both partners sharing the gender transition path. The second is because the transgender switch couple redefines its personal erotic space, shifting the axis of attraction from mainly sexual to romantic and relational. The latter, in turn, gradually reclaims the intimate and sexual sphere in a sort of renegotiation. Existing literature (Hager, 2015; Jackson, 2013; Malpas, 2012) suggests that transgender switch couples receive more emotional and practical assistance by social support networks (especially their families of origin and friendship networks, as well as state agencies). This support network constitutes a framework within which to experience themselves both as individuals in their new identity constructions and as a couple seen and placed within a network of stable social relations. The second possible relational construction is gender-mixed, formed by a transgender person (FtM or MtF) and a cisgender person (biological woman or man) in a heterosexual and/or homosexual relationship. Through a complex and articulated process, gender-mixed couples rework their expectations, negotiating social and

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cultural expectations and their own emotional and relational needs to form a couple and family. Studies on gender-mixed couples are internationally widespread and highlight some key issues that can provide interpretive frames through which to view switch couples (on which the literature is scarce). These studies focus mainly on how the transgender identification of one partner affects the life and identity of the couple, particularly the reactions of the cisgender partner. They examine either the transition process during the construction of a couple (previously homosexual or heterosexual) or, conversely, of bonds formed after the transition process has ended. In the first case, as mentioned, the research focuses mainly on the reaction of the cisgender partner. For example, Theron and Collier (2013) suggest that the partners of a mixed-gender couple go through a process they named cotransition. While this transition is different for each couple, change remains the hallmark in most cases. Their qualitative study on cisgender women partnered with transgender men (FtM) found that women were deeply affected by the transitions (Theron & Collier, 2013). The participants described having to renegotiate many aspects of their lives to adapt to the new situation. They reported that they undergo a re-evaluation of their own identity throughout their partner’s transition and that this strongly impacts many aspects of their daily lives. The new status (i.e., the change from a lesbian couple to a posttransition heterosexual couple in a heteronormative society) may entail recognizing some privileges that did not exist before the transition. However, discrimination within and without the rainbow community arises frequently. In the first case, having a transgender partner can make one appear too heterosexual (Meier et al., 2013; Tate et al., 2015), inducing isolation and marginalization. In the second case, various risks go hand-in-hand with the stigma on the transgender/transsexual condition, which can extend to the cisgender partner. Cisgender partners intensely feel how others perceive their gender and sexual identity after their partner’s transition. Joslin-Roher and Wheeler (2009) and Brown (2009) highlighted how cisgender partners experience identity conflicts due to their partner’s transition that entails identity negotiation on a personal, relational, and social level. For example, they change the terms used to describe their identities (e.g., from lesbian to queer) to expand the understanding of their sexuality and to not delegitimize or reveal their partner as transgender. Research highlights that cisgender partners often experience confusion and concern about how their identities will be perceived when their partners are transgender. Cisgender partners often struggle to describe their identities in a way that simultaneously affirms their partner’s identity and their own (Giammattei & Green, 2012). Transgender people are particularly at risk during transition or when their gender presentation does not conform to binary gender expectations (Grant et al., 2011). This risk awareness and the related considerations can impact when and where to disclose to others their relationship with a transgender person. Concerns about the stigma associated with transgender and transsexual people are common in cisgender partners. The new status determines a rearrangement of the couple’s social and relational opportunities (e.g., in the choice of friends) or the contexts in which they can show themselves publicly. The degree of openness perceived in the

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mainstream environment thus conditions the couple in their propensity to participate in meetings or attend couple contexts, where the latter need to be safe and inclusive toward transgender people (Platt & Bolland, 2018). The same studies highlighted how cisgender partners, following the transition of the transgender partner, have become more aware of the effects of nonconforming gender expression (ibid.). Moreover, they endure frustration for the judgment others express toward their partners and how emotionally difficult it is to see their loved one being the object of harassment or violence. These instances seem to undermine the couple’s serenity, especially in the early stages of the transition process, engendering stress and tension. More recent studies focus on homosexual relationships and how they are affected by one partner’s decision to transition. Meier et al. (2013), in their study on transgender men, highlighted that around half of the couples broke up after one partner decided to transition. Some studies suggest that the cisgender partner’s reactions to the disclosure of a transgender identity may include confusion or feelings of betrayal, while others highlight how such an announcement will strengthen the existing bond between partners (Joslin-Roher & Wheeler, 2009). Platt and Bolland (2018) highlight that a person often transitioning experiences many physical, sexual, and emotional changes, with consequences for the couple’s intimacy and communication around their emotional and sexual needs, including those of their cisgender partner. For example, physical changes to the body mean new sexual experiences, especially for partners with a transgender identity undergoing medical transition. Body dysphoria inevitably complicates sexual intimacy because transgender partners do not always feel that their genitals are congruent with their gender identity. Therefore, aspects related to couple intimacy are among those that generate the most doubts and concerns. Moreover, the cisgender partner has not always reflected enough on the inconsistencies between biological identity, gender identity, and sexual orientation, which makes it essential to overcome cultural and, of course, psychological barriers. Finally, we consider the couples formed after the one member’s transition process. In them, the transgender identity of one partner assumes a different meaning both for the cisgender partner and for the couple. In this case, the partners have already completed their transition process; meeting and getting to know each other often takes place without a clear awareness of the former biological identity of one of the partners, especially in the case of good passing. The initial phase for this kind of relationship thus inevitably involves the transgender person coming out and their cisgender partner accepting their past. With all its difficulties, this phase often culminates with the decision to either end or continue the relationship. The discriminations linked to the stigmatized identity of one of the partners are a concern for both. Recent research has shown that the stressors experienced by the transgender member also have “cross-over” effects on the cisgender partner (Gamarel et al., 2014), which often results in the need to conceal the relationship, to keep the previous biological identity of the partner hidden as much as possible from friends or relatives (Lev & Sennott, 2012).

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As Smithee (2021) argued, much of the literature on the subject often lacks critical reflexivity, as can be seen in the way transition is considered. In the case of cisgender partners, it is seen only in negative terms. It highlights their suffering and disregards the potential for emotional growth (for both the cisgender person and the couple itself). It excludes points of view that could capture the metacognitive, psychological, and social aspects that promote the bio-psycho-social well-being of transgender people and their partners (such as overcoming toxic masculinity in the couple). The invisibility of the transgender condition in the gender-mix couple, expressed in the omission of the transgender partner’s previous transgender identity (to forestall discriminations), can also characterize the cisgender partner, but in different ways. It could cause the hyperextension of the transgender partner’s gender variance within the couple or lead to misgendering for the cisgender partner. Compared to the transgender switch couple, the gender-mixed couple is more likely to be subjected to phenomena such as misgendering by social contexts. Misgendering is the psychological, social, and communicative process, voluntary or involuntary, that refers to a transgender person using terms related to biological sex instead of the gender identity with which the person identifies. Examples include calling a transgender person by their dead name, using the wrong pronouns, or mistakenly calling them transsexual, homosexual, or bisexual.

The Research Path This research aimed to describe, analyze, and understand the psychological, emotional, relational, and imaginary aspects of transgender people and the processes that led them to form a couple with another transgender or cisgender person. Despite the inevitable methodological limitations (particularly finding the sample) and the resistance of transgender people and their partners to participate in scientific research (due to inhibitions and self-censorship in talking about aspects related to their sexuality and gender expression), we selected a reasoned sample of 30 transgender people (Monaco, 2021). Our sample consisted of both binary and nonbinary people, all in stable relationships, aged between 25 and 45 years old, living in different Italian regions. They either belonged to one of the main Facebook groups on transgender issues in Italy or were users of one of the reference centers for gender transition in Italy, namely the SAIFIP center in Rome. We interviewed in person the residents of Rome; for those living in other Italian regions, we used video call platforms, such as Skype, WhatsApp, and Meet. The empirical phase lasted from August 2020 to February 2021. We followed a biographical methodological approach. Stories and life stories are paramount for their ability to highlight the microsociological and identity processes at the core of this analysis (Bertaux, 1999). The reflections, analyses, and considerations identify common factors on the construction of the gender-mixed and switch pairs studied through the interviews. Our final aim is to direct and complexify future research.

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We invited the interviewees to recount their lives and couple dynamics. We followed a semistructured interview outline, from which we tried, through subsequent relaunches, to bring to light the universe of meanings of the interviewees, their intersectional discursive practices, and relational dynamics. The semistructured interview used for this research consisted of several sections, each touching on a specific dimension/issue. It contained four main sections: sociobiographical, identity, couple dynamics, and discrimination. The sociobiographical section highlighted aspects related to gender identity, transgenderism, sexual orientation, and the desire to transition (or not). The section devoted to the existing couple dynamic describes its evolution, history, strengths, and difficulties. The last section deals with the discrimination experienced in both mainstream society and the LGBTQ2 community. Regarding the relational status, the research took into consideration two possible family and/or couple configurations: • Switch couples: couples composed of two mirror transgender individuals, one female (MtF) and one male (FtM), or who define themselves as nonbinary. • Gender-mixed couples: couples composed of two individuals, one transgender (or nonbinary) and one cisgender. In both cases, sexual identity was not a specific focus of attention. However, we most frequently observed heterosexual sexual orientation for switch couples, whereas, for gender-mixed couples, we also noticed homosexual sexual orientation (Kins et al., 2008). The research started from the assumption that the relationships between transgender people are multiple and only partly conditioned by gender and sexual orientation. However, these dimensions still constitute a background against which dynamics and reciprocal expectations are generated for the couple. Besides clarifying the future need to describe this emerging phenomenon better, this aspect invites us to consider the stories stemming from the intertwining of personal dispositions and structural conditions. Consequently, they are not analytically superimposable and not easily subject to categorization. Although we attempted to capture imagery and recurring actions through crucial biographical passages (such as the transition process, the formation of the couple, the decision to live together, the reactions of family and friends, etc.), the stories described here should be examined in their uniqueness and specificity (Masullo, 2020).

Switch Couples: Heteronormativity and Sexual Normalization Processes This section will present the data and reflections that emerged from the analysis of the experiences of switch couples, that is, couples formed by two transgender partners: a transgender man (FtM) and a transgender woman (MtF) or two members who define themselves as nonbinary. The research involved 13 switch couples,

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between 22 and 45 years old, residing in various Italian regions, married or cohabiting. We started with the main question: How do transgender people form families with other transgender people? The stories told by transgender couples highlighted how the choice of a mirror partner is an almost functional option for two aspects that transgender people care about more than any other: self-determination and social recognition. About the first aspect, completing the transition process is a central step in the transgender person’s life, an almost obligatory stage for personal fulfillment, and everything else must be postponed. The transition process is often a sort of limbo, in which many (especially younger people) procrastinate all life decisions while waiting to see their goal realized, i.e., the correspondence of their inner self with their bodily or social self. As Mary (32, MtF, of Salerno) stated: Esteban is not my first transgender partner, but he will certainly be my last! At a certain point in my life, around the age of 32, I consciously chose to orient my relationship choices within the transgender community. The reasons? I was tired of always having to negotiate between social stigma and the weight of choices regarding gender transition. I immediately appreciated the simplicity of relating to an FtM transgender person, as the experiences were very similar. My husband and I work a lot because we are different, he ponders me, and in fact, since I have been with him, I have become very functional and my life has become stable and constructive.

The transition process does not occur in a social vacuum. The experience of being in a couple may prove crucial to the success of the self-determination project. Even more so, the choice of a transgender partner proves to be fundamental. Many interviewees see them as someone who can understand the needs and dilemmas surrounding this phase of life because they experience/d them personally. In this sense, there is a process of self-determination in tandem, a common goal of the couple. The two partners offer mutual support against the various psychological, medical, and juridical vicissitudes. According to Erick (34, FtM, of Trento): Being in a couple with a person who is also transgender can be an advantage because maybe the fact that one of you has already been through certain specific situations makes you understand what the other person will probably go through, both in terms of experiences and feelings, so you already know what to avoid, where to be more supportive and you understand each other more. (. . .) Before I met her, I had a huge disappointment because of this, and I was asking myself a lot of questions just to understand not only myself but also the others. I even thought that I would have liked to fall in love with a person like me. I thought about how I could feel in this situation. I won’t say that I was asking for it, but in any case, I was interested. I would have liked to see myself in a situation like that to see how I might feel; then, I happened to meet her. So, all the preconceptions you have about “I like only one thing” or “I like only one other thing” at the end, you realize that they are stupid, they are really instilled in you, they are just bullshit.

The second aspect, social recognition, refers to the gain in terms of status acquisition achieved by two transgender people who decide to be a couple. In the stories examined, the choice of being in a couple allowed the two partners to acquire a greater form of social recognition, and this emerged as the couple’s need to normalize itself, to adhere to and aspire to a traditional family model very similar to the one followed by cisgender and heterosexual couples. Being in a couple facilitated the relationship with the parents of both partners, corresponding to the

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desire to see the children framed within a socially recognized and accredited relationship, such as a civil union or marriage, and who find their ideal reference in the model of the traditional heterosexual family. The choice of a mirror partner may help in passing for normal and mitigating discriminations (often perceived as more frequent before the couple’s formation). The mirroring couple undoubtedly facilitates the normalization processes, thus constituting a fundamental instrument also at the level of self-acceptance and that from others. Ultimately, being in a couple with a person experiencing the same condition greatly improves the quality of life. Mary (32, MtF, of Salerno) spoke of this concept: Our families were supportive of our decision to get married. They understood the reasons behind our relationship and were relieved as we could have been their constant worry for the rest of their lives. All parents hope for their children’s marriage. . . Esteban? He was welcomed as a national hero! I have been very standoffish in my relationships, so when they met my husband, they breathed a sigh of relief! Of course, they weren’t betting a single euro on my new family, and once again I surprised them!

However, these relationships do not lack problems and dilemmas, highlighting, even more, the negotiation that characterizes these family configurations. This type of family lacks pre-existing models of behavior and thought from which to draw inspiration. This absence reflects many of the issues of a couple’s everyday life: from the most trivial ones, such as daily management and the division of family roles/ duties, to the more complex ones concerning the intimacy sphere, such as the couple’s sexuality. Sexuality between transgender partners is not much discussed in the interviews, especially in the couple interviews, as it is one of the most felt complexities. It particularly raises doubts for mirror couples because of the absence of shared sexual scripts and the all too common stereotyped and devaluing visions of transgender sexuality. Sexuality, like other aspects of the couple, constitutes an exercise of quasiexperimentation, of mediation between desire and pursuable possibilities. Once overcome, these aspects lead to greater complicity between the members of the interviewed couples. Marco (27, FtM, of Fermo) remarked: Our relationship is always evolving, we are like this now, but soon we will rediscover sex, rediscover love, because it will always be an evolution. In truth, I have never felt as good as I do with her with any other biological woman. Yes, maybe the dysphoric factor makes itself felt a lot on my genitals, but this does not preclude sex. I personally like sex.

Another issue that emerged is that of the division of family roles. It can fluctuate from the search for a certain rigidity, with a division of tasks that allocates different actions according to gender, to situations where these stereotypes are largely overcome. Indeed, the latter reality is also due to the current zeitgeist that imposes an equal division of family roles independent of gender. Interestingly, some participants recognized in their partner aspects that refer to their biological identity and thus to a heteronormative vision (i.e., correspondence between biological sex and gender identity). The interviewee may stress that their partners’ behavioral traits recall practices associated with their assigned gender. Examples are the marked sense of motherhood in FtM partners or the self-confidence in MtF partners. Although these first impressions would need further investigation, the expectations one has of one’s

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partner can show the need to follow this kind of confirmation. This often generates conflict, for example, when one partner points out the inappropriate behavior to the other based on how they interpret their gender role. In some cases, the couple becomes a site to find confirmation of the consolidation of one’s identity. As Mary (32, MtF, of Salerno) explained: I am firmly convinced that education and cultural aspects are crucial to the models and practices ascribed to one or the other gender. I grew up as a man for about 18 years; for many things, I am used to thinking differently from women in practices and lifestyles. This is reflected in the couple: I often say to my husband “This is not like a man,” and he replies, “Don’t behave like a man!”

Gender-Mixed Couples: The Reworking of the Sexual Label and the Search for Destigmatization Gender-mixed couples, those with a cisgender and a transgender partner, needed different considerations. The partner’s transition process is less central to the couple’s life, especially for the cisgender partner, who often experiences the transgender identity in problematic terms. Without making generalizations that would require more in-depth study, it appears that the transgender condition of the partner is a factor to be omitted from the wider set of relationships and, in some cases, from the cisgender partner’s family of origin. It may be due to the dilemmas arising in the cisgender partner over their sexual identity and fear of discrimination. People who have relationships with transgender and transsexual partners are burdened by the stigma attached to prostitution and homosexuality. Such widespread imaginaries do not allow us to consider the genuineness of feelings that, instead, always emerge in situations far from mercenary sex. Not infrequently, transgender partners omit their transgender condition at the beginning of the relationship. It is particularly true for transgender people whose somatic and physical features allow for good passing. After transgender partners overcome the uncertainties related to coming out to their partner, the couple proceeds in the knowledge that they see themselves as a family made up of a heterosexual man and woman. However, some couples continue to hide a partner’s transgender condition from others, as Melissa (45, MtF, of Rome) did: Nobody ever pointed out anything that was wrong with me or that suggested a noncisgender gender identity, but on maternity, Carlo’s family is very interested and very intrusive. We gave them an official story, I had a myoma in my uterus and had a hysterectomy. Isn’t it credible?”

If being transgender constitutes a deep connection for mirror couples, in gendermixed ones, it tends to generate imbalances, often leading to suffering that is concealed from the cisgender partner. An essential part of the transgender partner’s self is denied, first to the couple and then to the world. Like mirror couples, being in a stable relationship improves the transgender person’s status, aiding their relations

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with their families of origin and others, and is decisive in confirming their selfdetermination process. Edoardo (33, FtM, of Rome) described this feeling: Since I finished my transition, I finally feel like myself and like I’m in the right place because I was not a homosexual woman but a heterosexual man. So having a cisgender heterosexual woman confirms that what I felt was right.

Not all gender-mixed couples reproduce the dynamics observed in the life stories analyzed. It is especially true for those in which the transgender partner was still completing the transition process at the beginning of the relationship. For some cisgender partners, this may lead to relational difficulties and cause them to question their sexual identities. In particular, the cisgender partners find it difficult to ascribe themselves to a sexual label consistent with their feelings, as noted by Thomas (33, FtM, of Rome): When I met Lorena, I was still in transition, so I was very androgynous. Lorena thought I was a very masculine girl and when I told her I was going to be a man, she turned away. Then we got closer, and she finally accepted me. I don’t know if it will last but we are trying.

A separate issue is that of partners misaligned with both gender identity and sexual identity according to the homosexual and heterosexual man/woman binary scheme. These aspects shed light on the processes of inclusion and exclusion within and without the rainbow community and are partly related to the following research question: What happens when we are dealing with a transgender and homosexual couple? The stories examined illustrate a clear self-consciousness on the part of the interviewees regarding the differences between gender identity and sexual orientation. They first had to explain to themselves and then to others the coherence of the choice, for example, of transgendering into the opposite gender and at the same time choosing a homosexual sexual orientation. This condition generates many doubts in the relationship networks that envelop the couples. When couples explain to friends and relatives the legitimacy of these choices, they often are seen as a paradox or a kind of betrayal. Sara (37, MtF, of Rome) felt this deeply: Explaining to everyone that becoming a woman had nothing to do with my sexual orientation was difficult. I was a man married to a woman with two daughters. I became a woman, but I still like women, which is absurd to everyone. Have I changed my sexual orientation? No, I still like the same thing. I have changed my identity! But this is difficult for most people to understand.

The narrative strategies used by transgender and homosexual couples insist on the need to go beyond the question of corporeality, to see relationships as the result of understandings that are, first and foremost, true elective affinities that go beyond the categorizing logic imposed by the heteronormative model. Sadly, this model has now become a benchmark even in the LGBTQ2 community. Many find the community is still not very inclusive of nonbinary identities. Thomas (23, nonbinary, of Bologna) described how they perceive their sexuality: I don’t believe in sexual labels, I believe instead that everyone decides what to be, who and whether to love. My partner and I define ourselves as free from all schemes, I am agender and pansexual, she is cisgender polyamorous. These are words, but they describe a way of being and thinking.

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Conclusions The couples we examined express a strong need for normalization. Their elaboration of the transgender identity is in some ways still influenced by the stigmatized conceptions of transgenderism and transsexuality that circulate in a society still rife with homophobic and trans-exclusionary instances. The family model pursued in more than one story is the ideal traditional, heterosexual family. For some, the transgender condition is a central aspect of the couple, brought into play within the wider relationships, often also a source of pride (evident in the participation in LGBTQ2 movements). For others, it seems to be a mere stage on the way to normality, lived in the couple’s secrecy, in some cases even denied. Several stories recount the opposite course: expressing the gender identity in transition (especially in the first stages of the process), to then actively strive for it to go unnoticed, almost turning it into a kind of taboo, when the transition is concluded or when a satisfactory passing for normal is achieved. The desire to omit this part of oneself becomes more acute in the world of work, an environment in which the people we interviewed experienced strong discrimination and trans-exclusion. Many aspects of transitional families are still unexplored by social research. It is particularly true for switch couples, as they only recently appeared on the public scene, compared to the wider attention for gender-mixed couples (Brown, 2009; Hines, 2006; Joslin-Roher & Wheeler, 2009; Stein, 2016; Theron & Collier, 2013). Like the experiences of homogenous couples, as these couples become established in society, there is a need to understand the reasons that lead to a breakup. Some could be related to the individualization processes that caused contemporary love relationships to become more fragile; others to specific complexities of the transgender couple (both switch and gender-mixed) and, therefore, to the processes that characterize this type of relationship. As this research identified some of these processes, we can claim it is in some ways pioneering. Switch couples are fascinating as they can offer glimpses of the new ways of forming a couple. These new processes, in turn, disrupt the traditional way of understanding genders and sexuality, requiring original and complex forms of psychological and relational accommodation, also due to the lack of established reference models (e.g., on the question of sexuality, the subdivision of gender, and sexual roles). It is here that the overcoming of stereotypes relating to gender and sex is most evident when these do not prove helpful in orienting the couple in the contingencies of daily life or those connected with the transition process.

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Queering Motherhood and Mothering Queers in Morocco Benjamin Ale-Ebrahim

Abstract In Morocco, motherhood is a central site for enforcing normative expectations of family life and heterosexual reproduction, yet it also acts as a powerful tool for enacting expansive relations of care, protection, and unconditional support. In analyzing the stories of gay men I encountered during ethnographic research in Morocco in 2018 and 2019, I explore how queer Moroccans are reshaping the category of motherhood. How do queer people, especially gay men, live in relation to the category of mother in Morocco? How do queer Moroccan men engage with mothers, mothering, and motherhood as a way to build kinship relations with others? In what ways are queer men in Morocco reclaiming and reshaping normative models of motherhood, including taking on the role of mother themselves, to enact relations of care and support for one another both within and outside the boundaries of heteropatriarchal family structures? I argue that queer Moroccans engage in strategies of queering motherhood and mothering queers to build new models of kinship relations involving mothers and their queer kin, disidentifying with normative models of Moroccan motherhood as a productive means of enacting expansive and supportive family relations. Keywords Motherhood · Queer kinship · Morocco · Disidentifications · Performance · Code switching

Author Note: I have no conflicts of interest to disclose. This research was funded by grants from the African Studies Program and the Department of Anthropology at Indiana University, Bloomington. All names referenced in this chapter are pseudonyms, and individuals are composite characters with some minor biographical details modified to preserve the confidentiality of my research participants. B. Ale-Ebrahim (*) Department of Anthropology, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_9

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Motherhood: A Model for Normative Family Relations We were eating lunch in an open-air Lebanese restaurant in the ville nouvelle in Marrakech when Mo told me a story about one of his friends, a man I will call Reda. I had come to know Mo in his role as a storyteller and spoken word artist who is passionate about keeping Moroccan oral storytelling (hikayat) traditions alive. He is active in the local performing arts community in Marrakech, sharing his stories in Arabic and English with tourists and locals alike. He can talk for hours, keeping his audience engaged in a story by weaving together narrative threads that appear to be disconnected at first but ultimately come together for a neat and satisfying ending, often with a moral lesson built-in. Over lunch, I explained to Mo that my research interests focus on how LGBTQ2 people in Morocco express their identities and come out to their families through the means of language and digital communication. Although Mo does not identify as queer himself, he was excited to tell me a story about his friend Reda, who had recently navigated coming out to his mother. When Reda first told his mom that he was gay (mithly in Arabic), her initial reaction was shock and disapproval. Reda had been close to his mother his whole life, feeling safe enough in their relationship to share with her this part of his life— his homosexuality—that carries so much stigma. He did not expect that she would kick him out of the family home, telling him he could no longer live with them if this were the lifestyle he would lead. Reda moved in with friends and worked hard to build a life for himself independent of his family. Several months passed, and Reda was unsure whether he would hear from his mother again. One day, while walking on a busy street on his way home from work, Reda saw his mother standing and staring at him from the other side. She had tears in her eyes, and he soon realized that he was tearing up too. They ran to each other, embracing one another in the middle of the street. At that moment, as they held each other and cried, they both knew that they could forgive one another and become a family again. Reda’s mother explained that she wanted to be part of his life and that the main reason she kicked him out of the family home was that she felt it was expected of her. She didn’t really want to hurt him. She only wanted to do what she felt was right to be a good mother, a caretaker, and a protector. She felt pressure from family and neighbors to express strong disapproval of Reda’s homosexuality even though, she claimed at the time of their dramatic public reconciliation, she never really had any problem with it personally. Regardless of her personal feelings at the moment of Reda’s coming out, taking a solid disapproving stance against his homosexuality by kicking him out of the house allowed her to gain respect from their family and to solidify her reputation as a good mother who was not afraid to exercise tough love in enforcing rules. Mo tells me that Reda’s mother is his strongest advocate now that they have reconnected. She defends him against any homophobic comments he receives from their extended family, taking on the role of a protective mother supporting her son against any threat. She now uses her position as a respected motherly figure within their family to support Reda in his identity as a gay man, standing up for and

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defending Reda against any cousin or uncle who would attempt to threaten or shame him for his sexual orientation. Mo’s story about Reda and his mother illustrates the central tensions and contradictions that emerge when motherhood is taken as a model for developing kinship relations involving queer people in Morocco. Motherhood operates as a central site for enforcing normative expectations of family life and heterosexual reproduction, yet it also acts as a powerful tool for enacting expansive relations of care, protection, and unconditional support. In analyzing the stories of gay men I encountered during ethnographic research in Morocco in 2018 and 2019, I explore how queer Moroccans are reshaping the category of motherhood. How do queer people, especially gay men, live in relation to the category of mother in Morocco? How do queer Moroccan men engage with mothers, mothering, and motherhood as a way to build kinship relations with others? In what ways are queer men in Morocco reclaiming and reshaping normative models of motherhood, including taking on the role of mother themselves, to enact relations of care and support for one another both within and outside the boundaries of heteropatriarchal family structures? By maintaining a simultaneously disapproving yet affirming attitude toward her son’s homosexuality, Reda’s mother operates in the in-between space that queer Chicana theorist Gloria Anzaldúa identifies as nepantla. For Anzaldúa (2002), this space is “an unstable, unpredictable, precarious, always-in-transition space lacking clear boundaries. Nepantla es Tierra desconocida, and living in this liminal zone means being in a constant state of displacement—an uncomfortable, even alarming feeling” (p. 1). Nepantla offers “states of mind that question old ideas and beliefs, acquire new perspectives, change worldviews, and shift from one world to another” (Anzaldúa, 2002, p. 1). According to Mo0 s account of their story, Reda’s mother felt that she had to take a strong stance against his initial coming out to be a good mother, enforcing normative heteropatriarchal expectations of family life. As a young man in his mid-20s, Reda was likely feeling pressure from his family to settle down, find a wife, and start his own family. Coming out as a queer man in Morocco often occurs in young adulthood when the pressure to enter into an arranged marriage with a woman (the normative life path in Morocco and many other Muslim-majority societies in the region) is too much to bear any longer. Within this context, to declare oneself as a gay man can be interpreted as an insult to one’s family since it often means that a man is not interested in pursuing heterosexual married life and raising children within his extended family. For many queer men, of course, choosing not to pursue marriage and fatherhood is an act of liberation and self-affirmation as they develop queer families of choice, as Kath Weston describes in her landmark ethnography of same-sex relationships in the United States (1997). Some queer Moroccan men I know do, however, enter into relationships with women as a means of satisfying their families’ expectations of them. Others agree to arranged marriages out of a genuine desire to become fathers and live a secure married life, since same-sex relationships are criminalized in Morocco and adoption by unmarried men or same-sex couples is not permitted under Moroccan law (Code Pénal, 1962; Bargach, 2002). In signaling her strong disapproval of her son’s homosexuality, Reda’s mother acts as an enforcer of heteropatriarchal norms that

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only leave room for family life and kinship support within the bounds of heterosexual marriage. Later, as they rekindled their relationship, Reda’s mother used her position as a respected older woman and mother to support Reda in his gay identity. She can now command respect from her family in defending Reda against homophobic abuse precisely because she had previously acted as an enforcer of heteropatriarchal norms of family life in the immediate aftermath of his coming out. If she had not first proven herself to her family as a pious and respectable mother by enforcing social prohibitions against homosexuality in this way, Mo tells me that it is unlikely that she would have been taken seriously in her defense of Reda after their reconciliation. Their story resonates with Katie Acosta’s description of how sexually nonconforming Latinas merge their families of origin with their families of choice in ways that are distinct from White American gays and lesbians, finding that “relationships with families of origin are riddled with pain but not with rejection, detachment, or replacement” (2018, p. 411). In other words, Acosta finds that queer people of color face multiple aspects of everyday marginalization that are distinct from White queers, motivating them to establish “a rich network of support for themselves” that involves “extreme disjuncture, as this integration requires effort, compromise, and resiliency” in maintaining ongoing relations with their families of origin (Acosta, 2018, p. 410; Acosta, 2013). Reda and his mother worked through their painful falling out so that they could become mother and son again. They realized they could not remain separated any longer. What could have been a permanent severing of ties evolved into a complicated and nuanced relationship of mutual pain and confusion that, ultimately, evolved into unconditional love and support. Although Reda and his mother may not agree when it comes to the subject of his sexual orientation, they are still able to love and support one another in their relationship as mother and son. This liminal nepantla space of motherly acceptancethrough-disapproval allows the two to maintain their relationship, opening up a new model for motherhood and kinship support in Morocco that leaves some room for queerness.

