Claiming Space, Losing Ground
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Homonationalism, as Puar explains, is when LGBTQ+ identities are used to make a nation look more progressive or legitimate, but this happens at the expense of other marginalized groups. After 9/11, this had a big impact on gay American Desis, who were navigating both racism and Islamophobia while also figuring out how to live as queer individuals.
For queer South Asians, 9/11 meant being racially profiled as “terrorist bodies” while also feeling pressure to present themselves as “acceptable” queer Americans. To avoid negative stereotypes about their race and culture, many embraced what Puar calls “homonormative” identities. Basically, identities that align with mainstream U.S. values. For example, Sikh advocacy groups organized candlelight vigils, covered temples with American flags, and even wore red, white, and blue turbans to prove their loyalty. These efforts were meant to fight back against stereotypes that painted them as dangerous or backward.
At the same time, queer South Asians were often left out of mainstream queer activism, which didn’t really address how racism and Islamophobia affected their lives. Many groups didn’t see how queer bashing and racist hate crimes were connected, which left queer South Asians in a vulnerable place. Sikh men, in particular, had it even harder because their turbans became symbols of fear. People associated turbans with resistance to Western norms or terrorism, making it even harder for turbaned men to fit into homonormative spaces.
This all shows how homonationalism gave some queer South Asians a kind of belonging, but it was very conditional and limited. Their acceptance often depended on conforming to homonormative ideals, which meant distancing themselves from their cultural identities and, in some cases, reinforcing harmful stereotypes—like the idea that their communities were inherently homophobic or regressive. While this strategy helped some people survive, it came at the cost of leaving others out, especially those who couldn’t or didn’t want to align with these expectations.
Cultural Blackness, as Thangaraj explains, refers to how South Asians in America engage with elements of Black culture, such as slang, fashion, and basketball styles, to create a sense of masculinity and urban identity. This process allows South Asian men to challenge racialized stereotypes that frame them as passive, asexual, or purely intellectual. In basketball, a space deeply shaped by African American aesthetics, South Asian players adopt aspects of Black hyper-masculinity, like aggressive playing styles and coolness, to push back against these stereotypes and assert themselves in racial and gender hierarchies.
However, this dynamic is complicated. South Asian men often engage with a commodified version of Blackness, where figures like Michael Jordan represent a consumable aesthetic detached from the political and historical realities of African American communities. While they borrow elements of Black culture to resist their own marginalization, they frequently distance themselves from African American struggles, as seen in the exclusivity of Indo-Pak basketball leagues, and largely excluding Black players. This reinforces racial boundaries while overlooking the diversity and complexity of Black experiences.
Thangaraj highlights how Cultural Blackness serves both as a resource for constructing identity and as a point of tension. It enables South Asian men to assert their masculinity and challenge stereotypes, but it also risks perpetuating a shallow and monolithic view of Blackness. Ultimately, this process reflects the pressures created by whiteness, which excludes both South Asians and African Americans from dominant norms while shaping the ways marginalized groups navigate identity and masculinity.