A Nonnormative Adoption Story However, not every queer person I met in Morocco has an accepting biological mother like Reda’s. For some of the many queer men in Morocco who do not or cannot maintain open and ongoing relations with their families of origin, mothering remains a powerful social force for enacting love, care, protection, and unconditional support that prompts them to take on this role for themselves in their relationships with other younger queer people. Haitam is a young man in his mid-20s, a tall and slim IT professional from a working-class district in Marrakech. I met him through my friendship with Mo and we chatted for hours over coffee in a cafe in the center of the city’s old medina. Haitam explained how he developed confidence in himself as a gay man through a

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long-term platonic relationship with an older gay man he now refers to as his mother. Growing up, Haitam felt alone and different, not understanding why the other boys on his street would tease and bully him for how he looked and moved his body. He told me they used to push him around and even sometimes throw rocks at him for acting too effeminate as he moved through the public space of his narrow neighborhood street. Haitam’s parents and siblings did little to intervene, tacitly supporting the abuse he was facing as a way to make him tougher and more masculine. Moroccan feminist sociologist Fatema Mernissi (1975) has argued that physical space functions as a key political domain regulating gender norms in Morocco, such that public space is where men are normatively expected to exercise agency and control while the private space of the home is where women are expected to do so (p. 138). Within this heteropatriarchal system, a man should be externally oriented, moving outside the home with confidence and independence and spending much of his time working, when possible, or socializing with male friends in public spaces like cafes or street corners. A woman, meanwhile, should be internally focused, spending most of her time in the private space of her home, working and socializing with her family and female friends. To be reserved or shy is thus framed as inappropriate behavior for men, and to be too confident or outgoing outside the home is inappropriate for women. While these norms are changing slowly due to decades of feminist activism (Sadiqi & Ennaji, 2006) and as economic shifts have prompted more women to enter the public workforce (Kapchan, 1996), heteropatriarchal expectations of proper gendered behavior remain a powerful force in Moroccan society. Haitam identified his bodily comportment and reserved mannerisms as a boy, such as his shy demeanor, hunched shoulders, and downward gaze, as points of difference that made him stand out from the other boys in his neighborhood who perceived these qualities as weak and effeminate, making him a target of homophobic abuse. As a teenager, Haitam began using the internet to seek a community of others outside his immediate surroundings who would support and accept him without judgment. He told me that he was able to find this community online in a local Morocco-based Lady Gaga fan page on Facebook. There, he met other Moroccans whose interests deviated from expectations placed upon them based on their perceived gender, drawn together by Lady Gaga’s music and her message of inclusion, acceptance, and support for queer and trans people. After several months of following the page online, he was excited to see that the fan group was organizing an in-person meetup in Casablanca on the same day that his family planned to travel there for a shopping trip. Haitam sneaked away from his family at the shopping mall to meet up with some of the people he had gotten to know online. He told me that this was the first time in his life he felt at home, totally comfortable to be himself without fear of bullying or gendered expectations of appropriate masculine behavior. Most group members were teenagers like him, but others were a bit older, in their 20s and early 30s. Haitam found himself drawn to one older gay man, in particular, a man I will call Aissa. Aissa is about 10 years older than Haitam, in his late 20s at the time. They bonded over their shared experiences of being bullied for their perceived effeminate mannerisms growing up. Haitam was surprised to hear that Aissa

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experienced this, though, since he was now an imposing man, broad-chested and tall. Aissa explained that he overcame the homophobic abuse he faced growing up by consciously acting more masculine in public spaces, deliberately training his body to project confidence and strength rather than effeminacy and weakness. He learned how to code switch in his body language, walking tall with shoulders back and chin up as he moved in public while reserving his effeminate and campy personality for private queer-friendly spaces, like the Lady Gaga fan community. Aissa soon introduced Haitam to one of his favorite shows, RuPaul’s Drag Race, a U.S. reality television show in which drag queens compete to become “America’s next drag superstar.” In the show, RuPaul (host and producer) takes on the role of lead judge, mentor, and brutally honest critic to encourage up-and-coming queens to perform well in increasingly difficult modeling, dancing, acting, costume design, and lip-syncing challenges. Contestants often refer to RuPaul as Mama Ru, reflecting a long history of established drag queens taking on mothering roles in relation to younger queens. For example, Jennie Livingston’s path-breaking documentary film Paris Is Burning (1991) follows the lives of those involved in New York City’s drag ball scene of the late 1980s. The film depicts how Black and Latinx drag queens living in Harlem started to form drag houses beginning in the 1970s that referenced such glamorous fashion houses as Chanel and Dior, operating as “families that, headed by a mother and sometimes a father, would socialize, look after one another, and prepare for balls” (Lawrence, 2013). By the late 1980s, drag houses had become so well-established in the city’s Black and brown queer communities that they served as “de-facto orphanages for displaced kids” (Lawrence, 2013). Having gotten his first big break as a performer in New York’s club scene of the 1990s, RuPaul exemplifies the figure of a drag mother: Someone who has built a family of drag queens by mentoring younger queens in their personal and career development through the means of tough love and unwavering emotional support. Many episodes feature the contestants discussing their family and personal relationships, after which RuPaul will often invoke one of his many famous catchphrases, reassuring them that “we, as gay people, get to choose our own family. I am your family. You are family here” (Bailey et al., 2009-present). In this speech act, repeated multiple times throughout the long-running series, RuPaul persistently invites both the queens competing on screen as well as a global audience of viewers to come together and support one another as a queer chosen family. Soon after their initial meeting, Haitam and Aissa began to develop a relationship similar to a drag mother and her younger protégé. While their relationship did not involve preparing for glamorous stage performances or athletic lip-syncing challenges, it did involve embodied training and instruction, mentorship and advising, and long-term platonic relations of loving support and care. Haitam told me that he now considers Aissa to be his mother, indicating their bond’s strength, intensity, and durability. He traces the history of this model of queer motherhood in Morocco to as early as the late 1990s, having once met another older gay man who served as a founding mother for a local queer family at that time. Through his interactions with the Lady Gaga fan community and his encounter with Aissa there, Haitam was introduced to a locally-rooted network of queer mothers and their children, drawn

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together by their interest in preserving and passing along knowledge of queer life and survival tactics to a younger generation of Moroccans. Haitam laments his suspicion that he is likely among the last generation of young queers in Morocco to be inducted into this intergenerational family of mothers and children. He has observed a significant decline in the number of older gay men who are willing to take on the role of mother in relation to their younger counterparts due to the increasing popularity of social media and the internet in Morocco. Whereas Haitam tells me that he relied almost entirely on his mother Aissa to teach him how to live life safely and confidently as a gay Moroccan man, the younger gay men he meets now are learning about local queer life primarily through their experiences on gay dating apps and other digital spaces rather than from long-term embodied relationships that they cultivate with older gay male mothers. One of the first tasks that Aissa took on in his role as Haitam’s mother was teaching him how to safely navigate the streets of Marrakech’s working-class neighborhoods to avoid homophobic abuse. He instructed Haitam on projecting a more masculine persona in public space, standing up straight, shoulders back, and arms confidently placed at his side. After several lessons from Aissa on how to retrain his body and mannerisms, Haitam reported feeling more confident and facing less physical violence from other young men in his neighborhood. In teaching Haitam how to better embody normative expectations of Moroccan masculinity, Aissa acts similarly to how a drag mother instructs her children to perform feminine realness on stage successfully. In her analysis of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Eir-Anne Edgar (2011) argues that “successful drag, as framed [in the series], hinges upon the performer’s ability to deploy stereotypical notions of femininity through performances of gendered norms” (pp. 133–134). Edgar discusses how, in order to be received well by the judging panel (especially in early seasons of the show), the queens competing on RuPaul’s Drag Race are encouraged to minimize aspects of their appearance associated with masculinity or androgyny (e.g., using makeup to cover tattoos, tucking their genitals, shaving facial hair) and to enhance their feminine physical features (e.g., using padding to create an hourglass silhouette, wearing wigs and heavy facial makeup). In other words, RuPaul’s and the other judges’ frank critiques result in a normalizing effect of reinforcing gendered expectations of bodily appearance and performance, praising those queens who can most seamlessly embody normative expectations of femininity and calling out those whose embodied performance indicates underlying masculinity or androgyny. Similarly, in his role as mother to Haitam, Aissa used honest critique of Haitam’s embodied performance and physical mannerisms to identify points of disjuncture between an idealized masculine public persona and Haitam’s effeminate body language. In encouraging Haitam to embody masculine realness and to pass as a macho straight man in the streets of his neighborhood, Aissa helped him avoid physical violence and encouraged him to develop self-confidence as a young queer man navigating life in a hostile environment. Passing, realness, or embodying normative expectations of masculinity and femininity are queer survival strategies rooted in a need to be taken seriously, gain access to opportunities, and maintain safety in a heteropatriarchal world. As mothers,

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Aissa, RuPaul, and the house mothers of Paris Is Burning are primarily concerned with the well-being of their children. They often take on the role of honest critic and uncompromising judge, using forthright critique to encourage their younger protégés to succeed in life and achieve their goals. By exercising tough love in this way, they draw on their own hard-won experiences of navigating heteropatriarchal gender expectations to teach a younger generation of queers how to survive and thrive. By enabling their children to perfect and perform an embodied repertoire of normative gendered behaviors in addition to their natural and unaffected queer mannerisms and physical appearance, these mothers enact relations of love and care. These semiotic tools for survival allow their children to move across boundaries of straight and queer worlds with ease. Code switching, in speech and body language, is an essential skill for survival, especially for marginalized communities (Gray, 2009; Hill, 1998; Taylor, 2016). Engaging in deliberate instruction about how to embody stereotypical gender norms is one crucial way in which queer people like Aissa and his drag queen counterparts engage in processes of reproduction and mothering, ensuring the safety of the next generation of queers by giving them the tools to avoid physical abuse and homophobic violence by hiding in plain sight. At the time of my interview with Haitam in 2019, he had been close with Aissa for over five years. Their relationship was rooted in long-term platonic relations of care, protection, and support. Haitam did not indicate that they had ever been romantically or sexually involved. Instead, they relied on each other for unconditional support in difficult times, especially Haitam in relation to Aissa. Although Aissa now lives abroad in Europe, they stay in touch through daily messages on WhatsApp, keeping each other up to date on new events in their lives. When Aissa struggled to adjust to his new life outside Morocco, Haitam helped him cope by sending encouraging messages and chatting with him about the latest season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Aissa is often the first person Haitam will contact when he starts seeing a new guy, seeking Aissa’s advice on navigating romance and privacy in his interactions with other men on popular same-sex dating apps, like Grindr. Haitam looks up to Aissa as an example of being a strong, independent, and yet loving and generous gay Moroccan man. Haitam told me how much he admires the fact that, despite facing the challenges and violence of life as a queer person growing up in Morocco, Aissa remains a positive person with the capacity to love and care for others even though no one cared for him in his youth. In nurturing and encouraging Haitam to grow into a self-confident and independent gay man, Aissa takes on the role of mother in a manner not dissimilar to a drag mother. Stepping in where Haitam’s biological mother could not offer support, Aissa serves as an honest, caring, and unwavering resource for Haitam as he navigates life as a young gay man in his mid-20s in Morocco.

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Queering the Mother/Child Relationship In his interview titled “Friendship as a Way of Life,” Michel Foucault argues that the “problem [of homosexuality] is not to discover in oneself the truth of one’s sex, but, rather, to use one’s sexuality to arrive at a multiplicity of relationships,” the ultimate of which is loving same-gender friendship (1997, pp. 135–36). In other words, what is disturbingly queer about homosexuality is not about sexual identity or same-sex desire but rather when it becomes a tool for building intense loving relations with others outside heteronormative models. Homosexuality is “not a form of desire but something desirable,” such that “we have to work at becoming homosexuals and not be obstinate in recognizing that we are” (Foucault, 1997, p. 136). In his ethnography of Black self-making in Cuba, Jafari Allen builds on Foucault’s discussion of friendship and homosexuality to argue that “friendship is a relationship of freedom: choice; intense emotions; obligations; sex and love; gendered, but not exclusionary. The multiplicity of relationships—of connections known and unknown—is predicated upon interdependence” (2011, p. 136). Allen (2011) describes several relationships among the queer women he meets in Cuba, finding that A friend is someone who shares in this process of knowing and becoming; one who shares in you getting your life. In transgressing societal rules about whom one is to love, make love to, or desire, same-gender-loving Cubans, like queers globally, seem to be well-positioned to use their already existing friendships and networks to make new family and new society. (p. 135)

I argue that this mode of interdependent, transgressive, and mutually supportive friendship is, on a basic level, what Haitam and Aissa are building and maintaining in their ongoing relations as queer mother and son. However, Haitam and Aissa are much more than friends. They rely on each other for unconditional support and care as they build their lives and navigate relationships with others. In framing their relationship as that of mother and son, the two men do not seek romantic or sexual fulfillment in one another (as they might if Aissa acted instead as Haitam’s daddy or as a Foucauldian friend). Instead, they indicate that they can look to one another for unconditional emotional support and care without worrying that they might break up or drift apart. As Reda and his mother’s story indicates, it is very difficult to sever ties between a mother and her son completely, even in the face of extreme disjuncture and disagreement. Although they may face periods of physical or emotional separation, Haitam and Aissa can always rest assured in the knowledge that they do ultimately love each other and care for one another as family. In other words, motherhood implies a sense of intensity and permanence to the love they experience for one another that the concept of interdependent friendship cannot fully capture. Furthermore, unlike friendships, motherhood implies caretaking and nurturing from an older or more experienced motherly figure to her younger children (Gibson, 2014, p. 6; Dozier, 2014, p. 130). There is a hierarchical yet mutually dependent relationship of nurturing, care, and support in motherly relations with children. As an older gay man, Aissa draws on his experiences navigating homophobic abuse to

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teach Haitam how to survive and thrive in his embodied environment. In taking on the role of Haitam’s mother, Aissa encourages him to develop self-confidence and independence as he grows into a mature young gay man. This is an intergenerational relationship through which Aissa enacts caring mentorship and serves as a guiding influence for Haitam in his personal development as he “[works] at becoming homosexual” (Foucault, 1997, p. 136) in the context of his daily life in Morocco. Haitam also offers Aissa support as he grows into a new stage of life and middle age, acting as a child for which Aissa can care and support, offering guidance and wisdom to a younger generation. While Aissa clearly takes a leading role in their relationship, acting as mother, mentor, and guide to Haitam, they are also mutually interdependent in the sense that both rely on each other for love and support as they navigate their lives together. As mother and child, they forge an intense and longlasting bond across a discrepancy in age and life experience that the concept of friendship, again, does not precisely indicate. In their relations with their queer sons, Reda’s mother and Aissa engage in what I argue are two distinct yet intertwined modes of reshaping the category of motherhood in Morocco: (1) queering motherhood and (2) mothering queers. Queering motherhood refers to acts that expand and extend the role of mother to include those who do not fit into normative models of biological motherhood and heteropatriarchal kinship. Mothering queers refers to actions that work to support, guide, nurture, and care for young people as they grow and develop self-confidence in their nonnormative gender expression and sexuality. In identifying these two modes of queer motherhood in Morocco, I build on the work of critical theorist José Esteban Muñoz and his concept of disidentification to understand how queer kinship functions in the particular context of contemporary Morocco. For Muñoz (1999), disidentification is a third mode of dealing with the dominant ideology, one that neither opts to assimilate within such a structure nor strictly opposes it; instead, disidentification is a strategy that works on and against dominant ideology . . . this "working on and against" is a strategy that tries to transform a cultural logic from within, always laboring to enact permanent structural change while at the same time valuing the importance of local or everyday struggles of resistance. (pp. 11–12)

Disidentifications perform the subtle work of world-building and expansive thinking that is characteristic of Anzaldúa’s liminal nepantla space (2002), operating between acceptance and rejection of dominant ideologies to generate new life possibilities and relationships. Heteropatriarchal norms and expectations of motherhood and kinship in Morocco have generally excluded queer people, stigmatizing same-sex sexuality as something that is criminal, shameful, and antithetical to family life. However, for Reda and his mother as well as for Haitam and Aissa, acts of mothering serve as powerful tools for building new models of kinship relations that accept and support queer sexualities and nonnormative gender expression. These mothers and sons disidentify with heteronormative models of motherhood in Morocco through specific acts of queering motherhood and mothering queers. Although Reda’s mother is biologically related to him and initially acted as an enforcer of heteropatriarchal prohibitions on homosexuality by kicking him out of

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the family home when he made known his sexual orientation, she later came to accept her son as a gay man. She eventually grew into one of his most ardent supporters in the face of homophobic abuse from their extended family. I argue that her evolution into the tolerant mother of a gay son represents an example of queering motherhood. She operates within a heteronormative family unit, drawing on her respected position as an older motherly figure within her family to re-extend kinship relations to Reda after he was estranged. This represents a disidentification (Muñoz, 1999) with the motherhood category in Morocco, building on her respectable position as a mother to enact tolerance and acceptance for Reda and his queerness from within his family of origin. In other words, she “works on and against” (Muñoz, 1999, p. 11) the normative concept of motherhood, drawing on the power her position grants her within her family and in Moroccan society as a mother to expand the boundaries of who can be the object of motherly love and protection to include her gay son. As illustrated, Aissa is a gay man who engages in nurturing and queer reproduction in his motherly relationship with Haitam. Aissa’s relationship with Haitam also represents an example of queering motherhood because, as a cisgender man and a queer person, he takes on the role of mother for himself, stepping in to support a younger generation of queer men in their growth and development and thus expanding the category of motherhood to include those who do not fit the category of cisgender women. However, like Reda’s mother, Aissa does not entirely reject all aspects of heteronormative Moroccan motherhood. By encouraging Haitam to embody binary expectations of gender presentation in his lessons on how to code switch, Aissa acts as an enforcer of heteronormative gender boundaries. Aissa exercises tough love when he critiques Haitam’s effeminate mannerisms. This is not done with the intent to shame Haitam or discourage him from expressing himself but rather to facilitate his safe passage through the harsh environment of Marrakech’s working-class streets. In this way, Aissa works on and against normative expectations of motherhood to build long-lasting kinship relations of loving protection and support with Haitam outside the boundaries of a heterosexual family unit. Reda’s mother also engages in acts of mothering queers through supporting and defending her gay son against homophobic abuse. Although Reda’s mother initially rejected him for his homosexuality in the understanding that this was the best way for her to love and care for him and encourage him to adopt a heterosexual lifestyle, she later realized that the way to maintain a motherly relationship with him was to accept his homosexuality and to act as his unwavering defender against homophobic abuse he was receiving from other members of their family. In the process of coming to accept her son’s homosexuality, Reda’s mother leveraged her privileged position as a well-respected older woman and mother to advocate on his behalf. If their dramatic and emotional reconciliation in the middle of a Marrakech street is any indication, her growth into acceptance and love has had a profound positive impact on Reda’s emotional well-being and allowed him to expand his social support network significantly to include at least some members of his family of origin. In this way, again, she is working on and against normative models of motherhood in

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Morocco to build more space for her son to reclaim his place within their family and to find some healing in the realization that his mother accepts him for who he is. Aissa, meanwhile, performs acts of mothering queers through the long-term nurturing and encouragement he gives Haitam as he grows into a more confident and self-assured young gay man. Aissa encourages Haitam to be proud of himself as a gay man, teaching him how to survive and thrive in his queerness within the context of a hostile social environment in Morocco. Aissa’s strategy of mothering queers also includes disidentification with heteronormative models of mothering, encouraging Haitam to rely on him as a source of motherly protection and guidance as he navigates same-sex relationships and queer gender expression. Rather than attempting to enforce a masculine gender presentation to encourage Haitam to deny his queerness (as his biological mother does in tacitly supporting the abuse he faced growing up on the streets of his neighborhood), Aissa’s lessons on code switching and embodying masculine realness enable Haitam to more safely and effectively embrace his identity as a gay man living in Morocco. Aissa’s intent, in other words, is to encourage Haitam to explore his sexuality and gender expression safely and to develop self-confidence as a gay man. When Aissa reasserts boundaries of binary gender expression, it is with queer goals in mind. Motherhood is, therefore, a crucial tool for enacting care and support for queer people in Morocco, whether in relation to their biological mothers or to queer motherly figures. Queer mothers and sons work with and against heteropatriarchal models of motherhood in Morocco to develop expansive kinship relations that build more room for queerness within Moroccan society. I hope that sharing Reda’s story of reconciliation with his mother alongside Haitam’s account of his long-term relationship with his mother Aissa can allow more people to imagine a potential for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer people to live in healthy and loving relationships with their families of origin as well as with their families of choice. As a messy and unstable site for working out kinship relations, motherhood will remain a liminal nepantla space where mothers and children of all sorts can work to create new potential queer futures in Morocco and beyond.

References Acosta, K. (2013). Amigas y Amantes: Sexually nonconforming Latinas negotiate family. Rutgers University Press. Acosta, K. (2018). Queering family scholarship: Theorizing from the borderlands. Journal of Family Theory and Review, 10, 406–418. Allen, J. (2011). Friendship as a mode of survival. In iVenceremos? The erotics of Black selfmaking in Cuba (pp. 129–156). Duke University Press. Anzaldúa, G. (2002). Preface: (un)natural bridges, (un)safe spaces. In G. Anzaldúa & A. Keating (Eds.), This bridge we call home (pp. 1–6). Routledge. Bailey, F., Barbato, R., Campbell, T., RuPaul, Corfe, S., Salangsang, M., & McKim, C. (Executive Producers). (2009-present). RuPaul’s Drag Race [TV series]. World of Wonder. Bargach, J. (2002). Orphans of Islam: Family, abandonment, and secret adoption in Morocco. Rowman & Littlefield.

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Code Pénal. (1962). Ministère de La Justice et des Libertés, Morocco. Accessed September 22, 2021, from. https://www.refworld.org/docid/54294d164.html. Dozier, R. (2014). Guy-moms unite! Mothering outside the box. In M. F. Gibson (Ed.), Queering motherhood: Narrative and theoretical perspectives. Demeter Press. Edgar, E. (2011). “Xtravaganza!”: Drag representation and articulation in “RuPaul’s Drag Race”. Studies in Popular Culture, 34(1), 133–146. Foucault, M. (1997). Friendship as a way of life. In P. Rabinow (Ed.), Ethics: Subjectivity and truth (pp. 135–140). New Press. Gibson, M. (2014). Introduction: Queering motherhood in narrative, theory, and the everyday. In M. F. Gibson (Ed.), Queering motherhood: Narrative and theoretical perspectives. Demeter Press. Gray, M. (2009). Out in the country: Youth, media, and queer visibility in rural America. NYU Press. Hill, J. (1998). Language, race, and white public space. American Anthropologist, 100(3), 680–689. Kapchan, D. (1996). Gender on the market: Moroccan women and the revoicing of tradition. University of Pennsylvania Press. Lawrence, T. (2013). Listen, and you will hear all the houses that walked there before: A history of drag balls, houses, and the culture of voguing. Published July 16. Accessed September 22, 2021, from http://www.timlawrence.info/articles2/2013/7/16/listen-and-you-will-hear-allthe-houses-that-walked-there-before-a-history-of-drag-balls-houses-and-the-culture-of-voguing Livingston, J. (1991). Paris is burning. Miramax Films. Mernissi, F. (1975). Beyond the veil: Male-female dynamics in modern Muslim society. Indiana University Press. Muñoz, J. E. (1999). Disidentifications: Queers of color and the performance of politics. University of Minnesota Press. Sadiqi, F., & Ennaji, M. (2006). The feminization of public space: Women’s activism, the family law, and social change in Morocco. Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies, 2(2), 86–114. Taylor, D. (2016). Performance. Duke University Press. Weston, K. (1997). Families we choose: Lesbians, gays, kinship. Columbia University Press.

Part III

Social and Legal Challenges of LGBTQ2 Parenting

Coming Out into a Transparent Closet: Gays and Lesbians and Their Families of Origin Roman Kuhar and Alenka Švab

Abstract This chapter focuses on the coming out process and its consequences in the family of origin. Our empirical studies over 10 years show that coming out in the family of origin is an emotionally exhausting and highly stressful event. Often, parents and siblings acknowledge the new information but refuse to act accordingly, creating a transparent closet. The same-sex orientation becomes a family secret that is ignored and causes a high level of discomfort. Nevertheless, our data show some positive developments: Younger gays and lesbians come out more often in their family environment than older generations, reporting more positive parental reactions, although the majority still lack complete, unconditional acceptance. The experience of not being entirely accepted and understood in the context of their family of origin may contribute to the reservations gays and lesbians have about starting families of their own. Heteronormative interpretations of family units contribute to such beliefs. However, younger generations of gays and lesbians increasingly break through these interpretations and have more resources and opportunities to create their own families with adopted or biological children. In these situations, the coming out process is inevitable; welcoming a child into same-sex families unconditionally reveals the nature of their partnership. Keywords Coming out · Transparent closet · Family closet · Same-sex family · Gays · Lesbians · Heteronormativity

R. Kuhar (*) Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, Ljubljana, Slovenia e-mail: [email protected] A. Švab Faculty of Social Sciences, University of Ljubljana, Ljubljana, Slovenia e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_10

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Introduction Coming out of the closet, disclosure of one’s sexual orientation, is at the heart of the scientific, political, and purely intimate discussions of nonheterosexuality. The need to conceal this kind of sexuality has existed since the medical and psychiatric experts of the late nineteenth century in the Western world constructed the notion of a unique group of people separated from the rest by their different sexuality. Such sexuality was understood as a form of mental illness and was firmly stigmatized. It is “sexual shame” (Warner, 2000) that has defined and still defines the lives of gays and lesbians in the heteronormative world. The political activism for gay liberation that emerged in Europe and America in the second half of the twentieth century initially challenged the taken-for-granted nature of heteronormative practices, and thus the need for the closet. It quickly became apparent that homosexual identity could not be realized if hidden from society and constantly under the pressure of shame. Political initiatives to come out of the closet and embrace pride as the antipode to sexual shame loosened the social closet and made coming out of the closet one of the central political goals of the LGBTQ2 movement, best described by the motto “personal is political.” On an individual level, coming out is “an important psychological decision” (Heatherington & Lavner, 2008, p. 329). Moreover, for most gay men and lesbians, coming out to their family of origin, especially to their parents, is one of the most critical events in forming their sexual identity and in their life course in general. It decisively shapes the family’s reality and the relationships between family members. The first sociological and psychological studies dealing with coming out date back to the 1970s (Dank, 1971; Cass, 1979; Troiden, 1988). The multistage models of homosexual identity formation describe the stages in which an individual, confronted with a homophobic society and heteronormative expectations, forms and internalizes their homosexual identity. Most models assume this occurs after initial reflections on homosexual feelings, leading to an identity crisis that is resolved by coming out of the closet and adopting appropriate stigma management strategies. Although these models had some explanatory power, they were later criticized. They were often empirically based on the experiences of only White gay men in the United States and did not take into account other intersecting circumstances, from gender, race, and class to cultural and historical contexts. They provided a universal formula that excluded the life experiences of many. One of the main criticisms of homosexual identity formation models also focuses on a static understanding of coming out as a one-time event, whereas empirical research shows that coming out is actually a process. Importantly, the empirical fact is that gays and lesbians come out again and again in new social contexts, which by default are determined by heteronormative expectations. In addition, the act of coming out itself can be something that does not necessarily lead to the desired and expected consequences. In these cases, gays and lesbians are forced into coming out repeatedly (Denes & Afifi, 2014). Illustrating this aspect, which we call the transparent closet situation, is key to understanding coming out in the family of origin.

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Transparent and Family Closets The data presented and discussed in this chapter come from two of our sociological studies that show that the everyday lives of lesbians and gay men are still strongly determined by heteronormativity, homophobia, and often various forms of violence (Švab & Kuhar, 2005; Kuhar & Švab, 2014).1 However, this does not mean to detract from important social changes that took place at the end of the twentieth century. Some authors point out that these recent changes have created greater opportunities to live openly as lesbians or gay men (Bell & Valentine, 1995) who can organize their everyday lives beyond the closet (Seidman, 2002). Narratives of coming out to parents can be placed on a continuum, with most narratives falling between completely negative and completely positive, especially when changes over time are taken into account. Although narratives of acceptance are more commonly reported today, stories of negative reactions and rejection are still common; examples of complete acceptance and support remain rare. Moreover, individual narratives of coming out in the family of origin are usually permeated by a mixture of negative and positive reactions, indicating the complexity of family relationships (Švab & Kuhar, 2014), and “even good case scenarios sometimes negatively impact immediate and extended family relationships” (Scherrer, 2012, p. 4). Coming out is not seen as a mere event but as a complex process with a relational character. The individual story of coming out affects not only the person that comes out but also those in the family of origin to whom they have come out. In this process, the parents of gays and lesbians reconstruct their ideas about their child’s identity and their expectations for their child’s future (Broad, 2011; Fields, 2001). Understanding coming out as a relational process allows us to see, first, that the closet may exist only in relation to other individuals or society as such and, second, that the process of coming out cannot be understood solely as continuous sequences of numerous coming outs, but also as acts that are in certain social setting (s) inevitably interrelated and have concrete implications not only for the subsequent coming outs but also for the relationships between the individuals involved (Švab & Kuhar, 2014, p. 19). In both studies, we asked our respondents to whom they had previously came out to. Most of them have come out to their close friends (94% in 2003; 81% in 2014), followed by mothers (65% in 2003; 68% in 2014), siblings (54% in 2003; 61% in 2014), and finally fathers (42% in 2003; 47% in 2014). As we can see, the proportion of those who have come out to their immediate family has increased slightly over the last decade, but the differences between mothers and fathers are still visible. Gays 1

The Everyday Life of Gays and Lesbians I study was conducted in Slovenia in 2003 and 2004. It included a face-to-face interview (questionnaire) with 443 self-identified gays and lesbians and 7 focus groups with a total of 36 participants. The study Everyday Life of Gays and Lesbians II was conducted ten years later, in 2014, as a replication of the first study. The quantitative part of the study was conducted with an online questionnaire on a sample of 1145 respondents, followed by a qualitative part (8 focus groups with 36 self-identified gays and lesbians). For more information, see Švab & Kuhar (2005) and Kuhar & Švab (2014).

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and lesbians are significantly less likely to trust their fathers than their mothers. There seems to be a fear of coming out to the fathers. In a repeat study, some focus group participants reported a more positive reaction from their fathers than their mothers, who often reacted negatively to their coming out, showing disappointment and emotional blackmail. However, these could be isolated cases unrelated to gender of the person who came out, while quantitative data from both studies show that mothers react more positively than fathers. The percentage of mothers who reacted positively or very positively to coming out was 21% in 2003 and 30% in 2014, while the percentage of fathers with positive and very positive reactions to coming out was 14% in 2003 and 17% in 2014. On the other hand, 36% of siblings reacted positively or very positively to coming out in 2003 and 42% in 2014. The proportion of positive reactions among close friends remained the same at 87%. Our studies have shown that a special social situation, a transparent closet situation, often arises in the family of origin after coming out, which seems crucial for the (re)construction of family relationships and gay/lesbian identity. In the family of origin context, the child’s coming out is noted but not further discussed or considered. This means that coming out does not lead to the expected new reality: a life beyond the closet. The parents (or other family members) refuse to accept and deal with the consequences and significance of the new information. There is an expectation that a person’s disclosed sexual orientation will not be addressed. The unfinished coming out means that a person who has just come out is forced back into the closet, a transparent closet. Similarly, family members who have received the information about coming out are pushed into a larger family closet because they are also expected not to discuss this information with other family members and pretend that the original coming out did not occur. Both transparent and family closets are conditioned by societal homophobia and heteronormative expectations.

Coming Out Narratives and Strategies For most lesbians and gay men, fear of negative reactions and rejection by parents significantly shapes their coming out plans and strategies. Therefore, most lesbians and gay men first come out to their close friends whom they trust the most. Only after a while do they come out to their parents. Although friends are the ones they trust most and feel safest with, most of our respondents emphasized that the real coming out is coming out to their parents. As Igor (27, 2004) described: I cannot say that coming out to my best friend was the real coming out. My first real coming out was to my parents, because that’s when all the barriers fell down. From then on, I did not worry about the reactions to my coming out. . . Coming out to parents gives you confidence.

As for coming out to parents, one of the most common strategies is to postpone coming out. Some hesitate to tell their parents and wait until they find a partner, as Luka (25, 2014) described: Yes, of course I thought about it (coming out to my parents) . . . At that time, I was more alone and did not have the courage to say it. When I had a partner, it was time. I will not hide it.

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There are several reasons for deferring coming out until establishing a same-sex partnership or even creating one’s own same-sex family. Having the support of a partner is essential, especially if parental reactions to coming out are adverse. It also becomes more difficult to hide one’s sexual orientation from parents in everyday situations with a partner. Similarly, or even more so, one cannot hide one’s sexual orientation when taking on the role of a parent in a same-sex family. Having a partner or family of one’s own can reduce anxiety because the partnership and/or family are personally important. Finally, according to our research, having a partner affirms their identity for some lesbians and gay men. Indeed, if they do not have a partner when coming out, many parents do not believe their children and claim that their lesbian/gay identity is only a temporary thing. In this context, the partnership is an additional argument with more persuasive power. Neža (25, 2014) explained this, and the supportive nature of her partner, when describing how she and her partner had made plans together for their coming out: We both made the decision to tell our parents because we were old enough and it had been weighing on both of us for many years. We both waited until we found a serious partner so they would not say this was just a phase or anything like that. We both prepared a list of things to say at home, and I just came to my parents with this list, which I never read because we all started crying . . .

There is a discrepancy between the patterns of coming out to the mother and the father. Usually, lesbians and gay men come out to their mother first and only later (if at all) to their father. This is often because they have a closer relationship with the mother than with the father. But there is also a fear of fathers reacting in a very negative manner, as Vivika (27, 2004) explained: I thought they would kick me out of the house. Because sometimes when there was a film like that, my father would say, “These are sick people.”

Fathers’ anxiety and reactions to coming out illustrate the social construction of normative hegemonic masculinity (Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005), which still creates expectations of the patriarchal role of the man in the family who has some power over the family members. Similarly to our study, Heatherington and Lavner (2008) point out that children are less likely to come out to their fathers and that fathers tend to react more negatively than mothers. However, in their overview of recent studies, a shift is visible: There is an increasing smaller difference in genderbased reactions to coming out, particularly in those environments where homosexuality has recently experienced significant destigmatization, including legal and symbolic recognition through various (heteronormative) social institutions. However, the fear of coming out (not only to fathers) can also be understood as a form of heteronormative panopticon (Kuhar, 2011) that creates internalized silence, self-control, and self-regulation out of fear of societal reactions. In the context of the family, fear of rejection is primarily related to possible negative consequences, such as cuts in financial and other parental support, fear of being kicked out of the house, and so on.

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Coming out can generally be divided into planned and unplanned actions. Some first give various hints to their parents before explicitly coming out, which can be seen as a kind of planning strategy, as Maja (24, 2014) described: I started mentioning, “Well, maybe I’ll bring a girlfriend home, too”. . . it was more in the general sense of supporting gays and lesbians, so I hinted from time to time.

Some lesbians and gay men opt for more indirect ways of telling parents, as Rok (26, 2014) recalled: . . .I wrote a letter because I read that if you are not able to say it, you should just write it. And then I left the letter in a drawer for some time, and then one day I just put the letter on my mother’s desk . . . And one day I got her email in response.

On the other hand, there are also unplanned and situational coming outs, which usually arise from a shock or other dramatic situation, conflict, etc., as Meta (25, 2014) described: I told him (the father) out of anger, on purpose; I just yelled at him that I was a lesbian, because I knew he would not accept it . . . And I wanted to hurt him. He started yelling at me that it was not natural. . .

Unplanned coming out can be accidental, as in Filip’s (22, 2014) case: I had been an activist in a local LGBT organization for a year. One day we went to a swimming pool and my mother and I were waiting for my father, who parked the car. There was another car parked there with a sticker from this LGBT organization. And I said, “I was there yesterday.” My mother replied, “What were you doing there?” I said, “I am a volunteer there!” and then she asked, “Why?” and I replied, “Because I am gay.”

Parents can also initiate an unplanned coming out. According to our research, some parents (mothers in particular) suspect or even know their child’s sexual orientation before they come out: My mother asked me directly. I was reading a book or something like that and she came into my room and asked me. I was in shock because I had not planned on it. I did not want to tell her yet. (Sandra, 25, 2014)

Parental Reactions to Coming Out Most studies on coming out to parents describe the reaction, responses, and adjustment to the new reality using a variant of the grief model developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (1969) to describe the stages that a person goes through when faced with a terminal illness. This developmental model describes the experiences of parents of gays and lesbians who are grieving the heteronormative expectations about their children’s future. These expectations have often been unconsciously created and nurtured by parents and are usually associated with various social rituals and institutions, from marriage to starting a family to caring for grandchildren and the like. However, the gay baby boom of the last two decades has significantly altered these experiences.

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Some recent models (Philips & Ancis, 2008; Goodrich, 2009) depart from the initial stage of grief and describe it in terms of the initial emotional response to coming out, which then morphs into coping and adjustment to the child’s sexual orientation. Finally, the most crucial change is the parents’ self-image and identity. This means that parents may not necessarily just passively accept the child’s identity but actively change their own identity, which now includes a self-image as a parent of a child with same-sex attractions. According to Grafsky (2014), these parents also face the dilemma of revealing their child’s homosexual identity to others and fearing how they would react. Coming out, then, is a relational and reciprocal process rather than a (one-time) event that affects the entire family structure. When a child comes out to their parents, they do not simply become a gay child. Instead, it is a “continual, if not cyclical” process, “a dynamic interplay between their sexual identity and their role as sons or daughters” (Grafsky, 2014, p. 49). According to our studies, parents’ reactions to coming out vary widely, with most reactions (as reported and assessed by gay men and lesbians) falling in the middle of the continuum from very negative to very positive. Only rarely are reactions extremely negative, as in Gregor’s (20, 2014) case: It was an extremely negative reaction. They suggested everything from medical treatment to exorcism . . . Things escalated to the point where I was not allowed to use their bathroom because of the alleged possibility of HIV infection.

As mentioned previously, many lesbians and gay men are afraid of the negative reactions of their parents, although the actual reaction could be quite different than expected: We sat in the kitchen for half an hour, and I said “I have to tell you something”. . . And then I kind of came out and the reaction was actually not what I expected. She took it peacefully, we talked about it a bit, cried a bit, because it was difficult for both of us. (Boštjan, 23, 2014)

Studies have shown that a significant part of parents’ negative reactions can be explained by the absence of any knowledge of homosexuality prior to the child coming out (Ben-Ari, 1995). The researchers also point out that the initial situation is not necessarily a shock and that other parental reactions are possible, especially in cases where parents already suspect or even know the child’s same-sex orientation. The initial reaction is strongly related to the pre-existing relationship with the child; the better this relationship, the better (possible) the reaction (Savin-Williams & Dubé, 1998). Another important indicator is the previously existing views of parents regarding homosexuality. If these are positive, then there is a greater likelihood that the response to the child’s coming out will also be positive. Equally important are the previous relationships between the child and the parent. Already in our first study (Švab & Kuhar, 2005), the distance between the child and the father was often highlighted as why they did not (first) come out to the father. Similarly, in a review of studies, Heatherington and Lavner (2008) note that a close and positive bond between a child and a parent leads to a positive response to coming out, while a distant relationship (especially with the father) can be a contributing factor to nondisclosure.

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Finally, the most consistent result in studies on coming out to parents is linked with the parents’ religious beliefs. If traditional values associated with religious practices predominate in the family, reactions to coming out are generally more negative than in family contexts, which are less defined by traditional (religious) values (Heatherington & Lavner, 2008). For some parents, unconditional acceptance may be the first and only response to coming out. However, according to our studies, the predominant initial parental reaction, whether positive or negative, is usually shock and surprise, accompanied by a very emotional response, including crying or even emotional blackmail. After the initial shock, however, many parents try to rationalize the coming out by stating the reasons for their child’s sexual orientation. Some even blame themselves: I did not feel any negative energy or any doubt; it was more about wondering about the origins (of my sexual orientation). . . . They indicated to me that they wondered if their parenting had gone wrong. (Konstantin, 34, 2014)

After coming out, parents’ expectations of their child’s life path (usually heteronormative) are shattered and need to be reconsidered. Some are also worried about the future of their children and are afraid that they will be discriminated against: My mother was worried about my future. She was worried that I would be rejected all the time, that I would have no chances in life because of that. (Tim, 27, 2014)

Often parents go through different stages after their child comes out. Simona described how her mother went through the following stages: First, she said, “What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you have boys before? It’s just a phase, you’ll get over it.” That was my mother’s first reaction. Then I left her alone for a week to think about it. Then she said something like “Well, it’s okay, but do not tell anyone so people do not talk about it, you know, it’s a small town and everyone knows everyone.” Then she thought about it again and told her partner, who laughed at her and told her it was all right. And then she reconciled herself. Well, in the end, she told the whole family what a nice daughter-in-law she has. (Simona, 29, 2014)

In the cases of positive and supportive reactions (which were slightly more frequent in the second study), the predominant argument of the parents is that they love their child no matter what: My parents immediately told me that they love me no matter who I am and that they accept me. (Neža, 25, 2014) Their reactions were very positive; they said that they love me and that I am still their son no matter what I choose. (Miha, 30, 2014)

These statements point to a particular contextualization of parental arguments associated with the rationalization of knowledge about their child’s sexual orientation. Parents who respond positively (still a minority!) see the fact that their child is gay or lesbian as something unfavorable, but at the same time, they see their child as someone who needs protection. Such reactions and interpretations are part of the current phenomena of the protective childhood (Švab, 2001, 2017) and the intergenerational peace (Rener, 1996). The latter is characteristic of late-modern

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relationships between parents and children, who no longer experience a generation gap but base their relationship on symbiosis and freedom from conflict. However supportive or protective the parents’ reaction may be, it does not change the original situation: Homosexuality is undesirable in our society. Finally, methodological barriers should also be highlighted, as most studies, including our own, are based on reports (and assessments) of gays and lesbians on their parents’ reactions, while parents, as reported by Savin-Williams and Dubé (1998, p. 10), generally rate their reactions more positively than their children.

Formation of the Transparent Closet After passing through various phases of confrontation with the (new) reality and after the consolidation phase, followed by the initial shock and primarily negative reaction to coming out, the so-called transparent closet is usually formed. According to our studies, this is the most common situation within the family after coming out, when a kind of silence is built around the question of the child’s sexual orientation: She has actually accepted it well. It’s true that we do not talk about it much, just from time to time . . . So she has accepted it well, but we do not talk about it. (Rok, 26, 2014) We did not talk about it for a long time . . . about how I live. Later, when I heard from others about their coming out, I realized that after the initial shock, parents never ask anything about it, whether the initial reactions were positive or negative. (Maruša, 27, 2004) We have not talked about it for at least two years. Basically, I was kind of glad that they knew, I did not tease them about it, I did not even know how to deal with this issue . . . But then this silence got on my nerves a bit. (Miha, 30, 2014)

The transparent closet can be interrupted by moments of emotional blackmail, conflict, and the like, as Marko (29, 2014) explained: There was a period of a few months of silence (after my coming out). My father actually did not talk about it, but my mother had periodic outbursts of disappointment. . . . I was under this growing emotional pressure.

The transparent closet can arise among all family members, meaning that no one talks about the child’s sexual orientation and related issues or can be partial. For example, Hana (23, 2014) described her situation where the transparent closet exists only with her mother: I have a wonderful relationship with my brother and sister . . . But I do not talk about it with my mother; it (the fact that I am lesbian) is (mentioned) more indirectly.

Sometimes, lesbians and gay men, like Tim (27, 2014), have to make a great effort to build a relationship that goes beyond the transparent closet: It was hard to keep breaking the ice. At least twice I tried to talk about it. I wanted to create some kind of atmosphere where we could talk in a relaxed and unburdened way. I still have not managed to do that, but we have come a long way, so now we can talk about it at home.

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The transparent closet seems to be a kind of mechanism that prevents the relationships between family members from being destroyed so that after coming out, everything seems normal and unchanged on the surface. A social silence is the main feature of a transparent closet. It is a social situation in which two dimensions merge. First, parents do not know how to react to their child’s coming out and how to talk about it; second, most of them do not have enough relevant information about dealing with nonheterosexuality. This is an additional problem in social milieus where parents do not know anyone in a similar situation and at the same time access to support services or self-help groups is low or nonexistent. Thus, parents and children find themselves in a larger social vacuum, which we call the family closet. A family closet is a situation in which, after disclosing the child’s sexual orientation, other family members are included concerning the wider family network, neighbors, friends, acquaintances, work colleagues, and other social contexts. Coming out becomes a contagion (Kosofsky Sedgwick, 1993) as it now affects everyone who has this information. Then, the family closet is a direct result of the social environment, which is permeated with heteronormative social expectations and homophobia.

Coping Strategies of Parents and Children After Coming Out and Transparent Closet Parents often ask their child who has come out not to spread the information about their same-sex orientation outside the family or hide it from some family members (for example, from one of the parents). In the resulting transparent and family closets situation, psychological pressures and challenges arise, including the need to redefine family relationships. Both gays and lesbians and their parents develop different coping strategies aimed either at restoring family relationships or dissolving the relationship and giving it new meanings. Some gays and lesbians resort to a strategy of denial, which means that they downplay the importance of relationships with parents, as Barbara (26, 2004) described: I do not need to have a close relationship with my parents . . . Somewhere along the way, I realized that I cannot deal with my family anymore. I really do not care.

In any case, the denial strategy is unfavorable because it does not contribute to developing a good relationship between parents and children and is (probably) the result of a highly negative reaction of the parents and their rejection that their child is gay. Another strategy is a defensive strategy by which gays and lesbians try to create their own space between themselves and their parents. This strategy is also the result of the adverse reactions of the parents: I told my mother if she does not want to know the truth, then she shouldn’t ask. She does not interfere anymore. (Martin, 25, 2004)

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Some gays and lesbians use the strategy of persistence. They make great efforts to restore their relationship with their parents after coming out. This includes providing additional information about (homo)sexuality and starting conversations about same-sex orientation. Patrick (20, 2004) describes how he educated his father: I brought him (my father) some materials (about homosexuality) and asked him to read them . . . When he read them, we started talking. He realized that I was functioning normally and that I had no problems with others around me and that a lot of people knew (that I was gay) and that it was okay for them.

As part of the persistence strategy, gays and lesbians try to understand the situation their parents are in after coming out, and they try to build good relationships (again) through conversations. On the other hand, parents who find themselves in a family closet often do not want to share information about the child’s sexual orientation with anyone (at least in the initial phase after disclosure) or only with a very narrow circle of people. This is a strategy to keep the information to themselves. It was used, for example, by Martin’s (25, 2004) mother: I am not sure she talked to anyone about it. I do not think she has. She sees these things very negatively. And as far as I know, she does not want the information to be shared outside the family. She wants to present herself as best she can in front of her friends. . .

Another strategy used by parents is the strategy of controlling the situation. It is closely related to the previous strategy of controlling the information. There was no particular reaction from him except that he said he did not mind. But he wanted the information to stay in the family so it would not get out to the public. And when I had my first girlfriend, he completely freaked out when he saw us kissing in front of the house where we live. He told me to be careful that the neighbors did not see it. (Vida, 25, 2004)

On the one hand, the control strategy is about the protective attitude of the parents to make sure that nothing negative happens to the child, that they are not exposed to ridicule or violence. On the other hand, it is about controlling the situation, which could also mean that the concern for the child’s welfare is only a pretext for control so that the information about the child’s sexual orientation does not escape from the family. The final strategy used by parents is to go beyond the family closet. This is a form of affirmative action by parents to redefine family relationships. A few years later, I found out that all my parents’ friends knew I was a lesbian. That is, my mother talked to them about it, which I thought was good. I thought it was good that she did not keep it to herself and talked about it. She told all her friends and my grandmother. (Maruša, 27, 2004)

Regardless of the different strategies for dealing with new information about sexual orientation disclosure, studies (Grafsky, 2014; Ryan et al., 2010; Bertone & Pallotta-Chiarolli, 2014) continuously show that positive parental responses are associated with positive effects on their children’s mental health, including higher self-esteem, better acceptance of one’s sexuality, less internal homophobia, and less

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difficulty in disclosing sexual orientation to others. Nonacceptance in the family can lead to suicide attempts, depression, substance abuse, and more.

Implications of Research on Coming Out for Same-Sex Families One of the recurring themes in coming out narratives is whether the identity disclosed is understood as real and as something that requires the whole family to adjust to a new reality, or whether sexual orientation is understood as merely a transitional phase and LGBTQ2 identity as something unreal, intangible, and essentially ephemeral. For this very reason, many who participated in our study did not come out to their parents until after entering into a same-sex partnership, which also allows for greater visibility of a person’s sexual identity to the outside world. This is even more evident in same-sex families. Studies (Sobočan, 2013; Danna, 2011; Gross, 2011) show that for a same-sex couple, the birth or adoption of a child represents the final public disclosure of the nature of their partnership. The child in a same-sex family can also be a link between the same-sex couple and the child’s grandparents, who in this way can also better (though not necessarily) accept their child’s same-sex relationship. In one of the few studies that specifically looks at the impact of these new realities on parental understanding, reaction, and acceptance of their children’s same-sex orientation in Eastern Europe, Vučković Juros (2020) points out that the critical component is the fact that parents of gays and lesbians can now fulfill their grandparents’ wishes. However, they still face a homophobic context from their immediate environment, although this is surpassed by the fact that raising a child (albeit in a same-sex family) is in itself a social value, subordinate to societal expectations regarding heteronormative reproduction. Vučković Juros (2020) attributes the increasing tolerance of nonheterosexuality in these contexts to the renewal of the intergenerational reproductive contract that seemed to be violated by the allegedly nonreproductive nature of same-sex couples. A similar rationalization process may occur after a child comes out to parents when parents begin to accept the child’s identity through the interpretation that it is still their child, which is much more important than socially desirable heteronormative scenarios. Of course, this does not mean that a child’s coming out is necessarily accepted as something positive. Our studies show that parents’ reactions to coming out still range from extremely negative to positive (Švab, 2016). The majority of gays and lesbians who come out to their parents find themselves in a transparent closet, which creates much psychological pressure for both gays and lesbians and their parents. With positive reactions from parents, the possibility of redefining family relationships beyond rejection and a transparent closet is much greater. The likelihood of coming out and its positive effects are also closely associated with emotionally close and conflict-free

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relationships between children and parents who can have open conversations (Green, 2000). On the other hand, negative reactions lead to silence, rejection, and often to psychological or even physical violence, such as emotional blackmail and breaking off family contacts. Both gays and lesbians and parents use different strategies to act and cope with the situation after coming out. However, starting a same-sex family adds a whole new dimension to coming out. The fact is, as Vučković Juros (2020) points out, the visibility of same-sex couples is still a matter of negotiation, while the child is harder to hide. Therefore, it is not surprising that one of the findings of her research is that gays and lesbians who have formed a same-sex family demand more intensely and uncompromisingly that their parents accept their family structure. The increasing uncompromising expectation of acceptance of one’s sexual orientation is also evident in our comparison of the data from both studies on the everyday lives of gays and lesbians. Namely, we find that despite many scenarios remaining unchanged, some changes have nevertheless taken place in the process of coming out to parents. In particular, the data from the qualitative part of the second survey show that the process of coming out is now more open, that gays and lesbians do not hide their same-sex identity as strictly as the data from the first survey suggested, and that coming out to parents used to be more planned. The narratives in the second study showed a more transient character of coming out to parents (parents often know, learn, or suspect that their child is gay/lesbian). One of the reasons for these changes is the greater availability and dissemination of information and public discourse on LGBTQ2 issues, which means that parents today are also more informed and, therefore, more observant. Gays and lesbians are at least to some extent more open and hide their sexual orientation to a lesser extent than previous generations, so parents have more opportunities to identify the child’s same-sex orientation themselves. On the other hand, the prevalence of a transparent closet does not allow for unambiguous conclusions. Although gays and lesbians, as a social minority, can be understood as agents of social change in terms of intimacy, partnership, and family life, the leading social frame of everyday gay life is still heteronormativity, which produces exclusion, discrimination, and violence. Stories of coming out to parents continue to be varied, but even the most positive tend to be only those that imply acceptance of the child, albeit with the assumption that same-sex orientation is problematic. Rare narratives speak of complete acceptance of the child and their sexual orientation. At best, these narratives, such as “You are still our child,” imply that even parents who accept the child’s sexual orientation base their understanding on conventional assumptions about gender, sexuality, and parenting.

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References Bell, D., & Valentine, G. (1995). The sexed self: Strategies of performance, sites of resistance. In S. Pile & N. Thrift (Eds.), Mapping the subject: Geographies of cultural transformation (pp. 143–157). Routledge. Ben-Ari, A. (1995). The discovery that an offspring is gay: Parents’, gay men’s and lesbians’ perspectives. Journal of Homosexuality, 30, 89–112. Bertone, C., & Pallotta-Chiarolli, M. (2014). Putting families of origin into the queer picture. In C. Bertone & M. Pallotta-Chiarolli (Eds.), Queerying families of origin (pp. 1–14). Routledge. Broad, K. L. (2011). Coming out for parents, families and friends of lesbians and gays: From support group grieving to love advocacy. Sexualities, 14(4), 399–415. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 1363460711406792 Cass, V. C. (1979). Homosexual identity formation: A theoretical model. Journal of Homosexuality, 4(3), 219–235. Connell, R. W., & Messerschmidt, J. W. (2005). Hegemonic masculinity: Rethinking the concept. Gender & Society, 19(6), 829859. Dank, B. M. (1971). Coming out in the gay world. Psychiatry, 34(2), 180–197. Danna, D. (2011). Homoparentality in Italy: Myth of stigmatization? In J. Takács & R. Kuhar (Eds.), Doing families. Gay and lesbian family practices (pp. 95–116). Peace Institute. Denes, A., & Afifi, T. D. (2014). Coming out again: Exploring GLBQ individuals’ communication with their parents after the first coming out. Journal of GLBT Family Studies, 10, 298–325. Fields, J. (2001). Normal queers: Straight parents respond to their children’s coming out. Symbolic Interaction, 24(2), 165–187. Goodrich, K. M. (2009). Mom and dad come out: The process of identifying as a heterosexual parent with a lesbian, gay or bisexual child. Journal of LGBT Issues in Counselling, 3, 37–61. Grafsky, E. L. (2014). Becoming the parent of a GLB son or daughter. Journal of GLBT Family Studies, 10(1–2), 36–57. Green, R. (2000). Lesbians, gay men, and their parents’: A critique of LaSala and the prevailing clinical “wisdom”. Family Process, 39(2), 257–266. Gross, M. (2011). Grandparenting in French lesbian and gay families. In J. Takács & R. Kuhar (Eds.), Doing families. Gay and lesbian family practices (pp. 117–133). Peace Institute. Heatherington, L., & Lavner, J. A. (2008). Coming to terms with coming out: Review and recommendations for family systems-focused research. Journal of Family Psychology, 22, 329–343. Kosofsky Sedgwick, E. (1993). Epistemology of the closet. In H. Abelove, M. A. Barale, & D. M. Halperin (Eds.), The lesbian and gay studies reader (pp. 45–61). Routledge. Kübler-Ross, E. (1969). On death and dying. Scribner. Kuhar, R. (2011). The heteronormative panopticon and the transparent closet of the public space in Slovenia. In R. Kulpa & J. Mizielinska (Eds.), De-centering western sexualities: Central and Eastern European perspectives (pp. 149–165). Ashgate. Kuhar, R., & Švab, A. (2014). Raziskava o pravni podinformiranosti LGBT skupnosti in vsakdanjem življenju gejev in lezbijk (raziskovalno poročilo). Mirovni Inštitut. Philips, M. J., & Ancis, J. R. (2008). The process of identity development of the parent of a lesbian or gay male. Journal of LGBT Issues in Counselling, 2, 136–158. Rener, T. (1996). Mladina in družina. In M. Ule, V. Miheljak, T. Rener, M. M. Čeplak, & S. Kurdija (Eds.), Predah za študentsko mladino (pp. 119–152). Zavod Republike Slovenije za šolstvo. Ryan, C., Russell, S. T., Huebner, D., Diaz, R., & Sanchez, J. (2010). Family acceptance in adolescence and the health of LGBT young adults. Journal of Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Nursing, 23, 205–213. Savin-Williams, R. C., & Dube, E. M. (1998). Parental reactions to their child’s disclosure of a gay/lesbian identity. Family Relations, 47(1), 7–13.

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Pluralizing the Debate on Same-Sex Parenting: Strategies and Narratives of Italian LGB Parents with Children from Heterosexual Relationships Luca Trappolin

Abstract In Italy, the most controversial debates surrounding same-sex families pertain to lesbian and gay parenting. Surveys on the social perception of homosexuality in the Italian population show a progressive convergence toward the recognition of intimate relationships between same-sex partners, whereas their experience/ desire of parenthood still raises high levels of disagreement. The approval of the law on same-sex civil unions in 2016 mirrors this trend since it does not consider the access of same-sex couples to medically assisted fertilization or adoption (including stepchild adoption). In public debates and scientific research, the transition to parenthood of Italian lesbian and gay people is discussed from the point of view of a «new generation» of parents, who planned or are planning to have a child together with their same-sex partner. Same-sex couples with children are seen as the new frontier in family research and examples of innovative/challenging models of family living. As a consequence, lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents with children from previous heterosexual relationships are often seen as the “rearguard” of a social change occurring elsewhere. These parents are commonly labeled as “post-heterosexual lesbian and gay parents” (PHLGP). The chapter analyzes the family practices and narratives of a sample of Italian PHLGP recruited between 2019 and 2020. The results shed light on the many possible ways of moving the boundaries between lesbian/gay chosen relationships and heterosexual institutionalized family arrangements. Focalizing the intersection between inventiveness and continuity, the aim is to pluralize the sociological reading of same-sex parenting and the social transformations it demands. Keywords Postheterosexual lesbian and gay parents · Famiglie Arcobaleno

L. Trappolin (*) Department of Philosophy, Sociology, Education and Applied Psychology (FISPPA), University of Padua, Padua, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_11

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Italian LGB Parents with Children from Heterosexual Relationships In contemporary Italy, same-sex parenthood still represents a complicated topic in the sexual and intimate citizenship debate. National and international surveys on the social acceptance of LGBTQ2 people in Italy, like those carried out by the Italian National Statistics Institute (2011) and Eurobarometer (2019), show that the legitimation of same-sex partnerships is much wider than that of nonheterosexual parenting. Accordingly, the statements that “gay, lesbian and bisexual people should have the same rights as heterosexual people” and “it is fair that same-sex couples have the same rights as married couples” are accepted by approximately two-thirds of the Italian respondents. On the contrary, the hypothesis of adoption for lesbian or gay prospective parents, from which they are currently excluded, is supported only by 20%. The opposition to same-sex parenting among public opinion mirrors the difficulties faced in the political arena regarding LGBTQ2 rights. On the one hand, the Italian penal code still lacking specific norms against homo-lesbo-bi-transphobia is strongly related to the lack of political will to equate heterosexual and LGBTQ2 families, especially when children are concerned (Gusmeroli & Trappolin, 2020, 2021). On the other hand, the law’s approval of same-sex civil unions in 2016 resulted from a political negotiation that eliminated all connections with parenthood foreseen in the original draft of the law proposal (Franchi & Selmi, 2018; Lasio & Serri, 2019). Consequently, in Italy, same-sex partners who officially register their relationship remain excluded from assisted reproductive techniques and adoption. Furthermore, the 2016 law does not give them access to stepchild adoption, which can be obtained only through a specific court decision. Compared to the historical progression of antidiscrimination and family rights for LGBTQ2 people within the European Union (Beger, 2004), these two examples point to Italy as an exception. In any case, the integration of parenthood in the debate on same-sex families, independently from the outcomes of the political process, is the result of the relevance achieved by nonheterosexual parents within the LGBTQ2 mobilization in Italy since the beginning of the twenty-first century. From this perspective, the creation of Famiglie Arcobaleno in 2005, the first Italian organization of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender parents and prospective parents, represents a turning point. During the 1980s and 1990s, the request for access to adoption was largely overshadowed by the demand for the legalization of same-sex couples, while the call for self-insemination made by lesbian collectives remained unnoticed by public opinion (Danna, 2018). Famiglie Arcobaleno has helped to shift the recognition of parenthood from the margins to the center of political claims (Ozzano, 2015; Grilli & Parisi, 2016). This has forced Italian society to address the hypothesis and the reality of nonheterosexual women and men with children in their households. National mass media and political institutions have then become familiar with out and proud lesbians and gay men who desire to become parents, have children through alternative reproductive strategies or act as social parents in same-sex

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families. Their claims to access assisted reproductive techniques and stepchild adoption have shaped the Italian debate on nonheterosexual parenthood. Kath Weston (1991) called this a families we choose approach. Italian sociological research on lesbian, gay, and bisexual parenting supports this approach (Trappolin, 2017; Monaco & Nothdurfter, 2021). The visibility progressively reached by these parents, who had children thanks to anonymous sperm/eggs donors and surrogate mothers, has removed from public awareness the experience of those who became parents within heterosexual relationships, that is, before coming out as lesbians, gay men, or bisexuals. In international literature, these mothers and fathers are called postheterosexual lesbian and gay parents (PHLGP). During the 1970s, PHLGP represented the vanguard of socially visible nonheterosexual parenting. In the sociological literature on homosexual families of the last 30 years, including in Italy, they have been thought of as an old generation of lesbian and gay parents (Lynch, 2000; Gabb, 2004; Trappolin, 2016, 2017). For example, this path to become parents before coming out is considered a feature of culturally conservative countries, such as Italy or Ireland (Clarke & Earley, 2021, p. 252). The PHLGP decision to marry is interpreted more as the unwanted effect of internalized homophobia than as an indicator of sexual fluidity (Higgins, 2002; Sullivan, 2004; Pearcey, 2005; Fioravanti et al., 2021). Generally speaking, if not overlooked by research completely, the family experiences of PHLGP have been assimilated to those of intentional LGBTQ2 parents. This chapter is devoted to analyzing family practices and narratives of a sample of Italian PHLGP recruited between 2019 and 2020. Borrowing from international research on same-sex stepfamilies, where, from the 1980s onward, PHLGP have been afforded some space (Tasker & Lavender-Stott, 2020), the analysis will shed light on the many possible ways of moving the boundaries between lesbian/gay chosen relationships and heterosexual institutionalized family arrangements. Focalizing the intersection between inventiveness and continuity, the aim is to pluralize the sociological reading of same-sex parenting and the social transformations it demands. The first section illustrates the recruitment strategies and the demographic features of the lesbian, gay, and bisexual parents involved. The second section addresses their narratives of transition to parenthood and to a new sexual identity. The third section explores family arrangements after coming out and the pragmatic definitions of family relations. The conclusive remarks discuss the sociopolitical implications of the family trajectories of Italian PHLGP, especially those related to parenting practices.

Method and Sample of the Research Contacts with Italian PHLGP were facilitated by Rete Genitori Rainbow, an organization established in 2011 by LGBTQ2 mothers and fathers who had children from heterosexual relationships and whose experience could not be reflected in the

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Table 1 PHLGP demographics (online questionnaires ¼ 63)

Gendera Age 35–45 years old 46–55 years old Over 56 years old Education Secondary school High school University PhD Sexual orientation Homosexual Bisexual, pansexual, other Number of children One Two Three or four Marital status Single Married Separated (legally) Divorced Civil union

F

M

31

32

Total 63

15 13 3

3 22 7

18 35 10

6 13 13 1

6 8 15 3

10 21 28 4

21 10

28 4

49 14

13 13 5

27 5 –

40 18 5

4 1 11 13 2

4 2 18 7 1

8 3 29 20 3

a

Gender refers to how respondents identified themselves when they were living in a heterosexual relationship. After these relationships broke up, four women identified as transgender or nonbinary. Not knowing how they define their parental role, they are excluded from the analysis of family practices. Therefore, the number of mothers in the sample changes from 31 to 27

activism of the intentional parents of Famiglie Arcobaleno. An online survey was launched in 2019, to which 63 questionnaires were answered (31 mothers and 32 fathers). Moreover, 22 in-depth interviews were collected in 2020 (13 mothers and nine fathers) from the same parents who answered the questionnaire.1 Table 1 shows the demographic features of the PHLGP who responded to the online survey, which mirror those of the parents who agreed to be interviewed. The Italian sample of PHLGP consists of women and men with good cultural capital, living almost exclusively in central and northern Italy. The mean age of the fathers is 52 years old, whereas that of the mothers is 45. The age of the participants seems to confirm that PHLGP are mostly found among women and men who were

1

Interviews were collected through a voice over internet protocol technology (VOIP) due to the Covid-19 pandemic in Italy (see Lo Iacono et al., 2016).

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born before the first half of the 1970s and reached adulthood before the 1990s. This hypothesis is consistent with studies in the United States that have highlighted a generational change in pathways to lesbian and gay parenthood (Moore & StanbolisRuhstorfer, 2013; Tasker & Lavender-Stott, 2020). The same change has been traced in Italy. For example, the Italian Rainbow Families’ Census in 2016 found almost 400 LGBTQ2 households with children, mainly lesbian and gay couples. In these couples, most children were born thanks to assisted reproductive techniques, including surrogacy (Girasole & Roberti, 2020). Lesbian mothers and gay fathers who had children in heterosexual relationships have not disappeared among younger generations of parents. Table 1 shows that it is not rare to find PHLGP among women and men (mostly women) born between the mid-1970s and the mid-1980s and who came to age between the 1990s and the new century. After all, other American studies (Tornello & Patterson, 2015) testify that PHLGP is not to be understood as a sign of the past in culturally advanced countries either. Considering only the children born within their former heterosexual relationships, the parents answering the online questionnaire have 92 children: the mothers have 55, while the fathers 37. Beyond being younger than fathers, mothers of the sample have more children. Moreover, their children are younger than those of the fathers: the former are primarily minors, whereas most of the latter are adults. As for marital status, sample data show that most parents had experienced the transition to parenthood within (heterosexual) marriages that have generally broken up. Nevertheless, as will be discussed later on, coming out as lesbians (21 out of 31 mothers), gay men (28 out of 32 fathers), or (although to a lesser extent) bisexuals is not always what causes separation. Coming out can happen when the relationship with the (ex)spouse has already ended, that is, after separation. Furthermore, when coming out causes the end of the relationship, breaking up does not automatically mean separating (as was the case for the three respondents who are still married), or ending the cohabitation between (ex)spouses. One last important feature is related to the visibility of the respondents as lesbian, gay, or bisexual parents. Following Mishra (2020), nonheteronormative parenting can be experienced within a kinship spectrum. At one end, there are the closeted individuals silently suffering in a mix-orientation marriage or relationship. On the other, there are the out and proud women and men living in same-sex partnerships with children born through alternative reproductive strategies. Without a doubt, the two Italian organizations of LGBTQ2 parents, mostly the one composed by PHLGP, have some weak contact with less visible lesbian, gay, or bisexual parents who stay in their heterosexual marriages. Some may live their homosexual interests or relations without transforming them into an identity or accommodating them within the family. After all, as Pratesi (2018) recently recalled, individuals “vary profoundly in the degree to which their sexualities become the organizing principle of their lives” (p. 209). Some others may correspond to the suffering parents positioned at the first

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end of Mishra’s continuum.2 In any case, data collected through questionnaires situate PHLGP respondents between the two ends of the spectrum, although closer to out and proud. Indeed, all of them are to some extent open about their new sexual identities, and two in every three have come out to all significant members of their family networks (ex-spouses, children, parents, relatives).

Narrating Family and Identity Transitions As noted, one in every three parents who answered the online questionnaire (22 out of 63) agreed to be interviewed. Before addressing the family arrangements of the PHLGP sample through survey data and in-depth interviews, it is worth considering briefly how they narrate the multiple and sometimes intersecting transitions they went through. In sociological research on lesbian and gay stepfamilies, coming out narratives of biological parents is one of the critical topics of investigation (Tasker & LavenderStott, 2020; Clarke & Earley, 2021). When it comes to PHLGP, what matters the most for the analysis of their coming out is their marital and parental status (Lynch & Murray, 2000; Berkowitz, 2009; Rickards & McLeod, 2016). From this point of view, PHLGP stories of disclosure do not just reflect their individual trajectories of emancipation (Plummer, 1995). They also identify a group process where the parents’ need to assert their authenticity is intricately linked with their wish to preserve the family bonds they consider relevant (Lynch, 2005). To put it another way, the narrative of coming out produced by PHLGP encompasses the narrative of their institutionalization into heterosexuality through marriages and parenthood. In-depth interviews with participants clearly show this intersection between the transition to homo-bisexuality and (heterosexual) adulthood. When narrating their marriage or heterosexual cohabitation, interviewees combine the (present) awareness of heteronormative pressure when they were younger with a genuine sense of attachment to their opposite-sex partners. A recurrent topic is that through engagement and marriage, they felt they were behaving as respectable girls and boys, willing to satisfy the expectations of their loved ones. However, no one talks of her/his marriage as a strategy for passing as straight. As the literature on heteronormativity teaches, the heterosexual system does not require explicit impositions to reproduce itself. After the transition from single girl or boy to wife/husband (for those who got married), the second relevant transition that affects the coming out stories of interviewees is the one to parenthood. Very few recount that they became fathers or mothers by accident. Most interviewees frame their transition to parenthood as the outcome of a family project to which they were attached. In some cases, children

On the internalized homophobia of Italian PHLGP, see the first empirical study on this population carried out by Giunti & Fioravanti (2017).

2

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came thanks to international adoption or assisted fertilization. The achievement of parenthood is recounted as a goal they are proud of, a crucial point in constructing self-esteem. The last transition interviewees share is related to coming out: from heterosexual mothers and fathers to homo-bisexual parents. In most cases, this transition caused the breakup of marriages and therefore overlapped with the transition from mother/ father to separated parent. It is worth noting that participants’ marriages lasted from a few months to more than 30 years.3 But it also should be noted that, for three fathers (out of nine interviewed) and four mothers (out of 13), the marital crisis was not related to their sexuality, and they separated before coming out as lesbian, gay men, or bisexuals. According to coming out stories told by the PHLGP interviewed, the transition to homo-bisexuality is framed within two alternative scripts. The first script, shared more by fathers, links coming out to rhetoric of acceptance of sexuality they were aware of since childhood or adolescence but had learned to suppress. In this case, accepting one’s homo-bisexuality results from a long and tormented battle against the sense of shame and distress that emerged during the marriage. More common among mothers, the second script frames coming out as a narrative of revelation. At the heart of this narrative of sexual fluidity, an unexpected emotional involvement with a same-sex lover emerges during the marriage. Some respondents associate this experience with a previous awareness of homosexual or bisexual interest, while others say they were unaware of the possibility of having a same-sex relationship. Independently from narrating a story of acceptance or revelation, interviewees experience coming out in different ways depending on how much spouses are close to each other. If they share a good level of intimacy, self-disclosure is likely to be experienced as a negotiation with spouses to share and settle priorities. In these cases, it is not rare for wives or husbands to give support and encouragement, although coming out causes the relationship’s breakup. For example, a 61-year-old father who accepted being gay late in life and after separation, was urged by his ex-wife to come to terms with a desire he was unwilling to acknowledge. On the contrary, the more the marital relationship is strained by crisis, the more coming out (or an unwanted disclosure) is experienced as a rupture, that is, as a way of leaving an unsatisfying bond. No matter how supportive relevant others might be or how conflictual the negotiation with spouses might turn, the crucial issue of self-disclosure lies in how it affects the relationship with children. All interviewees are very clear on the matter: Coming out to children is a parental duty because it has to do with safeguarding children’s wellbeing and strengthening parent-child bonding. For example, a 41-year-old lesbian mother says that the decision to come out to her children was a way of being a “good mother” who expresses the “real self” and was a way of avoiding children seeing “only anger, irritability, and quarrels.” Furthermore,

3 Consistently, in the sample of Italian PHLGP recruited by Giunti & Fioravanti (2017), marriages lasted an average of 16 years.

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Table 2 PHLGP’s households (online questionnaires ¼ 63)

Households with children Single parent Same-sex couple Different-sex couple Extended familya Households without children Single person Same-sex couple Extended familyb

F

M

24 10 9 1 4 3 1 2 –

14 5 4 4 1 18 11 3 4

Total 38 15 13 5 5 21 12 5 4

a

Household consisting of interviewees, their children, and their parents. In two cases, same-sex partners are present too b Household consisting of interviewees and their parents

children are always involved in the coming out choices, even when parents decide to hide their sexuality to specific others. In the case of a 47-year-old gay father who still lives with his wife, his decision not to self-disclose to his parents is related to the custodial work they perform for his two underage children. “Before I come out to my parents,” he explains, “I have to be sure my children have the tools they need to cope with all the negative stuff that will come from their grandparents.”

Family Arrangements After coming out, other transitions are faced by PHLGP depending on how they rearrange their family lives. The online questionnaires reveal marked differences in the 59 households created by mothers and fathers. Table 2 charts how respondents answered questions related to this topic. Cohabitation with children seems to follow gender-based expectations with which the participants comply, even in the case of shared custody after separation.4 Being younger than fathers, very few mothers say they do not live with their children (who are minors). On the contrary, less than half of the fathers live with their children, who are generally adults, and noncohabitating ones live mostly with their mothers. Regarding household typologies (see Table 2), most of the mothers report living as single parents or in same-sex couples with children. In the latter case, four of them have established extra-blended families, in which both partners bring children from previous heterosexual relationships into the new household (Berger, 2000). Instead, noncustodial fathers tend to live in single-person households. For them, the presence 4

In Italy, shared custody arrangements in cases of separation or divorce was established by law in 2006. Of course, shared custody does not prevent the children from residing mainly in the home of one or other of the parents.

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of same-sex significant partners recalls family formats based on living apart together arrangements (Levin, 2004). Fathers’ households are more heterogeneous when children are cohabitating with them. Three arrangements prevail: • One involves establishing single-parent households with grown-up children. • In another, there are same-sex couples with grown-up children. • In the third, fathers with underage children continue to share the house with their ex-wife or partner. In-depth interviews enrich the analysis of the family arrangements that occur after participants self-disclose as homo-bisexual parents. Three aspects are worth mentioning, which represent certain factors to consider when interpreting the social experience of PHLGP: • Family ties created by the previous family-making continue to exert their influence (in legal, material, and social terms) in the life choices of mothers and fathers. • The child-centered approach shapes the interaction between old and new family members also for noncustodial parents (mainly fathers). • Practices and meanings linked to parenthood are redefined.

Reproducing (Heterosexual) Family Bonds Starting with the relevance of the first family in life trajectories of interviewees, the relationship with former in-laws is renegotiated, but the bonds established by the previous (heterosexual) union “always cause interference,” as one lesbian mother puts it. For some parents, these bonds provide the backdrop for staging other types of family; for others, heterosexual family ties are like a “cage” from which it is impossible to escape. But there are also cases in which these ties are considered social goods worth preserving and still considered family. Four fathers and one mother, for example, explain their decision to avoid divorce because a legal separation safeguards institutionalized solidarity (i.e., inheritances and widow’s pensions). A combination of situational factors, such as any presence of homophobic attitudes, the children’s age, any strong conflicts, the relevance of material needs, and the making of new families and households, clearly influence endured or chosen arrangements. To give a typical example, a 45-year-old separated lesbian mother explains how Christmas holidays become a stage for “displaying the family” (Finch, 2007) for her parents and in-law parents. She explains that “Christmas has so far been managed exactly as before we separated. I go to my ex-husband’s parents’ house where I meet my sister-in-law and my nephews, and my parents even invite my ex-husband.” The sense of obligation to members of the first family also emerges when coming out leads to disruption and conflict. This is the case of a 40-year-old divorced lesbian mother who says that she and her new partner saw it as a family

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problem when her ex-father-in-law had an accident. “We tried to be there,” she remembers, “to help my ex-husband and his mom as much as possible, doing everything we could at the time.” In summary, interviewees mediate between different practical definitions of what makes a family in their everyday lives. They encounter the conflicts typical of parental and couple subsystems that reflect the overlapping and contrasting ethos of caring (coparenting and looking after the elderlies) and loving (in terms of couplemaking). When parents, primarily fathers, do not leave the marital household, the intersection between intimacy, care, and sexuality is managed through nonmonogamous negotiation with the cohabiting (ex)partner. In any case, if compared to the first (heterosexual) family, the possible new relationships can remain outside the family discourse and, when divorce is avoided, outside the perimeter of the law.

The Centrality of Children in the Making of a (Chosen) Family All interviewees declare that the relationship with their ex-partners represents an (ideally) indissoluble family in terms of their coparenting. This brings to the fore the second aspect to be considered when analyzing the social experience of PHLGP: the relevance of child-oriented family arrangements. As happens for heterosexual stepfamilies, too, children become the center of extended relationships involving old and new family members. Of course, the children’s ages make a difference, and, especially during early childhood, relevant social goods, such as care and material support, might continue to be exchanged across the old family networks. When talking about their families of origin, interviewees are well aware that they are also talking about their children’s grandparents. A 56-year-old gay father explains that he decided to go and live in an apartment just above his mother-in-law after separating because of pragmatic reasons: it made childcare easier. Other parents with very young children say that during family celebrations, such as Christmas or birthdays, the old marital family is displayed to create a proper family-like atmosphere for the children. In any case, the family displays associated with coparenting are effective, even though both parents are involved in other relationships, and the children are aware of this. Children also have a crucial role in the organization of the new family where same-sex partners of their parents are included. This point emerges clearly in the interviews with lesbian mothers who have established lesbian stepfamilies after separation, especially when extra-blended households are concerned. Here children have to be gradually introduced to the new family situation, where potential social parents and in-law-brothers or sisters are present. Should there be problems in integrating the children into the new household, partners can turn the cohabitation into a living apart together arrangement. To avoid this, a 41-year-old lesbian mother, currently living in an extra-blended stepfamily, explains how the relationship among the new family members was fostered as a prerequisite to building a home together.

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Talking of her two children and her partner’s children, she says, “we had them meet each other seven times in the beginning. Before we went to live together, we developed a relationship between them: going out, eating together, creating opportunities for them to get to know each other better.” The relevance of the children in (re)structuring family boundaries and practices also pertains to noncustodial gay-bisexual fathers. Not to live with children does not mean that their house is not perceived as an available, although temporary, home for them. From this point of view, living apart together can be negotiated (following the opinion of ex-spouses as well) to mask a same-sex relationship that, parents assume, noncohabitating children cannot understand. In other cases, as a 53-year-old gay father explains, the construction of a good relationship between the children and their parent’s ex-lover induces the interviewee to reconnect with him/her or attempt to do so.

Redefining Parenting As has already been shown, mothers and fathers who took part in the study have distinct family arrangements after coming out. Mothers are much more likely than fathers to build same-sex stepfamilies, where they live with their children (as minors) and their new partners. These gendered trajectories also affect the (re)definition of parenting. For nearly all interviewees, parenting is reconfigured through narratives of multiplication instead of substitution. This means that new parenting solutions are combined with the “respect for the parenting that has already occurred” (Rickards & McLeod, 2016, p. 125). The problems respondents describe are not about “who is the real parent”. Different parenting configurations might be activated at different times, depending on the family issues that need to be coped with. The issue relating to parenthood ideologies and pragmatic arrangements and the actual burden of care is more about which parents to include, in what ways, and which family relationships (and homes) deserve to be protected. In this context, adopting a strict distinction between chosen and blood family ties, or social and biological parenthood, would mean oversimplifying the issue. Nevertheless, mothers (especially when living in extra-blended lesbian stepfamilies) are more likely to tell stories about authenticating new parenting roles. They deem the paternal role of their ex-spouses as valuable, and at the same time, they treasure the social parenting of their new partners. Most mothers say that their children have two mothers and one father. Mothers put a good deal of emotional effort into establishing the conditions for the new home and, at the same time, preserving the role of the legal father. On the other side, fathers are more likely to experience the transition from being the father to one of the fathers because they have few chances to build new households with both new partners and young children. Indeed, some fathers tell stories of challenged parenthood. For instance, a 54-year-old gay father, who

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decided to live very close to his former wife, says that at a certain point, he had to “come to terms with this idea of another man near mum.” He recognizes the parenting that this other man was doing for his daughter, “worrying about her needs,” “giving her advice,” and “loving her as if she were his daughter too.” He admits that he initially found it difficult to accept this other father. Currently, he is happy that his daughter avoids calling her mom’s new partner “dad,” at least in front of him. At the same time, he values that she says that if she marries, she wants her two fathers to accompany her to the altar.

Final Remarks In the international and Italian sociological literature, same-sex families are seen as the new frontier in family research and examples of progressive models of family living (Allen & Demo, 1995). Such an interpretation comes from focusing on intentional lesbian and gay parenthood. As a consequence, lesbian and gay parents with children from previous heterosexual relationships are often seen as the rearguard of a social change occurring elsewhere (Trappolin, 2016, 2017; Clarke & Earley, 2021). The picture that has been painted here escapes the narrow representation of PHLGP as an older generation of lesbian and gay parents. Interiorized homophobia undeniably plays a crucial part in their biographies but interpreting their experiences simply as a sign of the past prevents research from shedding light on patterns of social change that go beyond rigid divides between «old and new» LGBTQ2 families (Fish & Russell, 2018). The data collected through an online survey in 2019 show that innovative and reiterated family practices are interwoven following gendered patterns in family life after a separation. For example, the fathers’ most typical arrangements after separating, single-person households and same-sex couples with no (young) children, are outcomes that are not experienced by the mothers. In-depth interviews collected in 2020 give an even better idea of how continuity and change might take on different nuances and meanings. Paths to selfemancipation (as lesbian, gay, or bisexual individuals) and family commitments are managed jointly, counting on different sets of symbolic and material resources and constraints. Gender-based entitlements are reproduced (with mothers making a new home with their children, for instance) and challenged, sometimes leading to novel and unexpected family practices and parenting arrangements. At the same time, mothers and fathers have to creatively reinvent their family life while coping with several identity transitions and troublesome assumptions about what it means to belong to a family and be a parent. To a certain extent, the life trajectories of PHLGP recall those of heterosexual stepfamilies, leaving aside the issue of their sexuality. Since all stepfamilies navigate under-institutionalized territories of family practices, after a separation, parents have no choice but to move between innovation and tradition, sharing the “difficulty and

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the excitement of constructing kinship” (Weston, 1991, p. 116). Nevertheless, heterosexual stepparents are granted the possibility to (re)marry, which in Italy is denied to PHLGP. The legal benefits linked to the potential registration of a samesex civil union, for instance, in terms of stepchild adoption, are not equal to those of marriage. In this sense, for PHLGP the narratives of heterosexual stepfamilies appear to be impractical models. On the other hand, neither the example of intentional same-sex families provides PHLGP with satisfactory symbolic and pragmatic resources. It is no coincidence that the transitions to a new sexual identity and homo-bisexual parenthood have been experienced mostly outside the LGBTQ2 community.5 In order to find support, they had to connect with friendly organizations of divorced parents. Finally, they established their own organization, Rete Genitori Rainbow. The narratives of Italian PHLGP, mediated by the sole organization representing them, do not have the same political impact as those promoted by intentional LGBTQ2 parents. First, the family stories of PHLGP are not always suitable to be made public. Together with the distress suffered by mothers or fathers who came out in adulthood, their stories tell of the pain they caused their relatives. Second, their claims are not always framed in terms of access to rights. Of course, they support the fight against homo-lesbo-bi-transphobia promoted by the Italian LGBTQ2 movement. Their lives (and potentially the lives of the members of their families) have been, and are, strongly affected by discrimination and hostility. At the same time, they support the demands for accessing assisted reproductive services and the legal recognition of social parenthood, although few of them would perhaps take advantage of this. Nevertheless, the everyday life of PHLGP is affected mainly by problems related to multiparenting. These issues have not yet been translated into a political claim, but they indeed address a cultural vacuum. From this point of view, in the near future, the activism of Italian PHLGP might help formulate political platforms that are also suitable for heterosexual (step)families. Besides, their stories of un-making and re-making family can be of great value for advancing the investigation of intentional LGBTQ2 parents and their family practices, especially when it comes to the breakup of the relationships between the same partners.

References Allen, K. R., & Demo, D. H. (1995). The families of lesbian and gay men: A new frontier in family research. Journal of Marriage and the Family, 57(1), 111–127. Beger, N. (2004). Que(e)ring political practices: Tensions in the struggles for sexual minority rights in Europe. Manchester University Press.

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The marginalization of PHLGP within LGBTQ communities is documented in international literature as well (see Gabb, 2004; Carroll, 2018).

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Berger, R. (2000). Gay stepfamilies: A triple-stigmatized group. Families in Society: A Journal of Contemporary Human Services, 81(5), 504–516. Berkowitz, D. (2009). Theorizing lesbian and gay parenting: Past, present, and future scholarship. Journal of Family Theory and Review, 1, 117–132. Carroll, M. (2018). Gay fathers on the margins: Race, class, marital status, and pathways to parenthood. Family Relations, 67(1), 104–117. Clarke, V., & Earley, E. (2021). “I was just fed up of not being myself”: Coming out experiences of White British divorced and separated gay fathers. Journal of GLBT Family Studies, 17(3), 251–272. Danna, D. (2018). The Italian debate on civil unions and same-sex parenthood: The disappearance of lesbians, lesbian mothers, and mothers. Italian Sociological Review, 8(2), 285–308. Finch, J. (2007). Displaying families. Sociology, 41(1), 65–81. Fioravanti, G., Banchi, V., & Giunti, D. (2021). Sexual functioning of a sample of lesbian and gay parents who have children from heterosexual relationships: An exploratory study. Sexual and Relationship Therapy, 36(2-3), 256–275. Fish, J. N., & Russell, S. T. (2018). Queering methodologies to understand queer families. Family Relations. Interdisciplinary Journal of Applied Family Science, 67, 12–25. Franchi, M., & Selmi, G. (2018). Challenging the unthinkable: Gay and lesbian parents between redefinition and exclusion in Italy. AG-AboutGender, 7(14), 1–21. Gabb, J. (2004). Critical differentials: Querying the incongruities within research on lesbian parent families. Sexualities, 7(2), 167–182. Girasole, L., & Roberti, V. (2020). Dal progetto #Contiamoci! Una fotografia delle famiglie LGBTQI. In F. De Cordova, C. Selmi, & G. Sità (Eds.), Legami possibili. Ricerche e strumenti per l’inclusione delle famiglie LGB (pp. 109–126). ETS. Giunti, D., & Fioravanti, G. (2017). Gay men and lesbian women who become parents in the context of a former heterosexual relationship: An explorative study in Italy. Journal of Homosexuality, 64(4), 523–537. Grilli, S., & Parisi, R. (2016). New family relationships: Between bio-genetic and kinship rarefaction scenarios. Antropologia, 3(1), 29–51. Gusmeroli, P., & Trappolin, L. (2020). Homophobia as a keyword in the Italian liberal press (1979–2007): Debating new boundaries of sexual citizenship. Journal of Modern Italian Studies, 25(5), 645–670. Gusmeroli, P., & Trappolin, L. (2021). Narratives of Catholic women against “gender ideology” in Italian schools: Defending childhood, struggling with pluralism. European Societies, 23(4), 513–532. Higgins, D. J. (2002). Gay men from heterosexual marriages. Journal of Homosexuality, 42(4), 15–34. Lasio, D., & Serri, F. (2019). The Italian public debate on same-sex civil unions and gay and lesbian parenting. Sexualities, 22(4), 691–709. Levin, I. (2004). Living apart together: A new family form. Current Sociology, 52(2), 223–240. Lo Iacono, V., Symonds, P., & Brown, D. H. K. (2016). Skype as a tool for qualitative research interviews. Sociological Research Online, 22(2), 103–117. Lynch, J. M. (2000). Considerations of family structure and gender composition. Journal of Homosexuality, 40(2), 81–95. Lynch, J. M. (2005). Becoming a stepparent in gay/lesbian stepfamilies. Journal of Homosexuality, 48(2), 45–60. Lynch, J. M., & Murray, K. (2000). For the love of the children: The coming out process for lesbian and gay parents and stepparents. Journal of Homosexuality, 39(1), 1–24. Mishra, J. (2020). Understanding re-partnership in non-normative conjugality: Narratives of gay men in Odisha, India. Journal of Family Issues, 41(7), 789–809. Monaco, S., & Nothdurfter, U. (2021). Discovered, made visible, constructed, and left out: LGBT+ parenting in the Italian sociological debate. Journal of Family Studies, 1–18.

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Moore, M., & Stanbolis-Ruhstorfer, M. (2013). LGBT sexuality and families at the start of the twenty-first century. Annual Review of Sociology, 39, 491–507. Ozzano, L. (2015). The debate about same-sex marriages/civil unions in Italy's 2006 and 2013 electoral campaigns. Contemporary Italian Politics, 7(2), 144–160. Pearcey, M. (2005). Gay and bisexual married men’s attitudes and experiences. Journal of GLBT Family Studies, 1(4), 21–42. Plummer, K. (1995). Telling sexual stories: Power, change, and social worlds. Routledge. Pratesi, A. (2018). Doing care, doing citizenship: Toward a micro-situated and emotion-based model of social inclusion. MacMillan. Rickards, T., & McLeod, D. (2016). Authenticating family: A grounded theory explaining the process of re/claiming legitimacy by lesbian stepfamilies. The Family Journal: Counseling and Therapy for Couples and Families, 24(2), 122–131. Sullivan, M. (2004). The family of woman: Lesbian mothers, their children and the undoing of gender. University of California Press. Tasker, F., & Lavender-Stott, E. S. (2020). Lesbian and gay parenting, post-heterosexual divorce and separation. In A. E. Goldberg & K. R. Allen (Eds.), LGBT-parent families: Innovations in research and implications for practice (pp. 3–24). Springer. Tornello, S., & Patterson, C. (2015). Timing of parenthood and experiences of gay fathers: A life course perspective. Journal of GLBT Family Studies, 11, 35–56. Trappolin, L. (2016). The construction of lesbian and gay parenthood in sociological research: A critical analysis of international literature. Interdisciplinary Journal of Family Studies, 21(2), 41–59. Trappolin, L. (2017). Pictures of lesbian and gay parenthood in Italian sociology: A critical analysis of 30 years of research. Italian Sociological Review, 7(3), 301–323. Weston, K. (1991). Families we choose: Lesbians, gays, kinship. Columbia University Press.

Same-Sex Parenting in Contemporary Italy: Constructing Parenthood on Insecure Grounds Salvatore Monaco and Urban Nothdurfter

Abstract This chapter explores how parents in same-sex parent families access, construct, and represent parenthood and its challenges in contemporary Italy. Samesex partners having children together face a series of specific hurdles to parenthood and ongoing challenges in their parenting practices. This situation of uncertainty is a consequence of the lack of legal recognition of their reproductive and parental rights as well as to discourses and institutional practices either explicitly reaffirming heterosexuality as the prerequisite to (good) parenthood or neglecting the existence and needs of same-sex parent families. Based on qualitative data of a project exploring constructions of parenthood on insecure grounds, the chapter aims to provide knowledge about same-sex parenting challenges and practices in everyday life and against the background of ambivalent orders of recognition. The chapter contributes to a better understanding of how Italian same-sex parents construct and make sense of their parenthood and how they display family between claims of recognition and feared or experienced practices of exclusion. Keywords Same-sex parent families · Sociology · Italy · Parenting practices · Doing family

Introduction: Construction of Parenting on Insecure Grounds Transitions to parenthood and parenting practices in same-sex parent families differ in legal and social recognition in different country contexts. While there are countries where same-sex couples can marry, adopt, or access artificial reproductive techniques and be recognized as parents even without biological kinship, these rights are denied in other countries or are only partially recognized or subject to

S. Monaco (*) · U. Nothdurfter Free University of Bozen-Bolzano, Bolzano BZ, Bolzano, Trentino-Alto Adige/South Tyrol, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_12

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costly court action procedures (ILGA, 2021). Italy is one of the European countries in which parenthood is legally recognized only to the biological parent of a child, even in the presence of a family agreement defined between same-sex partners before conception and childbirth (Naylor, 2020). This puts same-sex parent families in Italy in conditions of high uncertainty, impacting all phases of thinking about, transitioning to, and doing parenthood in everyday life. This chapter empirically draws on a study of the constructions of parenthood in same-sex parent families as one of the critical areas of a wider project of national interest funded by the Italian Ministry (PRIN). The overall project, entitled “Constructions of Parenting on Insecure Grounds—CoPInG,” investigates the construction and doing of parenthood by parents facing different conditions and intersections of relational, social, cultural, economic, and legal uncertainties. The project aims to understand how parenthood on insecure grounds is constructed and done in everyday life by listening and giving voice to parents as the protagonists of this ongoing process. Despite great social attention and strong normative pressure to good or intensive parenting (Hays, 1996; Lee et al., 2010; Hoffman, 2010), parents’ voices and their points of view on challenges and family practices in everyday life are often not taken into account or even silenced (Dale, 2004; Hall et al., 2006; Knopf & Swick, 2007; Parton, 2011; Fargion, 2021; Bekaert et al., 2021). Thus, adopting Fricker’s (2007) concept of epistemic injustice, it is safe to argue that listening to parents could be a useful strategy for analyzing the consequences of social injustices and ambivalent orders of recognition, starting from understanding their points of view and visions. Based on this research project, the chapter aims to provide insights into same-sex parenting challenges and practices, pointing out the main themes and concerns presented by the interviewed parents. The chapter is structured as follows. The first section provides some basic information on conditions for same-sex parenting in the Italian context, both from a legal and a social point of view, pointing out challenges Italian same-sex parents face due to legal constraints and cultural and political circumstances. The next section gives some information about the research project focusing on methodological choices and data material and analysis. The chapter then presents some of the main results that emerged from the thematic analysis of 40 in-depth interviews with parents in same-sex parent families. The final section of the chapter discusses the findings and their contribution to a better understanding of how same-sex parents make sense of their experiences and their understanding, framing, and displaying of parenthood and parenting practices between claims of recognition and feared or experienced practices of exclusion.

Italy: No Country for Same-Sex Parent Families? Italy is one of the few Western European countries that still only partially recognizes parental rights of same-sex parents and in which issues of their access to parenthood and parenting rights are at the forefront of highly instrumentalized political and

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societal debates on family and sexual politics (Digoix, 2020; Corbisiero & Monaco, 2021). As to access to parenthood, on the one hand, adoption is not allowed for same-sex couples. Italian adoption law establishes that only married heterosexual couples can adopt a child, provided they comply with certain requirements. On the other hand, Italian law allows access to assisted fertilization, both homologous and heterologous, only to heterosexual couples, while it is forbidden to female couples and single women. Furthermore, in Italy, practices of third-party gestation are illegal. Evidently, because of these restrictions, same-sex couples who want to become parents travel abroad to countries where the law allows them to recur to artificial reproductive techniques and third-party gestation (Monaco & Nothdurfter, 2021b; Trappolin & Tiano, 2015). However, restrictions in access to parenthood are not the only hurdle same-sex parents have to take. In the processes of construction and doing their parenthood in everyday life, they are faced with other sources and forms of uncertainty caused by additional legal and institutional constraints. Even though same-sex couples have been able to register their union through a civil partnership since 2016, their parental rights are not safeguarded. In other words, if two people of the same sex become parents through artificial reproductive techniques, neither the non-biological parent is recognized as a parent nor is their family of origin considered relatives by law. Accordingly, the non-biological or so-called social parent cannot officially exercise rights and duties of parental authority, such as choosing medical care for the child or everyday tasks like giving consent for a school trip of the child. In addition, a parent who is not legally recognized has no rights to custody or even visitation with a child in case of paternal conflict, relationship dissolution, or if something should happen to the biologically and legally recognized parent (NCLR, 2019). Thus, from a legal point of view, social parents have no obligation, duty, or formal kinship toward their de facto children. Social mothers and fathers who want to be legally recognized as parents and formally in charge of caring for their children must apply to adopt their child (a costly court procedure) through the stepchild adoption or as the Italian law states (in Article 44 of State Law 184/83) “adoption in particular cases” without having, however, the family of origin of the social parent recognized as relatives to the child. In this process, the child protection authority (i.e., the juvenile court in collaboration with public social services) is called to verify the parental suitability of the person requesting to be recognized as a parent and to confirm by decree that the adoption responds to the primary interest of the child (Ng et al., 2021). In addition to these legal issues, further challenges derive from the wider cultural and political context and from institutionalized heteronormativity, which does not condone same-sex parenthood (Danna, 1997; Colombo & Schadee, 1999; Barbagli & Colombo, 2001). About a decade ago, a study conducted by the Italian National Institute of Statistics (ISTAT, 2012) revealed that over half of the Italian population was against same-sex marriage (56.1%), with a clear prevalence (41.1%) in the extremely opposed positions. Among the interviewees of the ISTAT survey from 2012, only 23.4% in the case of a lesbian couple and 19.4% in the case of a gay couple said they were in favor of adoption. These percentages are in line with the data detected a few years earlier by Eurobarometer (European Commission, 2007),

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which indicated the share of Italians in favor of adoption by same-sex couples at 24%. According to data provided by the World Values Survey of 2005 and reported in the UNAR report (D’Ippoliti & Schuster, 2011), 92% of Italians claimed that a child needed a father and a mother to grow up happy. More recently, however, in a survey conducted on Ipsos’s Global Advisor online platform, more than 19,000 individuals in 27 countries in 2021 found that 63% of Italians between the ages of 18 and 74 believed that same-sex couples should be allowed to marry legally and, consequently, to enjoy all family rights (IPSOS, 2021). In recent years, the Italian context has overall seen decreasing levels of homophobia (Gusmeroli & Trappolin, 2020; European Commission, 2020) and an increasing pluralization of family arrangements with the growing visibility of same-sex parent families. There have simultaneously been strong tendencies of heterosexist backlash with conservative Catholic organizations and right-wing populist parties getting attention in public debates (Bertone & Franchi, 2014; Trappolin & Tiano, 2019; Neyra, 2021; Scandurra et al., 2021). They argue that recognizing parenting rights to same-sex couples is a threat against a natural order (Garbagnoli, 2014) or natural family (Lasio & Serri, 2019), reaffirming heterosexuality as the prerequisite to good parenting. The attention these positions have received in public debate shows how determinist understandings of gender, sexuality, and family and the primacy of heterosexuality as the premise for full citizenship rights can still find consensus in public opinion and politics, especially when parenthood and parenting rights come into play (Corbisiero, 2013; Ozzano, 2015; Trappolin et al., 2015; Ozzano & Giorgi, 2016; Corbisiero & Monaco, 2020; Monaco & Nothdurfter, 2021a). Interestingly, the recognition of same-sex parent families has taken on different cultural and political meanings in the international arena. In the United States, the access to marriage and parental rights for same-sex partners was supported by liberal and even conservative positions sharing the idea that the recognition of civil rights might be a means for civilizing their behaviors and defending the social order (Fassin, 1998; Smith & Windes, 2000; Handley, 2004; Erickson, 2015). However, in the European context, political support has been much more difficult to organize. Conservative defenders of the symbolic order society in several countries, including Italy, still portray the legal recognition of same-sex parent families as a threat to the natural societal order that has the heterosexual nuclear family at its center (Lasio & Serri, 2019; Callahan & Loscocco, 2021). The lack of legal recognition and framing same-sex parenthood as a threat to someone or something contributes to discriminations and uncertainties of same-sex parents in institutional encounters, in which they are, for better or worse, highly dependent upon discretionary practices of institutional representers and key actors. Local and regional governments have often assumed an important role in implementing anti-discriminatory practices in opposition to conservative positions with significant discretion, even regarding the recognition of parenthood (Corbisiero & Monaco, 2017). The mayors of local municipalities can transcribe the birth certificates of children born abroad to samesex parents and re-issue the birth certificates of children born in Italy to same-sex couples, adding the name of the non-biological parent. Together with a series of

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landmark rulings on parenting rights issued by several courts, these practices processed by local authorities are playing a key role in filling the equality gap between heterosexual and homosexual parent families (Franchi & Selmi, 2020a, b). However, these practices operate in a legal gray area. Despite the use of discretionary leeway toward more inclusive practices, the institutional treatment of same-sex parent families remains characterized by a high degree of uncertainty and permanent cause for concern (Monaco, 2016).

The Research Project: Methods and Data This chapter empirically draws on the findings of the project “CoPInG,” a broad qualitative study that aims to understand parents’ points of view and analyze how they construct and do parenthood in conditions of uncertainty. For these reasons, parents in same-sex parent families have also been included in the study. To understand their perspectives and learn about their constructions of parenthood and parenting, 40 in-depth interviews with parents from same-sex parent families were carried out between 2020 and 2021. In-depth interviews are very useful in explorative social research. Even when they aim to explore a series of aspects previously defined by the researchers, explorative interviews are kept very open and leave the interviewees much freedom to express themselves and present their views on the topics addressed. Accordingly, explorative interviews often strongly rely on a narrative approach, giving the interviewees the chance to point out the main themes and issues by telling their stories (Hollway & Jefferson, 1997; Patton, 2002; McCormack, 2004). To get a comprehensive picture of same-sex parents’ views, opinions, and experiences of same-sex parenting in Italy, the research project involved different parents balancing between biological and social mothers and fathers from all Italy’s areas (North West, North East, Center, South). Participants had an average age of 44 years, on average a high level of education, and were employed in most cases. Due to the pandemic, all interviews were conducted online. The interviews were recorded, transcribed, and analyzed, carrying out a thematic analysis. From the thematic analysis emerged three main themes, which will be presented in the next section. The three main themes concern the pathway toward parenthood, the feeling of constant precariousness due to lack of legal recognition, and coping strategies to being seen and recognized as a same-sex parent family.

Findings In the first part of the interviews, parents were asked to describe themselves both as persons and as parents and to share their parenting history. All respondents placed the beginning of their history as a parent quite sometime before the birth of their

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children by describing their parenting intentions, information about possibilities, the anticipation of challenges, and eventually the tackling of obstacles and the pathway to parenthood. Most respondents used artificial reproductive techniques and, in the case of male couples, to third-party gestation abroad. The construction of same-sex parenthood, thus, begins with a long pathway toward parenthood that involves seeking information, anticipating challenges, and critically thinking through many challenges. These challenges include deciding how to conceive the child, which country to go to, which clinics to contact, how to manage transnational practices of family formation, whom to involve, and how to relate to significant others in this process. For same-sex couples, becoming parents means they undertake this path together and must make a series of decisions together to realize their desire to have a child. Many of the parents interviewed portray this path as an intense period of reflection and discussion, anticipating challenges and creating a supportive social environment to share and be supported along this path to achieving parenthood. They describe their realization of parenthood as the result of a long and reflexive journey and as a well-considered decision. They contrast, often probably somewhat stereotypically, with heterosexual parenthood. In their view, heterosexual parenthood is often simply unforeseen or even just happening without any special considerations or decisions to be made beforehand. In this sense, they describe their transition toward parenthood as more reflexive, leading to thoughtful and competent parenting. For a heterosexual couple, having a child is the natural path that very often happens by chance, even unintentionally. Instead, for a homosexual couple choosing to have a child is an intense and very long psychological and emotional work. In other words, our choice to have a child has been not a whim; it has not been something we have chosen to do suddenly. We were aware that we would give birth to a child in a country where he will indeed have problems since there is no LGBT friendly context in Italy. (interview no. 21, gay man, South) The desire for parenthood in homosexual couples is really deep, very pondered. Our children were strongly desired, although we were aware of the many difficulties. We had also considered leaving Italy if we realized that our children would grow up badly in our Country. (interview no. 26, gay man, South) I am very apprehensive of my son. I have found that other children are often not very followed by their parents. As homosexual parents, we are in the other hemisphere. There is too much attachment, probably because we wanted them so much. (interview no. 36, gay man, North West)

Due to the adverse conditions, the transition to same-sex parenting also becomes a matter of considerable economic and organizational effort. Since becoming parents usually includes global settings and practices, undertaking this path requires economic capital, time availability, and a high degree of flexibility (Monaco & Nothdurfter, 2021b). The interviewed parents pointed out these issues, referring to such organizational aspects as requesting leave from work and travel arrangements, creating financial possibilities, and, last but not least, the determination and patience needed along this way. Saving money for artificial insemination was not easy, because there are many expenses to be incurred, besides the travel. In addition, it is a challenging path also because we work. So

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even having to organize the trip to leave at the last minute was not easy, even from an organizational point of view. (interview no. 3, bisexual woman, Center) Becoming dads for homosexual people is undoubtedly a long and expensive procedure; we must not deny it. Sometimes I heard people saying that it is an elitist possibility. Perhaps this is no longer the case because to meet the expenses, I know that some intentional dads have teamed up to take action and try to lower the costs. (interview no. 33, gay man, North West) I believe that the path to become parents is tiring from an emotional point of view, because you have to organize everything, you have to go to a different country that is not yours, the times are very long . . . Furthermore, insemination is not always successful. In my case, I felt devastated when I learned that I would have to go back there to try to get pregnant again. (interview no. 45, lesbian woman, North West).

Most parents described this journey as tiring and stressful. They would have preferred to have access to reproductive technologies in their own country or be able to adopt if it were possible: Third-party gestation is not a practice that I would recommend: we were forced as two men to use it as adoption is not allowed in Italy, otherwise we would have adopted without problems [. . .]. We lived an experience at 10,000 km on the other side of the world, and it is true that there are technologies but staying at a distance, not being able to be there on the spot, to go only when the child is born, it has been very difficult. This is because the laws do not allow adoption otherwise everyone would do it. Nobody enjoys resorting to lawyers, clinics, travel agencies, etc. (interview no. 36, gay man, North West) Transnational third-party gestation is definitely not a walk in the park. It is a very difficult and stony path, made up of obstacles, a lot of changes of mood and several resets of expectations [. . .]. We had quite some difficulties along the way. (interview n. 25, gay man, South).

A similar position was expressed by a mother who resorted to going to Spain for artificial insemination. In Italy, we still have law number 40 which allows only heterosexual couples who have been married or cohabiting for a long time to access assisted fertilization paths. Single women, both heterosexual and lesbian, cannot do this, as you cannot do it if you are in a couple with another woman. This is one of the main hypocrisies in Italy. I would have really wanted to undertake a path of this kind in my country. (interview no. 16, lesbian woman, Center).

Interviewed parents’ accounts show that financial and organizational aspects associated with such family formation practices and personal capacities, stamina, and support are critical factors in whether parenthood becomes accessible to samesex couples or remains denied. Even though the interviewees were privileged to have been able to become parents from this point of view, many of them described the realization of parenthood as an insecure and precarious endeavor. A second dominant theme that emerged from the analysis concerns the sense of precariousness derived from lacking legal recognition. The interviewed parents consistently stressed that the State does not protect their families. On the contrary, same-sex parents are treated differently and not fully recognized as a parent couple taking care of their children. As the parents’ accounts impressively show, the consequences of this lack of recognition go far beyond being a matter of formal recognition and legal parental status but substantially concern their children’s rights and result in parents’ constant

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concerns for their children and in several worries and complications that tire their everyday life. I have not the tranquility to truly say also from the legal aspect that I am the other mother. (interview n. 5, lesbian woman, Center) I was unable to apply for parental leave because I am not recognized by the law as a second parent. (interview n. 6, lesbian woman, South) I have various fears related to my lack of legal recognition. For example, if something should happen to my wife . . . well, if she dies, it scares me to think that her brother or sister may have more power than me in caring for my child. (interview n. 7, lesbian woman, South) At school, the principal asked us for a proxy because from a legal point of view the non-biological mother could not have taken the children to school. (interview no. 29, lesbian, Center).

As mentioned previously, social parents can resort to the stepchild adoption process to obtain legal recognition, requesting to adopt the partner’s child. However, this process was described by the interviewed parents as a source of stress for both the couple and the child due to the mandatory involvement of child protection authorities. Furthermore, they feel they are victims of social injustice since they have to request to adopt children they already care for and have always been their children. Engaging lawyers, recur to the juvenile court, and meeting social workers and psychologists who assess their parental suitability is seen as unfair and paradoxical. I don’t understand why the State has to check if I can be a parent of my own child. (interview n. 16, lesbian woman, Center) The stepchild adoption process generates a lot of anxiety because we are afraid of the evaluation of social services. (interview no. 31, lesbian woman, South) I don’t have to adopt anyone because this is already my daughter [. . .]. I imagined and wanted this little girl in my head and brought her into the world. I mean, if I weren’t she wouldn’t be here. This is a fact. (interview no. 37, lesbian woman, North West).

In addition to these difficulties directly related to the lack of legal recognition, same-sex parent couples experience other difficulties and challenges in everyday life. Many report that they are unprepared for these encounters with social institutions, professionals, and social contexts and they are difficult for them to control. Against this background, coping strategies to being seen and recognized as a samesex parent family emerged as a third major theme from the thematic analysis of the interview data. As regards this last theme, different issues emerged. The first aspect concerns the disconnect between an institutional and political level and the more immediate social life-world level contexts. Even if same-sex parent families are only partially recognized and protected by law and formal policies, most interviewed parents emphasized the need to be well integrated with their immediate social environment and communities. Thus, they underline that in their everyday life, they often feel that Italian society is much more inclusive and ahead than the legal and institutional context and certain political discourses would suggest. Until now everything has gone very well. We are meeting people who are very inclusive, very helpful, and well disposed towards our family. But there are bureaucratic and legal obstacles. For example, we recently had to sign a form for a couple of parents made up of “Mother and Father” . . . (interview n. 7, lesbian woman, South)

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In our city, we have not found opposition to our parenting. Probably this depends on the fact that we are well protected by our family or because we are also known people, with a certain economic stability. (interview n. 21, gay man, South) Unfortunately, politics enters a lot in the life of the Rainbow Families . . . Thus, on the one hand, I have had excellent experiences with school and with friends. As a result, I live my homosexual parenting quietly. On the other hand, we experienced a series of bureaucratic and legal criticalities, starting with the Municipality that did not want to recognize me and the other father both as parents. (interview no. 36, gay man, North West).

Nevertheless, many of the parents reported critical episodes and unpleasant situations that arise due to persisting stereotypes and lacking knowledge about same-sex parenting. The respondents report that people ask unpleasant questions and make inappropriate comments. The interview findings suggest that couples of gay fathers are more exposed to such situations as parenting “without a mother” still causes perplexity or negative attitudes. There is a big difference between a couple made up of two fathers, and a couple made up of two mothers. A couple of mothers is much more accepted even in civil society because the average Italian is like that, having a mother is what is important. It is much easier to accept that a child doesn’t have a father. (interview no. 36, gay man, North West) Unfortunately, there is still this kind of machismo according to which it is the mother who has to take care of the child. (interview n. 21, gay man, South) The lack of a mother is still seen as a deprivation. (interview no. 29, lesbian women, Center).

This vision not only presupposes a hierarchy among parental relationships but is based on the ideological position of monomaternalism1 (Park, 2013), which works as a system of oppression that makes it harder for non-normative parenthood to be recognized (Biblarz & Stacey, 2010; Manning et al. 2014). Against this background, mother and father couples work to reclaim their parenthood and be recognized and validated as a same-sex parent family, reaffirming and displaying their family and its legitimacy. As suggested by Finch (2007), displaying families has become in contemporary times a useful strategy for gaining social visibility and recognition beyond blood and legal ties. The analysis of the interview data showed that same-sex parents adopt different strategies of displaying themselves and their families, also choosing very proactive ways to prevent possible disregard and get control over situations of exposure. For example, some of the interviewed parents from same-sex parent families said they tried to prepare the school context and invest in good relationships with their children’s teachers. They proposed themselves actively as class representatives and organized dinners and events to socialize with other parents to be seen and recognized as (an excellent and easy-going) family and prevent their children from being excluded. These moments of visibility and socialization are Park describes monomaternalism as an ideological doctrine that “resides at the intersection of patriarchy (with its insistence that women bear responsibility for biological and social reproduction), heteronormativity (with its insistence that a woman must pair with a man, rather than other women, in order to raise children successfully), capitalism (in its conception of children as private property), and Eurocentrism (in its erasure of polymaternalism in other cultures and historical periods)” (Park, 2013, p. 7).

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defined as opportunities to present themselves as parents and to show other people their daily habits and practices of doing family, implicitly answering doubts, curiosities and questions. The only way to make our child grow well is to be always visible, twenty-four seven. We cannot be eclipsed, and we must expose ourselves more and more [. . .]. At school, I became the class representative because, in this way, I obviously have a little more relationship with the school, with the teachers, and the principal. It is my way to be visible. (interview no. 6, lesbian woman, South) Being a mother in a same-sex couple, especially in our country, is a commitment that also passes through the most trivial things, which are to participate in all the birthday parties in which the other parents invite you because these are opportunities for socialization, these rare occasions in which people know you, even if you may not feel like it or are not so expansive. (interview no. 16, lesbian woman, Center).

Same-sex parents also take the same attitude and adopt similar strategies with other professionals they meet in their daily lives and different institutional contexts, from the gynecologist to the pediatrician, from the general practitioner to other public service professionals and municipal employees. They often adopt the strategy of actively displaying their family, showing themselves openly as parents and as a legitimate family without specifying (when not strictly needed) the blood and legal ties that exist or not among its members. As a doctor, I take care of our son’s health care sphere. For the rest, my partner and I exchange a lot. We both take care of everything that is needed in everyday life. (interview no. 6, lesbian woman, South) Marzia and I are not married, so our family has no qualification to be recognized by the institutions. However, our daughter at school for Mother’s Day has always written a letter to both mothers and teachers have never said anything. We went to the school plays interchangeably. Similarly, the pediatrician made no difference if I called her or Marzia did it. (interview no. 15, bisexual woman, North West) We have always refused to say who the biological parent is, and we still do not say it. (interview no. 38, gay man, Center).

Doing and displaying parenthood in everyday life serves as an essential arena for same-sex parents to claim the legitimacy of their parenthood and family life, prepare different social contexts and contacts, and prevent the discrimination or exclusion of their children. Some of the interviewed parents referred to these aspects as constant extra work they are required to perform to be visible and recognized as good parents. In addressing these challenges, most of the interviewed parents described the contact with other same-sex parents as vital. Other parents in similar situations and same-sex parents associations are seen as essential resources. They offer safe contacts and spaces for confrontation and exchange of experiences of mediating with the extended social environment and navigating ambivalent orders of (non-) recognition. More experienced parents often instruct younger ones on their strategies to cope with the challenges that same-sex parenting still poses in contemporary Italy. We are part of the association of homosexual parents both to let the child stay with other children who have families similar to ours, and to have a comparison with other parents who have all the problems of classic parents and are also gay and lesbian. (interview no. 6, lesbian woman, South)

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We live in a country where it is difficult for LGBT people to become parents. Thus, meeting people who have faced this path is something that upsets your life, opens up horizons for you, and also confronts you with questions, doubts, and perplexities. Associations are significant because they allow you to compare yourself with people who have already lived experiences and who can help you. (interview no. 16, lesbian woman, Center) Some lesbian mothers living in our neighborhood, having younger children than ours, have referred to us to find out what our experience with kindergarten was and, from time to time, call us for confrontation and exchange of experiences. (interview no. 27, lesbian woman, Center).

Conclusion The findings show that the construction of same-sex parenthood is an ongoing process that begins long before a child’s actual birth to a same-sex couple. Samesex couples undertake a pathway toward parenthood characterized by obstacles, uncertainties, and difficult decisions that usually lead to family formation through transnational practices of assisted procreation. In Italy, they cannot access assisted procreation techniques third-party gestation. Becoming parents in such circumstances requires the commitment of various forms of assets and resources and is not accessible to all same-sex couples. However, same-sex couples who can realize their parenting intentions describe the construction of their parenthood as an insecure and precarious endeavor due to the lack of legal recognition and the resulting consequences in the everyday life of same-sex parent families (Monaco, 2022). Furthermore, same-sex parents continuously risk facing situations and contexts of lacking knowledge or even hostile attitudes toward non-normative parenting. Consequently, same-sex parenting is described as an ongoing process of anticipating challenges and adopting different strategies of being visible as parents and as a family to mediate extended social environments and to navigate ambivalent orders of recognition. The construction of same-sex parenting thus implies additional efforts in parenting and displaying practices that show the interplay of practices of doing family and recognizing parenthood and family as practices of taking care and negotiating parental roles and family boundaries. In this context, same-sex parents describe the importance of a supportive network and contacts with other same-sex parents and their associations. Using analytical perspectives of family practices (Finch, 2007; Gabb & Silva, 2011; Morgan, 1996, 2004) and doing family (Morgan, 2011; Heaphy, 2011), it can be argued that Italian same-sex parents do and co-construct their parenthood and families within networks of relationships that take shape also outside the home (Herz, 2006). These relationships serve as a secure and supportive environment in the continuous engagement with broader social contexts and ambivalent orders of recognition. As Sarkisian (2006) reported, this strategy of doing family can be defined as “interactional work and activities that create and sustain family ties, define family boundaries, as well as specify appropriate behaviors for different family members” (p. 804). In this sense, same-sex parent couples promote practices based on more complex, open, and fluid concepts of

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family, with boundaries that are not given by genetic kinship ties and legal recognition but instead socially constructed (Koerner & Fitzpatrick, 2002; Von Schlippe & Frank, 2013). Funding The information used for this paper originated from the project Constructions of Parenting on Insecure Grounds: What Role for Social Work? (CoPInG). Grant Program: PRIN 2017 – Funding from the Italian Ministry of Universities and Research for research projects of national interest (grant number: 2017ZKSE5N).

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Mother and Father? Ideas and Possibilities of Starting a Family by Transgender and Nonbinary People in the Czech Republic Iva Baslarová, Jitka Círklová, and Giuseppe Maiello

Abstract In the Czech Republic, queer people are mostly tolerated; however, many limitations exist regarding their rights. One of these is the right to start a family of their own. Current legislation is underpinned by heteronormativity and a traditional definition of procreation. Assisted reproductive technology and in vitro fertilization are legal only for heteronormative but not necessarily married couples. As a result, lesbian and single heterosexual women can bypass this requirement with the assistance of a male friend (the paperwork is not legally binding). Similarly, queer couples in registered partnerships (civil unions only available for nonheterosexual citizens) cannot adopt a child as a couple (although it is possible for a single queer person to adopt). Public opinion surveys suggest that Czechs are open to allowing queer people in registered partnerships to adopt children that are part of the family (whether born in the family or a previous one), but such a change does not have political support yet. Keywords Transgender studies · Gender socialization · Same-sex marriage · Homophobia · Transphobia

Data collection and analysis were created as output within the grant project Mother and father? Nonbinary and transgender families in the Czech Republic: a legislative norm and the ideas of NB/TG people (no. 7427/2021/05) using objective-oriented support for specific university research of the University of Finance and Administration. I. Baslarová · J. Círklová · G. Maiello (*) Department of Marketing Communication, University of Finance and Administration, Prague, Czech Republic e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_13

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Introduction Although the citizens of the Czech Republic are relatively supportive of same-sex marriage, many unresolved issues still exist in terms of legislation and general acceptance. Gays and lesbians can enter into registered partnerships. In 2020, the Czech Republic came very close to legalizing same-sex marriage when a draft bill went to a second reading in the Chamber of Deputies. In June of 2021, Czech President Miloš Zeman, speaking on the CNN Prima News TV show Partie, hosted by Terezie Tománková, described transgender people as “intrinsically disgusting” to him and described operative sex change as “a criminal act of self-harm” (Etzler & McCluskey, 2021). This is considerably more complicated for people who identify as nonbinary or transgender. Nonbinary people, transgender women, and transgender men face many obstacles and injustices in legal and interpersonal terms as they are still discriminated against by mainstream society. This chapter focuses on what options they do/do not have if they want to start a family.

Transgender and Nonbinary People in Gender Theories Before moving on to the specifics of these social groups, it is first necessary to define them through gender theories. In the essentialist approach, masculinity and femininity are binary categories, and the innate or natural differences between men and women are considered immutable, which explains their mannerisms, behavior, and needs. In contrast, constructivist theories see gender as independent of biology. Thus, while sex remains hidden, gender is manifested in characteristics, behavior, manner of dress, gestures, speech, and so on or defined by a social situation and role (Oakley, 2000, p. 123). Masculinity and femininity are shaped by constructs related to biological sex, which are products of culture and social interaction. To reduce gender to two categories would be a misunderstanding of our culture. Femininity and masculinity are artificial poles between which members of society move. Gerlinda Šmausová (2011) points out that there is no ontic, substantive gender, no homogeneous male or female identity: The ontic idea survives in the very construct of gender identity, namely in the naive idea that men always play the so-called masculine role and women always the feminine role. In reality, everyone plays different roles, depending on the gender construction of the social context. (p. 179)

Thus, while an illusory notion of gender and related roles as natural is created in members of society depending on their sex, gender represents a much more complicated and sophisticated stratification construct. Gender differentiation occurs even before a person is born when parents think about the name, clothes choice, colors, and toys. We learn what it means to be (or not be) a woman or a man in the process of gender socialization. This is manifested daily in social interactions and in the media, which institutionalizes gender. Members of

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society constantly acquire information and ideas about what is masculine and feminine. Gender socialization is strongest in childhood. Children observe the world around them, learning what it means to be a girl or a boy and what it means not to be one. Familial and societal expectations reinforce this socialization. The problematization of gender, perceived only as a social construct, artificially establishing women and men’s place in society based on their gender, was introduced by West and Zimmerman (1987) in their concept of doing gender. According to West and Zimmerman, it is necessary to distinguish between sex, sex category, and gender. Gender is differentiated according to socially determined and legislatively mandated biological differences, determined mainly by primary sex characteristics, although this is not always definite, intended to classify individuals as male or female in everyday life (West and Zimmerman, 1987, p. 126). The gender category represents everyday identifying behaviors leading to the recognition of a person as male or female. However, according to West and Zimmerman, gender category and gender are not interdependent, as pointed out by Kessler and McKeen in the case of transgender women and men who do not perform in public in accordance with their gender. Gender, according to the authors, is a particular kind of social behavior that is determined by a normative set of mannerisms, attitudes, and actions that belong to gender categories (1987, pp. 127–128). It is a repeated and routine practice whereby men and women express masculinity and femininity on the basis of routine practice, but not because it is innate to them. Gender constructs should therefore be examined in the ordinary interactions in which they are made. The achievement and acquisition of gender is made invisible by culture, but gender itself must be accountable. This is the only way to ensure that the created gender is perceived as either natural or inappropriate (1987, p. 134). This requirement presupposes cultural knowledge and possession of the necessary social skills to perform as a particular gender and awareness of the differences between genders. “‘Role production’ presupposes that members of both (officially designated) genders learn to play the other, opposing role, during socialization” (Šmausová, 2011, p. 187). Individuals may not be stereotypical models of masculinity and femininity, but what is essential is that gender is performed with the knowledge and risk of gender judgment (West and Zimmerman, 1987, p. 135). Thus, if we consciously or inadvertently cross a boundary and make those around us uncomfortable with the mismatch between sex and gender, we must consider the possibility of social sanctions. Numerous feminist theories and research point to the social production of gender. Harold Garfinkel (1984) has drawn attention to the discursive understanding of gender as performance in the construction of social constructs. He describes the story of a transgender girl, Agnes, who was born with male genitalia. Her becoming a woman was not only about the physical transformation but, more importantly, about the formation of gender positions related to the new gender category. Agnes, who had always felt herself to be a woman, exaggeratedly demonstrated her femininity in situations where the characteristics of both sexes intermingled. In this way, she uncompromisingly rejected the effects of being brought up as a boy (Garfinkel, 1984, p. 128). It was only after the removal of her penis, which she perceived in her

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life only as the result of a “cruel game of fate,” that Agnes was able to start living as a woman and shape her femininity through her dress and mannerisms. However, she lacked the necessary information about this life, which she had tried to acquire with the help of her boyfriend and which she learned from earlier incidents when she had tried to maintain the integrity of her awareness of her femininity in a male body, even though she was constantly treated as a boy by her surroundings (Garfinkel, 1984, p. 130). Erving Goffman explored the formation and performance of gender identities. Like West and Zimmerman, he points out that, although gender is related to biological sex, gender segregation in society cannot be explained by biological differences; it is a purely cultural issue. According to Goffman (1997), gender is publicly demonstrated in rites and ceremonies through rituals, where basic social practices are affirmed and the main doctrines of people and the world are presented (p. 208). As an example, he cites the difference in the official presentation of awards to men and women. While men’s hands are shaken at the end of the ceremony, women are kissed on the cheek, demonstrating the differentiation between the two and their belonging to a particular gender. The gender and hierarchy between them is demonstrated, for example, in a wedding ceremony held in traditional Christian Euro-American culture. The man comes to the official first and is the first to be asked if he wants to enter into marriage. In both of these cases, the woman comes second. In most cases, the woman additionally adopts her husband’s name, announced to the wedding guests during the ceremony. According to the theorist Judith Butler (1999), gender is not conditioned by the body’s anatomy and biological sex but is merely a discursive and cultural category. Butler (1999) argues that gender is constructed over time and is a product of the stylized repetition of internally discontinuous acts (p. 20). Butler views sex and gender as categories that are the effect, not the cause, of social relations and structures. Body stylizations are an important aspect of performing gender, with bodily gestures and movements creating the illusion of a permanent gendered self (Butler, 1999, p. 176). Gender is, therefore, something we make rather than something we are. Social institutions require individuals to play a role appropriate to their gender self-identification. Members of society thus play several identities dependent on the social context (labor market, public life, family) (Šmausová, 2002, p. 21). Although the division of society into men and women fulfills a practical ordering function, it is a gross simplification, as there is no ontic gender or homogeneous male or female identity (Šmausová, 2002, p. 15). The social sciences have objected to the biological extrapolation of gender differences by arguing that gender and sex are not natural traits but “specific socialization to male and female roles that leads to gender differences in behavior” (Šmausová, 2002, p. 16). Socialization and education play an important role, in which women learn to be ideal women and men learn to be ideal men: these gender roles are not innate but become second nature during life (Šmausová, 2002, p. 16). These expected ideal gender roles include sexuality, which also serves as a tool for critical analysis and understanding of how mechanisms work in society. The ideal sexuality preferred by the gender order (that applies various sanctions to nonheterosexual people) is heterosexuality, which results from the interconnectedness of women and men.

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Heterosexuality is valued socially and inculcated sexuality and stands hierarchically above all others considered deviant (Smetáčková & Braun, 2009, p. 18). According to Beck (1986), however, society is no longer interested in polar gender identities and is dissolving the structures according to which individuals have so far been able to orient themselves; thus, members of society now create collaged identities, pieced together from the so-called masculine and feminine characteristics, as needed. Also, normative sexuality is weakened, which no longer appeals to the necessity of natural reproduction (Beck, 1986). Because heterosexuality was never questioned or thematized, it became the norm, while same-sex love and sex were subjected to intense historical scrutiny. Katz (2014) refers to this non-thematizing and uncritical evaluation of generally established norms, such as heterosexuality or white skin color, as conceptual imperialism. By ignoring the study of heterosexuality and its historical transformations, analysts have contributed to privileging heterosexuality as the normal and natural over the abnormal, unnatural, and stigmatized (Katz, 2014, p. 231). Katz refers to this heterosexual separatism as erotic apartheid, which actively distinguished the sexually normal from the sexually perverse (Katz, 2014, p. 235). If there is an endorsement of the norm, this leads to its dominance, making it unquestionable. The term and idea of heterosexuality and homosexuality date back to between 1892 and 1900. The first known record of the word heterosexual is found in an American article published in 1892 in a medical journal by psychologist James G. Kiernan. According to Kiernan (1892), heterosexuals were characterized by mental illness: “psychic hermaphroditism” and a symptom of “affection for both sexes.” His description of the heterosexual is thus quite distant from the normative conception. Kiernan (1892) implicitly defined normal sexuals by a homogeneous affection for the other sex with the aim of reproduction. However, the important fact remains that there was still no term for them (Katz, 2014, p. 6). In 1901, heterosexuality was still defined in Dorland’s Medical Dictionary as “abnormal or perverted appetites for a person of the opposite sex,” not just for the purpose of procreating children (Dorland, 1901, p. 300). Thus, in the wake of heterosexuality, heteronormativity has gradually developed, which can be understood as “a social regulatory framework that produces a binary division of gender, normalizing desire between men and women, and marginalizing other sexualities as different and deviant” (Gregory et al., 2009, p. 329). Michael Warner used this for the first time in one of the earliest works on queer theory, Fear of Queer Planet (Warner, 1993). He pointed to a conception of heterosexuality as normative sexuality that refers to a natural state, that is, sexual attraction between people of the opposite sex with the possibility of reproduction. Heteronormativity can thus be thought of as a social structure dependent on its (re)production or (re)construction by individuals. It is a norm that is part of pre-theoretical knowledge and therefore automatically assumed in every person (Pitoňák, 2013, p. 30). The general invisibility of nonheterosexual identities is then a consequence of this situation, as their knowledge is not part of general but specific knowledge. In the process of primary socialization of the child, socialization occurs, which automatically presupposes heterosexuality (Pitoňák, 2013, p. 30).

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As heterosexuality became established as the norm, fear of homosexuality and homosexual people, homophobia, also emerged. This can lead to feelings of resentment, hostility, and even hatred, which can become the basis for rejecting, ridiculing, or hurtful behavior toward homosexual people (Smetáčková & Braun, 2009, p. 9). The European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights (FRA, 2009) defined homophobia as “irrational fear and dislike of homosexuality, lesbian, gay and bisexual (LGB) people based on prejudice” (p. 9). The term homophobia probably emerged in the psychoanalytic milieu before World War I (Pechová, 2007). In contemporary research, the term was first used in 1972 by psychologist George Weinberg, who originally described it as the irrational fear, hatred, and judgment of homosexually oriented people (Weinberg, 1972). The term homophobia (from the Greek words homós ¼ same and phóbos ¼ fear, phobia) is not entirely linguistically accurate, as it means fear of sameness, not fear of people erotically oriented toward people of the same sex (Ondrisová, 2002, p. 33). For example, according to Udo Rauchfleisch, homophobia is so widespread that it cannot be granted the status of a disease, and homophobic people do not avoid homosexually oriented people. On the contrary, homophobic people seek out homosexuals with the intention of aggression (Hubík, 2008, p. 56). As a consequence, alternative terms began to emerge: homophobia, homonegativity, anti-gay prejudice, homosexism (Ondrisová, 2002; Pechová, 2007). The use of these terms has not become widespread. Moreover, homophobia inherently refers to prejudice and resentment against people with a homosexual identity. Other nonheterosexual identities, such as transgender identity and bisexuality, are not included. Hence the term transphobia is defined by transgender feminist theorist Julia Serano (2007) as “an irrational fear, dislike, or discrimination against people whose gender identity, appearance or behavior deviates from social norms” (p. 12). Transphobia can be an expression of one’s insecurities about not fulfilling the gender norms that are expected of each individual, just as homophobia can be a repression of one’s homosexual tendencies (Serano, 2007, p. 12). Meyer (2010) stresses the importance of distinguishing between homophobic harassment and harassment of gender non-conforming people. By doing so, he wants to avoid confusing gender identity and sexual orientation and, thus, not contribute to the stereotype that all gender non-conforming people are lesbian or gay (Meyer, 2010, p. 31). While transphobia is intertwined with homophobia in some cases, transgender people experience different manifestations of discrimination compared to gay and lesbian people, and these manifestations should not be overlooked. In the 1960s, the gay and lesbian movement established itself to oppose the heterosexual normative order. At first, it was an emancipatory model of movement that promoted oppositional politics aimed at shaking up the current heteronormative system. It was not simply about the emancipation of sexual minorities but about upsetting gender categories and the entire sexual-gender system. The goal was to bring more freedom not only to minorities but to absolutely everyone. However, the failure to meet these goals led to disillusionment, which resulted in the ethnic movement of the 1970s. This model of assimilationist identity politics changed its objective of radical change and followed a path of smaller, incremental changes.

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However, in doing so, it assumed the duality of gender (male-female) and sexuality (heterosexuality-homosexuality) and the dominant social order. Gays and lesbians represent a distinct and specific culture or legitimate minority. It is not open to all; an individual can only belong to it by his or her specific sexual orientation. The ethnic model has thus re-established certain limits to identity that correspond to the duality of gender and sexuality, as the gender of the sexual partner continues to play a central role in defining an individual’s identity. As a result, there was the further exclusion of those who did not fit into the newly articulated gay and lesbian identity (Jagose, 2004, pp. 353–366).

Normative Heterosexuality: The Czech Case As Sokolová (2006) states, it would seem that the main thematic aspect of LGBTQ2 issues is what is known as the different sexual orientation and gender identity. However, a fundamental element of this difference is its definition concerning normative heterosexuality “but the same sexual orientation or gender identity is not in itself a sufficient source of belonging and shared identity” (Sokolová, 2006, p. 250). It is clear from the literature and LGBTQ2 individuals’ self-representations that the common denominator is discrimination. In homophobic Czech society, however, homosexuality remains the most acceptable form of other sexuality precisely because of its binary conception. Homosexuality is understood by many people as a reversed heterosexuality, based on the binary concept of man and woman and couple cohabitation. As such, they are able to accept it; it does not completely challenge the traditional view of the world in dualities. However, our society is not so tolerant of transgender people because they challenge these eternal and supposedly unchanging dualistic foundations (Sokolová, 2006, p. 252). In the second half of the nineteenth century, a process of reconceptualization and categorization of sexuality took place, in which the concept of transsexuality also emerged. This was a period when, according to Foucault, sexuality was being disciplined, and human life was becoming subject to a scientifically formulated norm. In contrast to the unified discourse on the body and sexuality that had prevailed until then, medical discourse subsequently came up with a new way of classifying sexuality and created new categories with the establishment of heterosexuality as the norm (King, 1998). In the early days, anything not heterosexual was classified as homosexual. Only later was the homosexual concept classified into more distinct categories (Jahodová, 2011, p. 290). In Czechoslovakia, the phenomenon of transsexuality was first studied by sexologist Josef Hynie in the 1960s, followed by psychologist Iva Šípová, sexologists Růžena Hajnová, Petr Weiss and Hana Fifková in the 1970s (Dvořáčková, 2009; Jahodová, 2011). At that time, the first gender reassignment surgeries took place in Czechoslovakia, but they provoked a very negative reaction. In 1969, the issue of transsexualism was discussed by experts at the symposium on forensic issues of transsexualism. Ethics was the biggest problem from the medical point of view. That

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is, the issue was that the operation “destroys an important function of a somatically healthy person” and the reproductive function, which is at odds with medical ethics, which has the task of repairing damaged bodily functions (Kováriková, 2013, p. 17). Two terms exist for people whose gender identity does not correspond to their biological sex in the Czech discourse. People who experience what is known as gender dysphoria are usually referred to as transsexuals or transgender people. Efforts to gender reassignment define transsexuality, and the transgender population is usually characterized by the transgression of gender roles and identities, but this is not very concrete. However, we must remember that it is not a strict division between the dichotomies of female-male, feminine-masculine gender. Thus, people who live partially or permanently in the role of the opposite gender from their legal gender are referred to as transgender. There is also an indeterminate number of people who do not claim transgender identity at all. The interests of different communities then differ depending on various factors, such as the relationship to operative gender reassignment, current gender role, or sexual orientation. These factors may also undergo some change over time (Úřad Vlády České Republiky [ÚVCŘ] 2007, pp. 13–14). Transgender people themselves then contrast the two concepts. In transsexuality, there is an essential transition from one sex to the other sex, with the person identifying with male or female. The transition from female to male is referred to as FtM (female-to-male) and the transition from male to female is referred to as MtF (male-to-female). In contrast, in the case of transgenderism, there is a fluid linking of identities that is not strict, and individuals, in this case, do not feel the need to identify with one of the binary gender categories of female or male. According to Serano (2007, p. 25), transgender includes transsexual, intersex, genderqueer, bi-gender (nonbinary), and gender-fluid people. There are also significant differences between the transgender community of MtF and FtM people, which can be compared to the differences in the situations of gays and lesbians. The ratio of the sizes of the two groups is an interesting fact. According to the research, it is possible to speak of a difference in the size ratio between FtM and MtF transsexual people between different countries and between different generations. In the Czech Republic, there was a significant predominance of FtM transsexual people for several decades. In recent years, however, this situation has begun to change. The ratio of these figures to the total population of transgender people is unknown (ÚVCŘ, 2007, p. 14).

Medical Discourse of Transsexuality and Its Historical Development in the Czech Republic As Jahodová (2011) states, the conceptualization of transsexuality in the Czech medical discourse is based on the dichotomies of male/female, heterosexual/homosexual (p. 291). These categories are presented as given, ahistorical, and universally

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valid. Transsexuality is then perceived by medical discourse as a unidirectional movement from the male to the female category or vice versa. The possibilities of moving beyond the binary categories of male/female appear problematic. Medical theories do not allow for any ambiguous feelings. Thus, one can be either a woman or a man; there is nothing in between. This gives rise to the idea that the boundaries between femininity and masculinity are fixed and unchangeable. Although transsexuality upsets these boundaries somehow, it ultimately confirms the original paradigm. While intermingling of the feminine and masculine elements in one person, transsexuality insists on a strict separability (Kováriková, 2013, pp. 13–14). Here, the differentiation of transgender people who do not insist on the binary opposition of gender is confirmed, and their conceptualization is more fluid. In the history of transsexuality, the first records of behavior resembling gender dysphoria appear in antiquity. Among the most famous cases of apparent transsexual behavior in the Middle Ages is the legendary Joan of Arc. Harry Benjamin, who popularized the term in the 1950s and 1960s, is considered the father of transsexualism. He defined a new syndrome within the research on transvestism, based on which transsexualism was later defined as a separate disorder (Fifková et al., 2008, pp. 14–15). The Czech discourse is similar: the diagnosis of transsexualism was established as a separate diagnostic process in the early 1960s. Sexologist Růžena Hajnová speaks of the metaphor of transsexuality as a disagreement between the soul and the body: “We explore the mysteries of the brain, and we do not know why an otherwise healthy person suddenly has a disagreement between the soul and the body” (Klausová, 2001, p. 45). Similarly, Kuiper and Cohen-Kettenis (1988) describe transsexualism as the most extreme expression of gender dysphoria. It is considered to be a fundamental feature of all gender identity disorders. It is defined as “the feeling of discomfort that a person attributes to a mismatch between his or her gender identity (subjectively experienced sex) on the one hand and his or her gender role and biological sex (primary and secondary sex characteristics) on the other” (Fifková et al., 2008, p. 16). As Mayer and Kapfhammer (1995) further confirm, transsexuality is manifested by an inherent discord or a sense of not belonging to one’s gender. Transsexual people feel trapped in a false body and instinctively and strongly desire to change their gender. Some sociologists, including Stefan Hirschauer, oppose this medical concept of transsexuality. According to Hirschauer (1988), the metaphor of the mismatch between soul and body medicalizes primarily a social conflict in which on the one hand stands a person with their subjective gender self-identification and on the other hand their environment, which assigns them the opposite gender based on their appearance. Hirschauer (1988) further states that individual should either adapt their soul to their body or undergo medical treatment to resolve the conflict. The individual would then be reassigned to already known categories that do not deviate from the heteronormative order (Jahodová, 2011, p. 292). Hajnová’s assertion supports this medical method that the treatment aims to “come close to the other sex in such a way that no one will know” (Klausová, 2001, p. 46).

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The center of medical sexology in Czech is the Institute of Sexology at the First Faculty of Medicine of Charles University and the General University Hospital in Prague. The Institute of Sexology, founded in 1921 as the Institute for Sexual Pathology, is the oldest university sexology department globally. The founder was Professor Josef Hynie (1900–1989), who headed the Institute of Sexology in Prague from 1934 to 1974. Dr. Hynie defined transsexuality as “the innermost feelings and beliefs about belonging to the other sex based on different brain differentiation and dispositions” (Hynie, 1974, p. 73). According to Dr. Hynie, the mission of the physician or medical practitioner was to examine in detail whether the individual in question was indeed transsexual or had some other mental disorder. In the case of transsexuality, the transgender person was to be helped to integrate into society by first administering hormone treatment and changing the name to a neutral form. At that time, transsexuality was viewed by medical practitioners as a problem threatening society. In their opinion, such a person causes moral harm to others or disrupts the family’s institutional stability (Pechová, 2003). Hynie did not recommend genital surgery, referring to plastic surgery, which in his opinion was not at a level that could create sensitive and functional genitalia. Hynie also considered it undesirable to marry people who have already had their sex changed on their birth certificate (Hynie, 1974, p. 71). Another argument against operative sex reassignment was the view that medicine in this way facilitated deception of the potential future partner of a transsexual person, who may not be aware of the original identity (Pechová, 2003). However, in the 1980s, a surgical genital alteration was included in the medical discourse as part of the healing process of transsexualism. Jan Raboch, who succeeded Hynie as a chief doctor at the Institute of Sexology, argued that only transgender people who were psychologically stable and socially well-adapted should undergo operative change (Raboch, 1984, p. 97). In this period and the early 1990s, medical texts and interviews with doctors stated that transsexuality was perceived as a sexual deviation. For example, Peter Weiss also described transsexuality as “sexual deviance in identification” (Bumbová, 1994. p. 4). Transsexuality as sexual deviance is constructed as opposition to the heterosexual norm (Jahodová, 2011, p. 294). After 1989, with the fall of the communist regime, sexuality was no longer a taboo subject, and the number of people requesting transsexual transition increased. The increased number of applications was partly due to the shortened length of the transition process from the original 5 years to 3 years and a change in the diagnostic practices of some doctors. The change was also applied for by those who had given up their desire before 1989, either because of their family, surroundings, or negative experiences with the medical practices of the time (Spencerová, 2000). The central concept of the Czech medical discourse of transsexuality at the beginning of the second millennium is gender identity, where transsexuality is perceived as a disorder (Jahodová, 2011, p. 295). Transsexuality is included in the International Classification of Diseases (ICD 10) and, according to Fifková et al. (2008), is diagnosed as:

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A condition of an individual who wishes to live and be accepted as a member of the other sex (F64.0). This usually involves a feeling of dissatisfaction with one’s anatomical sex or a feeling of unsuitability and a desire for hormonal treatment and surgical intervention to make their body conform (if possible) to the preferred sex. The transsexual identity should last at least two years–it must not be a manifestation of a mental disorder (especially schizophrenia) or be associated with an intersex, genetic or chromosomal abnormality. (p. 16)

If we compare the approach of two current, well-known Czech sexologists, we find differences in their approach and the way they address people who come to them with their problems. Dr. Růžena Hajnová’s approach identifies with medical discourse, referring to transsexual people as patients, referring to stereotypes of what a woman and a man should look like, and not focusing on their feelings, but mainly on fitting into one of the categories of woman/man. In contrast, Dr. Hana Fifková is critical of this and disagrees with the concept of transsexuality as a mental disorder or deviation. She does not treat transgender people as people with a mental health condition but as her clients. She considers herself a guide who helps the clients sort out their feelings, which are her most important diagnostic tools (Fifková et al., 2008). In the case of marriages that take place after an official sex change, the legal procedures are no different from normal practice. Transgender people can thus enter into both unions after the sex change and, together with their new spouses, raise or adopt children. This legal practice is common in most European Union countries and is based on Article 9 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union (Pechová, 2007). However, some transgender people enter into marriage prior to their gender identity transitions, usually driven by a desire to adapt to their bodies and avoid dealing with the complex issues associated with transgender identity. This phenomenon is widespread among transgender people of the older generation and is much more common among transwomen than transmen (Pechová, 2007). Because Czech law still does not recognize the possibility of same-sex marriage, the commissions assessing applications for gender identity change require the divorce of an existing marriage as a condition for approval of the surgical procedure. The Civil Code, an amendment to which came into force in January of 2014, according to Article 29 (250), requires the dissolution of the marriage or registered partnership at the moment of gender reassignment, which is the date specified in the certificate of gender reassignment issued by the health service provider. If the transgender person has a child or children who were born before the transition, the parental registration of the offspring does not change. The woman who gave birth to the child (even though she subsequently became a man) always remains the mother, and the paternal role is also permanent. This means that transgender people remain parents with all rights and responsibilities. The German Federal Constitutional Court has addressed the topic of divorce due to operative gender reassignment in the past. In its May 2008 decision, the Court found that the requirement that the person to be gender reassigned must not be married was incompatible with basic law, particularly with the constitutionally guaranteed protection of marriage and family. Here, the Court held that it is not reasonable to force transgender people to divorce if they wish to remain in

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partnership with their current spouse. And if they cannot live with that partner at the same time in another union that provides the same legal protections as marriage. In this way, an existing marriage would be denied constitutional protection. In the case of the Czech Republic, marriage only replaces registered partnerships, although their legislation is not identical, especially in parental rights. However, as mentioned above, at the moment of gender reassignment, the registered partnership must also be dissolved.

The Parental Right Until recently, transgender people who chose to change their gender identity were pressured to give up their parental rights or to agree to significant restrictions. This practice was based on decisions made by the medical boards established by the Public Health Care Act (1966) in regard to somatic therapy for transgender people without being bound by other ethical, professional, or legal standards that directly address the treatment of transgender people. Thus, they could set de facto arbitrary conditions for providing the relevant treatment. Transsexual people were required to waive their parental rights in writing or to limit contact with their children. This practice was not supported in Czech law and was not documented by any decisions of the competent authorities, which made it much more complicated (ÚVCŘ, 2007, p. 38). Unfortunately, none of these cases have been resolved in court, thus demonstrating the consequences of the dependence of transgender people on the decisions of the relevant commissions. A study conducted in 2007 by a team led by Džamila Stehlíková (ÚVCŘ), the Minister for Human Rights and Minorities at that time, looked at the work of the Department for Social and Legal Child Protection (OSPOD), which represents the rights of children and is regulated by Act No. 359/1999 Coll., the Act on Social and Legal Protection of Children, as amended. In at least one case, the OSPOD reportedly pressured a transsexual MtF person to give up his share of childcare, despite having previously cared for the child for a long time as part of his parental leave. The person in question complied with the coercion and waived his right to appeal; unfortunately, this person later discovered that she had been the victim of discrimination. In 2007, according to Stehlíková, there were court proceedings in which the OSPOD sought to prevent children from being entrusted to a transsexual parent, FtM, despite the fact that their biological father was unable to take custody of them. In both cases, the OSPOD interfered, even though the parents had an agreement that should have been respected (ÚVCŘ, 2007, pp. 38–39). Pechová (2007) describes other cases where the OSPOD forced transgender parents to relinquish their parental rights. Interestingly, a study by Petra Kutálková in 2017 shows that the OSPOD has changed its ways and now acts in the child’s best interests. However, OSPOD employees complain that they do not have sufficient training or information on

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how to approach the subject and be helpful to families in which one or both parents are transgender (Kutálková, 2017, pp. 23–31). According to an extensive survey held in 2015, transgender people who choose to undergo surgical transition and have children are no longer forced to give up their parental rights; they can continue to care for their children after the operative transition (Lorenzů & Jahodová, 2015). Based on a 2007 analysis of the situation of the LGBTQ2 minority in the Czech Republic, the Working Group on Sexual Minority Issues of the former Czech Government Minister for Human Rights and National Minorities, Dr. Džamila Stehlíková, recommended that the Ministry of Labor and Social Affairs develop a methodology for dealing with cases of transsexual parents. The recommendations were to ensure that the children’s best interests be respected, that children have the right to see both parents, that children not be separated from transsexual parents against their will, and to decrease discrimination by OSPOD workers (ÚVCŘ, 2007, p. 58). However, according to the available information, such a methodology has not yet been developed.

Conclusion As Fifková et al. (2008) stated: “A transsexual person can become a parent after gender transition in several standard ways: by adoption, by fostering a child or, in the case of FtM, by artificial insemination of the partner with donor sperm” (p. 135). Apart from foster care (which can be provided by one person), these methods are options only for heterosexual transgender people and their partners. Thus, the authors do not discuss the issue of nonheterosexual transgender people who also desire children in many cases. World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH) experts recommend that sexologists talk to their clients about the possibility of removing the original reproductive cells before starting the process of gender identity transition. For MtF, this involves storing sperm in a sperm bank. For FtM, eggs are fertilized with donor sperm and preserved by freezing. Clients of Fifková et al. (2008, p. 135) who chose these options spoke of their desire to be blood parents of their offspring. But what options do nonheterosexual couples have? First, these couples do not have the right to marry, only to enter into a civil partnership; as noted, civil partnership rights are not equal to those of marriage. This can seriously and negatively impact the children of these partnerships, who can be placed in difficult situations due to current legislation. There are several paths to parenthood; these differ in the case of lesbian or gay couples. For same-sex couples, starting a family is an event that has to be planned long in advance, and the prospective parents must make many choices beforehand. Sometimes this uneasy journey can discourage them from becoming parents at all (Kutálková, 2015, pp. 15–17). On the whole, gay parenthood has been a socially invisible phenomenon. According to Sokolová’s (2009) research, which focused on gay men’s ideas

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about future parenthood, nearly half of the respondents accepted the perceived stereotype of gay men who do not want children. In addition, they accepted the idea that they would not be “proper parents” (Sokolová, 2009, pp. 128–129). According to Kutálková (2015), many gay parents felt the need to be a parent from early childhood; it was only the view of how to approach parenthood that changed (p. 15). Compared to gay men, the situation of lesbian women is somewhat easier when it comes to parenting. Two-woman parenting, unlike gay fatherhood, is more visible in the media. Most of the women in Kutálková’s (2015) research wanted children and did not doubt that they would have them in the future. They were also more confident about their parental role than men (Kutálková, 2015, p. 16), based on society’s stereotypical view of gender roles, with motherhood being natural for women. Lesbian couples face many choices related to family planning: which of the women will be the biological mother; how the biological father will be chosen; whether and to what extent the biological father will participate in upbringing or be an anonymous sperm donor. When choosing who should be the biological mother, lesbian couples consider the age of both women, the degree of desire to bear a child, and children from previous relationships. Sometimes women agree to take turns being the biological mother. Male couples consider parenthood through substitute care (adoption, foster care), surrogate motherhood, or some form of shared parenthood (Kutálková, 2015, p. 16). The unequal status of homoparental families compared to heteroparental is rooted in the current legislative framework, which does not protect these families. Moreover, practice shows that legislation creates barriers that push people who want to become parents or already are social parents to circumvent the law, that is, to act in “grey areas.” The unequal status thus creates situations that endanger not only the parents but the children themselves (Kutálková, 2015, p. 16). According to Nedbálková (2011, p. 70), the most common way for lesbian couples to become parents is through assisted reproduction. Lesbian couples or single women living in the Czech Republic can also use the services of clinics abroad, where this practice is legal. However, according to research, women also visit clinics in the Czech Republic. The practice circumvents existing legislation, which does not allow lesbian couples to use such services (Kutálková, 2015, p. 17). According to Act No. 373/2011 Coll. on specific health services, assisted reproduction is understood as the treatment of infertility of a woman or man who forms an infertile couple together. Enacted in April of 2012, this law is similar to previous regulation: it does not allow assisted reproduction for same-sex couples (Burešová, 2013 p. 38). Based on this law, lesbian couples or single women, regardless of their sexual orientation, are not allowed to conceive through assisted reproduction. However, it can be used by a couple consisting of a heterosexual transsexual man and a biological woman. The most topical issue concerning same-sex couples and parenthood is currently adoption and the adoption of a child by the partner of a biological parent. Adoption creates a new legal and family relationship between the adopted child and the adopter, the same as that between parents and children. A kinship relationship is

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also established between the adoptee and the adopter’s relatives, and all rights and obligations between the adopted child and his or her original family cease at the same time. The adoptive parents become the child’s legal representative, have parental responsibility, and are registered as the child’s parents (Vyskočil, 2014, p. 12). Adoption can be carried out by a married couple or, in exceptional cases, by an individual. It can either be one of the spouses or another person. According to Kutálková (2015), the PROUD Association points out, regarding Section 13(2) of the Registered Partnership Act, that an “other person” cannot be an individual who has entered into a registered partnership. However, this restriction has no technical justification. According to academic research concerning adoptions by gay and lesbian couples, “the sexual orientation of adoptive parents does not affect the adaptation and development of children” (Kutálková, 2015, p. 22). The spouse of the child’s parent may also adopt the child under the law. Thus, the other spouse becomes the holder of parental responsibilities and rights as if they were the parent and the rights and obligations of the first spouse remain unchanged. If a lesbian, gay or bisexual person is not living in a civil partnership, he/she may adopt the child as a single adoptive parent. However, this means that the kinship relationship between the child and their original family (i.e., the biological parent) would be dissolved (Kutálková, 2015, p. 22). Using this example, we can again see that married couples and registered partnerships do not have legal regulations. Therefore, it is possible to state that the form of the law on registered partnership, which prevents adoption, contradicts the European Convention and the constitutional order of the Czech Republic.

References Beck, U. (1986). Risikogesellschaft. Auf dem Weg in eine andere Moderne. Suhrkamp. Bumbová, I. (1994). Transsexualita je porucha, kterou lze léčit poměrně úspěšně. Zdravotnické Noviny, 8(44), 4. Burešová, K. (2013). Homoparentalita v aspektech práva [Master’s thesis, Masaryk University]. Butler, J. (1999). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. Routledge. Dorland, W. A. N. (1901). The American illustrated medical dictionary: A new and complete dictionary of the terms used in medicine, surgery, dentistry, pharmacy, chemistry, and the kindred branches with their pronunciation, derivation, and definition (2nd ed.). Saunders. Dvořáčková, J. (2009). Diagnóza F 64.0: Transsexualita optikou sexuologie. Sociální. Studia, 5(1), 55–75. Etzler, T., & McCluskey, M. (2021, June 28). Czech President calls transgender people “disgusting.” CNN. https://edition.cnn.com/2021/06/27/europe/czech-president-transgender-peopleintl/index.html FRA-European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights. (2009). Homophobia and discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation in the EU member states. Part I: Legal analysis, synthesis report. Publications Office of the European Union. Fifková, H., Weiss, P., Procházka, I., Cohen-Kettenis, P., Pfäfflin, F., Jarolím, L., Veselý, J., & Weiss V. (2008). Transsexualita a jiné poruchy pohlavní identity. Grada. Garfinkel, H. (1984). Studies in ethnomethodology [1967]. Polity Press.

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Born to Be Different: LGBTQ2 Children of Heterosexual Families Claudio Cappotto, Cirus Rinaldi, and Marco Bacio

Abstract This chapter aims to challenge heterosexual norms in society by analyzing heterosexual families when confronted with the coming out of one of their children. Starting with the essentialist construction of identities and gender norms supported by the symbolic structure of the natural and traditional (straight) family, we reconstruct paths and dynamics of the response that heterosexual parents give to their LGBTQ2 children. Specifically, this contribution outlines the characteristics of the disclosure processes of homosexual children and the related reactions to such shocking and disorienting events of their families. Finally, we offer parents some good practices to react well and be welcoming to their LGBTQ2 children when they decide to come out of the closet with them. It is vital to have a positive reaction and construct a new way to be mothers and fathers, not only for the immediate response during adolescence but also in the long term, when their children will become independent adults. Keywords LGBTQ2 children · Coming out · Heterosexual families · Heterosexism · Accepting parents

This chapter has been discussed by the authors. However, Marco Bacio authored paragraph one, Cirus Rinaldi authored paragraph two, and Claudio Cappotto authored paragraph three. C. Cappotto SINAPSI Centre, University of Naples Federico II – University of Palermo, Naples, Italy C. Rinaldi Present Address: Department of Cultures and Societies, University of Palermo, Palermo, Italy M. Bacio (*) Department of Social and Political Sciences, University of Milan, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2_14

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Straight Families as the Only Alternative: Challenging Heterosexuality and Heterosexism in Society This chapter explores the dynamics of heterosexual families when challenged by discovering the homosexuality of one of their children. Specifically, the contribution intends to outline the characteristics of the processes of disclosure of homosexual children and the processes of reaction to such unexpected events. We challenge the essentialistic constructions of identities and gender inherently supported by natural and traditional families that tend to slow down or interrupt the processes of innovation in how parents and families face the nonheterosexual relations of their children. Indeed, the homosexuality of one of the children reveals how the natural and traditional heterosexual family is always the result of an ideological construction, configured relationally, as one (the dominant one) among the various possible structures, and therefore highly organized and regulated. If considered in symbolic, juridical, and political terms, the so-called natural family is the sphere of heterosexual domination and assumes the characteristics of a cognitive device (Taylor, 2009). History and sociology have shown, beyond any essentialist and ontological taxonomy, that the traditional (and/or natural) family corresponds to a socio-cultural construction, like any other human cultural artifact, which can be historicized and, therefore, subject to change. To affirm that the specific relational structure of the natural family is a social product does not mitigate, however, the effects that its organization, the imaginary that it evokes (which is perhaps more structured in the legal system than in the practices and relationships of contemporary intimate life), and its representations imply in terms of legal structures and relationships or the field of social intervention. As a growing number of scholars noted (Ingraham, 1999; Alberio & Magaraggia, 2011), heterosexuality is defined as the normal and natural point of observation in the way we define reality, its relations, and its balances. In the forms of heterosexual reproduction, identity categories, roles, practices, and bodies are defined as authentic, original, and primordial (therefore natural, essentialized, ontological principles, and so on) to which belief systems mechanically correspond, yielding to the illusory nature of static, fixed sexuality and not, on the contrary, as highly organized, regulated, and institutionalized processes. As the fundamental unit of social reproduction of heterosexuality, the family takes on the dual character of (re)producer and product of the processes, persuasively indicated by the name of heterosexualization (Ingraham, 1999, 2012). As Ingraham argues, heterosexuality is much more than a biological fact. All kinds of rules exist: from who should pay a bill to who should lead in dance; from who drives the car to who takes out the garbage, makes dinner, does the laundry; from who takes care of the children to who takes the sexual initiative. These are all instruments in regulating heterosexual practices. What circulates in Western societies as if it were a given is, in fact, a highly articulated social pattern (Ingraham, 2012). Then, heterosexuality is understood as an organizational system taken for granted (Rich, 1980) and a political regime (Wittig, 1982, 1992) that is socially constructed as an enduring necessity. Heterosexuality is elected as the sphere within which the differences

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between men and women are defined (whose biological differences, by the way, are assumed to be the basis of immortal heterosexual sexuality), and bodies are reproduced that are socialized to experience the (valid and only) primal bodily pleasure (represented almost exclusively by heterosexual pleasure and desire). Both the hegemony of the traditional family (morally, politically, and legally supported) and the heterosexual hegemony derived from it (which reinforces each other) are taken for granted. As natural and normal, they are made invisible within the practices and social relations, operating as logical binary operators (Bernini, 2010) and biopolitical devices (Foucault, 1969), able to determine a clear division, oppositional, mutually exclusive of the characters culturally ascribed to femininity and masculinity. Within this structure, we learn to give one name but not another to certain things; we build desire, emotions, pleasure, attraction and disgust, abjections, and forms of removal. Heterosexuality is not simply one of the sexual identities among other (im)possible, but the norm, the ideal, unraveling in a series of expectations and dominant imaginaries. In this sense, we build natural attitudes through which we interpret and construct gender: naturalizing it just as we naturalize and normalize bodies, pleasure, and desire, as if they had always been there, immutable. An observer with a logical and dichotomous idea of what it means to be male and female imposes a particular way of seeing things, making some aspects visible and not others. Normality and the appearance of being normal are presented to the public as a given and, therefore, invisible. It does not need to be said; it does not need to be declared. Like other dimensions of identity, such as masculinity, Whiteness, and body ability, the natural family reproduces hegemonic identity configurations: any mechanism that can provide privilege is often made invisible, beyond immediate awareness (Kimmel & Messner, 2004). Indeed, an identity category reveals its power and effect on reality the more it remains implicit, general, and abstract; universalizing; not allowing the public to grasp its specificity. For example, sexual orientation is applied exclusively to nonheterosexual people. Heterosexual people or those with typical gender traits are not considered or called (or defined, diagnosed, evaluated) in sexual terms. Thus, they (and their identity characteristics) continue to serve as the norm and standard. At the same time, the naturalization of the family (and of heterosexuality, its logical imperative) is realized because it is difficult (or impossible) to identify other types of family, other relational arrangements, and other alternative forms of identification. As mentioned, the invisibility of the norm does not imply a being said but rather a taken for granted: the normal (original, natural, right) does not need to obtain the word because it coincides with the universal point of view. Heterosexuality (like Whiteness, masculinity, and body ability) does not need to be told, to have to explain, to declare itself. The social construction of the natural family must, therefore, meet the adjustment to a set of standards that constitute its authenticity, with a series of esthetic, moral, political, economic, legal, and regulatory consequences of what can appear (be seen), of what can not appear (that cannot be seen), of what is not discussed. In this sense, the traditional and natural family appears as one of the possible social organizations of intimate life, sexuality, and pleasure as a dominant

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ideologized relational device (ideological as other configurations). The natural family, to conclude, is the result of the sedimentation of a series of historical institutions, identities, practices, and experiences. The presence of new subjectivities (like the LGBTQ2 population), new practices (like contraception or artificial insemination techniques), new forms of parenting and filiation (which break the traditional biological bond), and experiences of intimacy allow us to consider the concept of family as a tapestry, produced by a series of intersections (Saraceno, 2012). And from an increasingly necessary pluralism of families, which animate, despite their living in the shadows, more and more vital worlds. The homosexuality of one of their children presents an opportunity to reveal (and therefore analyze) the ideological structures on which the natural family is based, challenging its alleged naturalness and universality. An unexpected behavior or an unexpected identity creates questions, forces to justify, allows making strange. By alienating the subjects, one doubts the assets. When we analyze things that do not go the right way (do not meet the dominant expectations, practices, experiences, and imaginary), we can understand how things go, that is, in what terms normality is defined and on what labile boundaries it creeps (Rinaldi, 2009). We can understand what happens (or is expected to happen) when we do what should not be done instead of following tradition, normality, or what we have been taught (what we would be required to do spontaneously, naturally). Growing up according to the expectations of a natural family implies the assumption of status and roles, structured in ties (often legal), within that dichotomous opposition mentioned previously. The natural (Western) family results from a series of disciplines, now medical, now psychological, now economic, religious, or legal, which have institutionalized it in the forms and configurations we know (Remotti, 2008). In the natural family structure, masculinity and femininity assume a dichotomous construction in which the two categories exist only as they are opposed to each other and according to a hierarchical relationship. Therefore, subjects are required to acquire a static and culturally predetermined gender role which corresponds a dominant gender role (the male) and a derived role (the female). To these different statuses correspond corporeality, identity constructions, practices, roles, behaviors, and emotional experiences constructed in oppositional terms that imply real effects, defined, at least concerning the cognitive objectives of our discussion, for a (single) (hetero)sexual orientation, with its origins and original characteristics. Therefore, the heterosexual matrix prescribes that one can be male (heterosexual) or female (heterosexual). All other possibilities are not taken into consideration. Genders, thus preordained, express static sexes and sexual practices defined hierarchically and in opposing terms through the compulsive practice of heterosexualization (Butler, 1990). Body, role, and sexual stratifications and hierarchies are defined that, once moralized and naturalized into routine practices and expectations, disavow all other possibilities. As we know, heteronormativity classifies sexual existences, heterosexual and nonheterosexual, by sanctioning and stigmatizing every behavior, practice, configuration, and process of subjectification that deviates from the norm (Warner, 1993, 1999). We observe, quite counter-intuitively, how the natural family constructs

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reproductive bodies and how it helps to enable them (along with other disciplining processes) to social existence. Within the traditional reproductive family, partners are constituted in complementarity with respect to bodies and roles. This shows how heterosexual practices and heterosexual coitus, specifically, are naturalized and essentialized (with moral effects on the construction of biographies, social relationships, histories, and family genealogy) in terms of taken for granted, as a natural way to evaluate the ability to respond to sexual stimulus, as a cultural universal and inevitable product of the normal sexual stimulus. This is also found in the work of Kaplan (1978) and other modern sexologists, who are considered participants of the perspective known as scientific nativism, in which forms of physiological and sexual determinism converge (Connell & Dowsett, 1992). If the heterosexual (male) coitus is the standard, all those who deviate from the standard sexual practice possess at the same time dysfunctional sexuality and dysfunctional sexual practices. Homosexuals are dysfunctional because they do not function in standard heterosexual ways. Sexual intercourse, Morrow (1994) continues, is a reproductive model of sexuality and is based on the assumption that the only meaningful goal of sexuality is reproduction while other forms of sexual activity have been denounced as immoral, unhealthy, immature, and, in some cases, illegal, or have been represented as merely a prelude to the reproductive act or as an adornment of it (Berg, 1986). The female orgasm is irrelevant, and orgasm and contact with menʼs semen are filthy, impure (Douglas, 1993), and disgusting (Nussbaum, 2011). The dominance of the reproductive (and functional) sex model contributes to the normalization of bodies, sexuality, and desire, beginning with familial socialization. The effects of heterosexualization, specifically, although sometimes blurred in the taken for granted, have real effects, especially when combined with the selective granting of citizenship (Richardson, 2004) and have repercussions, for example, in the definition of the new marginal subjects, a waste product of securitarian policies of neo-liberal societies (Richardson, 2004). The target, in this case, risks being those subjectivities that are not necessarily nonheterosexual. How does the normal and natural family (also constructed in terms of social class) find adherence within different ethnic groups, in the varied constellation of bodily dis/abilities (Rinaldi, 2013), regardless of monogamous relationships and legal regulations? Would the single mothers, the Roma, the sex workers, the precarious workers of the welfare systems, the new underclass, immigrants, illegal migrants, those who do not have a monogamous relationship (polyamorous people), those who do not choose to reproduce according to natural techniques, the BDSM subjects, be worthy of composing a family? Could they play competent parental roles? Could they be good mothers and fathers, good husbands, and suitable wives?

LGBT Children and the Process of Coming Out The scientific literature that specifically deals with the issue of the coming out and the processes of unveiling is diversified: from issues related to its political implications, claims, and identity to issues related to disclosing between different groups

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and social categories.1 The theme of coming out as an LGBTQ2 subject to heterosexual families (or supposedly so) has produced many publications since the second half of the 70s (especially in Anglo-Saxon countries; Savin-Williams, 2006). To come out to the family would appear to be the most difficult, dilemmatic, and traumatic thing that an LGBTQ2 person can do and, at the same time, the most necessary for his/her/their identity construction, well-being, and resilience (Chiari & Borghi, 2009). To come out of the closet is a process that is influenced not only by the awareness of the subjects involved but is also by a series of variables inserted within a particular social and cultural scenario. Consider the themes of discovery of young or adolescents as homosexual and the act of confessing. The concept of gay adolescents, specifically, was invented by professionals in the 70s with the main aim of identifying a specific category distinct from normal adolescents and used at least until the 90s with the variant of the adolescent at risk of suicide (Savin-Williams, 2006). Since the 2000s, homosexual adolescents have been identified as resilient and coping subjects. For a long time in both sociological and psycho-social literature, homosexual adolescents did not exist, if not in a stereotyped form (Rinaldi, 2008). Even though the issue of coming out, especially since the post-Stonewall period, has taken on a political character, it has not succeeded in becoming generalized and is still confronted with a series of factors that heavily influence the unveiling process. Therefore, it is necessary to distinguish a series of factors involved in the coming out process that make it multidimensional. Following an intuition that SavinWilliams (2006) uses, with respect to models of development of sexual identity, the coming out process is a complex intersection within different developmental trajectories that cannot be summarized in a single model. Without any objective to indicate a linear path, the process of coming out is triggered by the following: • The modalities in which the declaration takes place • The characteristics of the subject who intends or is forced to come out and their variables (for example, age, ethnicity, the time of development of his/her/they understanding of himself/herself/themself, if he/she/they shows typical gender traits or, on the contrary, atypical) • The people to whom the coming out is directed (the family, the peer group, the workplace) • The purposes, justifications, or goals of coming out • The socio-cultural contexts in which the coming out takes place Considering coming out in the family as a multidimensional process allows us to not limit it to the simple act performed by a homosexual person, but to interpret it as a complex interactive process that involves a change in the relationships among all 1

For coming out in the peer groups, see Pilkington and D’Augelli (1995), D’Augelli et al. (2002), D’Augelli (2003), Floyd and Stein (2002). For coming out at a later stage of life, see Bradford et al. (1994), Jones and Nystrom (2002), Rosenfeld (2003), Hostetler (2004), D’Augelli and Grossman (2001). For coming out in a non-White community, see Tremble et al. (1989), Kimmel (1997), and Della et al. (2002).

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members of the family and between the family and the outside world, and therefore must be considered in its dynamic and relational aspects (Chiari & Borghi, 2009), as well as symbolic and communicative. Generally, when a mother or father learns that their son or daughter is homosexual involves, there is a sudden reaction of shock— an explosion of feelings of surprise and even pain. This initial experience is a totally unexpected event. It questions the expectations, routines, and practices that the idea and the imaginary linked to the traditional and natural family. Parents may find themselves disoriented, not only personally but also within the family system and parental relationships. For this reason, we focus here specifically on the coming out process itself: how girls/boys inform their family, friends, or other community actors of their homosexuality (Savin-Williams, 2001; Savin-Williams & Dube, 1998; Bertone et al., 2003). From the various data available, it has been found that parents’ reactions differ according to personal character, gender, socio-cultural backgrounds, and, above all, concerning family resources, such as social networks, effective coping strategies, individual resilience, and more (Johansson et al., 1994). As noted, the first reaction to the knowledge of a child’s homosexuality is often a state of shock, an emotional upheaval of surprise, pain, and disillusionment in which parents find themselves fundamentally displaced and disoriented. Parents must go through a process of managing their reactions to this series of disorienting events. This is to understand, briefly, what kind of effects the event creates for intra-family relationships and relationships outside the family itself. Parents are often in conditions of isolation and lack cultural, educational, and relational models to deal with the learned homosexuality. However, the first important distinction must be made with respect to how parents become aware of the homosexuality of their children. As indicated, we must consider when the disclosure occurs and if the news was communicated directly or indirectly by the LGBTQ2 subject (and, therefore, in his/her/they presence or absence). Another consideration is whether the coming out was selectively told to a specific parent or family member (it varies from short to long times that can even coincide with the whole life of the LGBTQ2 subject) or addressed to several or all family members. How the coming out was presented is also important. Perhaps it was discovered by chance by the parent, built up over time (and removed) based on insights or premonition drawn from the subject’s life during his/her/their early childhood. Alternatively, it could have been learned through the intervention of third parties (outing). Finally, parents might have always known and preferred to remain silent on the issue. The literature indicates that LGBTQ2 youth today are more likely to declare themselves than in the past, mainly thanks to the internet and new technologies (Bacio & Peruzzi, 2017). Generally, the process occurs between 18 and 20 and can be considered a long evolutionary development (Barbagli & Colombo, 2007). The disclosure to one’s parents rarely happens before friends or peers know about it. Indeed, the family is not the first group to know. In research conducted in the Italian (Catholic) context, in one case out of three, the mother, as opposed to the father, is aware of the homosexuality of one of their children. In contrast, in 1 case out of 20, the father knows about the sexual orientation. Between 44% and 46% of

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the sample have disclosed to their mother; fewer to their father (34–40%; Barbagli & Colombo, 2007). Similar results are available in international studies. DʼAugelli and Hershberger (1993) found that 60% of the subjects interviewed declared their homosexuality to their mothers, 10% to their fathers, and 25% to both. Savin-Williams (2001) confirms similar results (62% declared themselves to their mothers, 12% first to their fathers, and 26% to both). Herdt and Boxer (1993), in their study on the coming out of lesbians, report that 63% had revealed themselves to their mothers. Studies confirm, therefore, that the first family members that coming-out subjects perceive as supportive are primarily their mothers (in some cases, siblings). How then do we interpret, theoretically, this preference? The New York State Governor’s Task Force on Bias-Related Violence (1988) reported that young people openly show hostility toward gays and lesbians (more than any other minority, with violent and threatening statements and particularly negative reactions usually learned and socialized in the family, peer groups, school contexts, and the media. Within the symbolic structure of the natural family, among the different hegemonic constructions, masculinity plays the role of the dominant identity and, even within our discussion, masculinity and its hierarchies would appear to be one of the possible keys to understanding the (different) reactions of parents when they learn of the homosexuality of one of their children. It has been shown that men maintain heterosexist positions and representations (Herek, 2002; Burn, 2000; LaMar & Kite, 1998). For this reason, fathers, brothers, and sons react more violently than mothers, sisters, and daughters when they learn of a family memberʼs homosexuality (DʼAugelli et al., 1998; Herek, 1988; Kite, 1984; Bertone et al., 2003). Within the school context, guys always show more aggressive reactions to those who identify or are perceived as homosexual. In the American context, some research has shown that men consider lesbians a threat to fundamental social institutions, including motherhood and the biological constitution of family reproductivity (DʼAugelli & Rose, 1990). Within the family, members are socialized in emotional terms. Especially for men, displays of emotion are highly regulated and controlled: boys do not usually express pain, suffering, or fear in a public way. Much of this process begins in the family. Boys learn to express and, therefore, to exhibit a sexual desire for girls, often with vulgar language (Thorne, 1993; Fine, 1987) to achieve reputational validation of the peer group (Rinaldi, 2009). Through these evident forms of aggression and harassment, boys mark, test, and communicate, in a violent but still symboliccommunicative way, their heterosexual masculinity.2 The literature argues that, along with other and different factors, it is precisely the parents, or rather the adults, who implicitly legitimize the use of violence (Messerschmidt, 2000).

2

About gender hierarchies and heterosexism and social reproduction inside school life, see Pascoe (2007), Adler and Adler (1998), Connolly (1998), Duncan (1999), Epstein and Johnson (1998), Mac and Ghaill (1994), Renold (2002), Skelton (2001), Thorne (1993), Burgio (2008), Cappotto (2011).

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The gender dimension can also be used as an explanatory variable that unites heterosexual and lesbian women within the processes of victimization. Some victimization surveys show that lesbians are targeted by subjects within their circle of acquaintances (colleagues, family members, ex-partners, other women, and adult male acquaintances). In terms of percentage, they are exposed to more violence in the private sphere. In the family, lesbians are the target of violence, mainly their brothers and fathers. We could assume, in this regard, that most of the violent crimes against (heterosexual women and) lesbians are under-represented precisely because they are categorized simply as domestic violence (Faulkner, 2003). Focusing on the coming out process of homosexual adolescent guys (SavinWilliams, 2001), approximately 60% have come out because their mother made specific requests to them or because they voluntarily decided to share information about their lives with their mother. One-third report, however, that they had to come out because their mother already had suspicions. Research suggests that family members are more likely to accept children’s homosexuality if the children have shown since childhood that he/she/they do not conform to typical (and hegemonic) gender behaviors (such as being sporty, not showing interest in girls/boys, having other gender-atypical friends). In this case, parents are ready to interpret it as “I knew it” when the eventual confirmation by their LGBTQ2 children occurs. What remains problematic is both the reaction from family members and the unveiling of those subjects which have always shown typical and normative gender characteristics and behaviors. When the coming out is unexpected, the reaction from mothers tends to be more aggressive and traumatic (equal to 4% of the sample in Savin-Williams, 2001). On the other hand, two out of ten boys have declared their homosexuality to the mother to end the façade and for a desire of honesty and authenticity in the mother-son relationship. In the immediate aftermath of disclosure, the typical reactions of mothers are somewhat negative, characterized by rejection, discouragement, verbal attacks, and silence. However, one boy out of ten reports that his mother has offered support for his well-being and safety, gradually accepting the situation. Two out of ten mothers showed a positive reaction, especially when reported on a constructive relationship with their mother. Four out of ten mothers showed no improvement or change. One out of ten showed worsening in relationships despite an initial openness (mainly due to religious beliefs; Savin-Williams, 2001). A significant number of boys who chose not to disclose their homosexuality claim their mothers already knew about it or would not have been surprised. Just 10% did not disclose because they did not feel they had to share personal information with their mothers; 30%, on the other hand, felt it was not “the right time to tell” because they did not feel safe and did not believe they had developed a particular awareness. One in four choose not to disclose their orientation. They were aware of an adverse reaction and rejection from their mothers because they were intimidated by a possible interruption of all economic support because there was already a lack of emotional support in their biography, or for other reasons (again religious beliefs or linked to ethnicity; Savin-Williams, 2001).

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Concerning fathers, studies have found a countertrend: boys declare, more than in the past, their homosexuality even to their fathers both as adolescents and often during cohabitation. However, they reveal their sexuality to their fathers after they have declared it to their mothers. Three out of ten decide to seek support or a greater relationship: Unlike lesbian girls, young gay men (about 60%) claim to seek and define a more intimate relationship with their fathers. The methods used are direct statements and responding to direct questions posed by fathers; mothers’ intermediation usually carries on indirect statements. Immediately after the coming out, the father-son relationships seem to have improved without, however, implying noticeable changes: 10% of the relationships appeared optimistic, 40% provided support, about two-thirds reacted negatively, the remaining ones did not provide any support for the children with severe deterioration and termination of any relationship (SavinWilliams, 2001). However, some boys declared that they suffered recriminations from their fathers because they manifest atypical traits and gender roles, are distant from the standard of hegemonic masculinity and are not able to follow in the father’s footsteps. It is interesting to note that 80% of sons said they did not want to declare their homosexuality to their father for fear of a negative reaction (denial of economic support, conflict, verbal harassment, and physical violence); three out of ten did not declare their homosexuality because they did not have a relationship with their father and worried that disclosure could compromise any future relationship; and one in four believes that it is not the right time (Savin-Williams, 2001).

Welcoming the LGBTQ2 Children: Good Practice for Parents As observed in the previous sections, traditional families are not prepared, in cultural, relational, and psychological terms, to come out of a homosexual son/daughter. The relational, symbolic, and communicative models available do not contemplate unexpected subjectivities that challenge, more or less traumatically or unexpectedly, expectations, practices, and routines. When confronted with the socialization and education of nonheterosexual children, families present a series of limits, constraints, or even potentials. Here, as an example of welcoming and good practices, we highlight the work of Rinaldi and Cappotto (2014) about the psychological and social work to support LGBTQ2 children and their (heterosexual) families. The news of homosexuality and/or the transition path of one of their children is often experienced by parents with suffering, bewilderment, and a sense of inadequacy. Rinaldi and Cappotto (2014) found that the reactions of parents to the discovery of their childrens’ homosexuality varied according to personal, sociocultural, and family resources (social networks, effective coping strategies, individual resilience, etc.). It is necessary to understand, then, in what terms it is possible to deal with the requests of the subject who wants to declare their sexuality; how they

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can prepare themselves to declare their homosexuality or to elaborate within the family context the transition; and how to manage the reactions of parents and family members, accompanying them toward processes of autonomy. It is possible to identify, for example, some preparatory steps to the process of coming out (Williamson, 1998; Gonsiorek, 1993), which include whom to tell, when to tell, where to tell, and how to tell. The first step anticipates the relational situations in which children might find himself/herself/themself, selecting the people and scenarios in which they might find themselves. The temporal dimension relates to situations in which the subject can identify safe conditions that prepare him/her/them for the process, thus avoiding vulnerable, impulsive, or reactive behaviors. They must decide whether to say it during formal or informal moments, in public or private contexts (which allows a higher degree of comfort). At the same time, the modalities of the coming out (subtle and implicit declaration, strongly assertive, or as given fact) can bring different effects. Specifically, Deevey (1993) suggests four modes of declarative scenarios with specific goals: • Anticipating the listener’s sensitivity: “I know you know. . .but I wanted to bring it out in the open. I am a lesbian.” • Appealing to the listener’s characteristics and strengths: “You are an open person. . .I decided to be clear about my lesbian relationship with Laura.” • Requesting support from the listener: “I need your support with respect to a risk I want to take. I have begun to declare to people that I am part of the lesbian community.” • Building honest relationships with your listener: “I want to share something with you, since you have spoken to me honestly.” When looking specifically at the family context, Green (2000, 2002) points to some important considerations: pre-existing levels of closeness, openness, and conflict; time shared; the importance of the family for the subject in terms of the development of his/her/they sexual identity or for economic support; the availability of other forms of support; and, finally, the cost/benefit evaluation of the family’s anticipated reactions. Rinaldi and Cappotto (2014) pointed out that some subjects want to disclose their sexuality because they experience it as a high inner cost in terms of authenticity, honesty, and genuineness of relationships their secret, while fearing their reaction. Therefore, they have to ensure that the first declarative experiment has a positive tenor. Suppose positive words (“I am gay and I am happy”) are used in the first confrontation with their parents. In that case, they usually adjust more easily than if negative expressions (“I have a series of problems because I am gay”) or neutral expressions are used (“I am gay” or “I think I am gay”) or are defensive, especially toward parents who show very rigid moral or religious convictions. However, adolescents may delay disclosure if this leads to a negative reaction until they find themselves in a more favorable emotional condition and with more favorable resources. At the same time, parental reactions are diverse and do not progressively follow the patterns that stage theories would suggest (Savin-Williams, 2001). However,

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Rinaldi and Cappotto (2014) found some significant reactive cores around which family bonds can be restructured. In the early stages, parents go through an initial reaction of shock that implies total denial, which may include psychological or physical violence (“you are no longer my child” or “you cannot be my child anymore” or “you are no longer the child I knew”). This often causes the spontaneous or forced removal of the son or daughter from the family unit with devastating effects on the perception of self and self-esteem of the homosexual subject who suffers this type of action. Other parents pretend not to know or find themselves in processes of denial and isolation (“I pretend I did not hear anything” or “it is your own business, not mine” or “you are going through a phase of transition” or “we will help you change”). This creates a situation in which the parents evade the need for help and the request for authentic communication expressed by the son/daughter. Childrens’ needs are mortified, and the unheeded request for authenticity and transparency strengthens a pathological false self. In this way, a wall of silence is erected that is destined to expand over time, and the family relinquishes its role as a point of reference. At times, disclosure is interpreted as a form of experimentation, of rebellion, and as a phase of transition that can be repaired. Consequently, if the person is young, he/she/they find himself/herself/themself facing problems, doubts, fears, and having to look for points of reference outside the family, with all the possibilities and/or all the risks that follow. Often these young people show not only low self-esteem, a partial ability to contact their emotions, and a limited ability to express them. They also show a poor social network and reduced hardiness. Parents can also experience anger, irritation, and agitation (“it is all the fault of. . .” or “we were bad parents”). Some look for external causes that can explain the homosexuality of their children. Some point to educational models considered inappropriate to the gender role of the child. Others use common sense theories, old-school psychoanalytic approaches, or religious directions for treatment. Some parents may bargain with their children about certain relational arrangements immediately after the coming out (“do not tell it to anyone”). They may assure them that they will always have their support as parents if they come back heterosexual or try to appear as heterosexual as possible if they do not bring their friends in the house and do not say anything to anyone. Other parents realize that a son/daughter who declares his/her/they homosexuality is also expressing a strong request for acceptance and recognition (“you are still my son” or “I am afraid, I am worried about you”). They strive to understand and respond as best they can, often feeling the need to be open to comparison with the experiences of other parents involved in similar circumstances and to the possible support of experts. In the latter case, the process of understanding, even with its difficulties, discomforts, and stressful circumstances, leads the family to reconfigure new emotional and behavioral balances more appropriately and effectively (Rinaldi & Cappotto, 2014). The most recent theoretical formulations in the psychological and social field recognize the role of the family as the primary agency of formation and promotion of the psycho-physical well-being of children; it is subject over time to evolve and

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change to allow opportunities for growth to its members through the overcoming of crises and conflicts. Moreover, the young adult who maintains positive contact with his/her/they family of origin is more favored in the process of autonomy and relational development than those who, for whatever reason, interrupt every relationship with parents in a conflictual manner, which increases the probability of repeating the negative situations of the past from which he/she/they would like to distance. This can be made possible only by a sufficiently resilient and adaptive family system that can tolerate a partial relational fragmentation in anticipation of a new dynamic configuration and balance. In particular, adolescence constitutes a period that unites, in turbulence and questioning, the children, the parents, and the extended family. The family represents for the homosexual adolescent a safe base from which to face the outside world and adulthood. However, if not supported, the family becomes a source of further discomfort. The family network that supports, sustains, and facilitates the individual growth of a son/daughter when it is effective can also limit and depersonalize the characteristics of a child when it becomes rigid and inflexible to his/her/their sexual orientation.

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Glossary

Agender Individuals who construct new gender expressions without linking them to known and considered dominant genders. Chosen families Non-consanguineal and non-affinal kinship networks. Cisgender Correspondence between gender identity and biological sex according to binary male/female logic. Familial work A self-created, informed, and self-maintained kinship network that demarcates community; a necessary and crucial component of self-determination and of survival for those who cannot access it in normative ways. Gender fluid Individuals whose identities fluctuate between male and female or neither at any given time. Gender identity The sexual consciousness that individuals have of themselves, corresponding to the male or female gender or ambivalently to both, and beginning with the sexual category assigned at birth based on the observation of the newborn’s external genitals. Gender-Mixed couples Couples composed of two individuals, one transgender (or nonbinary) and one cisgender. Intersex Biological sex not identifiable at birth. LGBTQ2 Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and two-spirit people. Misgendering The psychological, social, and communicative process, voluntary or involuntary, that refers to a transgender person using terms related to biological sex instead of the gender identity with which the person identifies. Mothering queers Actions that work to support, guide, nurture, and care for young people as they grow and develop self-confidence in their non-normative gender expression and sexuality. Nonbinary Do not identify as either male or female gender; construct open and situational identities. Queering motherhood Acts that expand and extend the role of mother to include those who do not fit into normative models of biological motherhood and heteropatriarchal kinship. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 B. J. Gilley, G. Masullo (eds.), Non-Binary Family Configurations: Intersections of Queerness and Homonormativity, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05367-2

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Switch couples Couples composed of two mirror transgender individuals, one female (MtF) and one male (FtM), or couples who define themselves as nonbinary. Transgender Individuals whose gender identity does not align with their biological sex, whether binary or nonbinary; includes cross-dressing and eliminating secondary sexual characteristics (transsexual, intersex, genderqueer, bi-gender, nonbinary, gender-fluid). Transsexual Individuals who go through psychological, legal, and medicalsurgical paths to align their physical appearance and characteristics with their gender identity. Two-Spirit Male- or female-bodied, gender different people in Native American societies; considered a separate, or third, gender and not men or women.