One of the most evident remnants of colonialism on the African continent
are laws that are used to persecute people for the sexual orientation,
gender identity and gender expression.
I want to tell you about some sections of the penal code
from my home country, Kenya.
Section 162 (a) and (c) of the penal code
say that it is a felony for any person to have carnal knowledge
of any other person against the order of nature,
or to permit a male person to have carnal knowledge of him or her
against the order of nature.
And this is punishable by 14 years imprisonment.
Section 165 of the Penal Code
sees that it's a felony for a male person
to commit any act of gross indecency with another male person,
whether in public or in private.
And this is punishable by five years imprisonment.
Right now, similar laws also exist in 35 of 56 Commonwealth countries
and more than 60 countries across the world.
These laws inform attacks,
arbitrary arrests and degrade queer people's right to privacy.
But they've done more than that.
They've created a culture of reporting on your friends, your neighbors,
even your own family.
And just a suspicion of being queer
can result in these life-threatening consequences.
So as you might imagine, under these conditions,
many queer people are constantly operating from a place of concern
and fear about being outed.
And if we're all in hiding,
then how can we mobilize around issues that impede our everyday lives
or share resources in times of need?
How can we create a space where we can thrive?
We hear a lot in the news lately about social media and online platforms
as spaces where serious harm can occur,
but what I want to share with you today
is how social networks can be designed intentionally
to build community and trust from the ground up.
And if they're built correctly,
then they can help counteract the fear
that's been entrenched by colonial systems and culture
in so many African countries.
I want to share with you the ways
that queer communities are using social media
to protect one another and be themselves, queer and visible.
When I created my first social media account
and joined a queer online community,
I met people who created spaces that embraced
and protected everyone's ability to be their authentic self.
And this was the first time that I genuinely felt safe.
Just one example.
Blackmail is a huge problem for the queer community in Kenya.
Blackmailers can make tons of money
by threatening to out queer people to authorities.
So one queer online community that I joined when I was younger
was trying to prevent and expose known blackmailers.
I realized that one of the people listed as a blackmailer
was an individual I had been talking to.
And this group saved me
from a potentially life-threatening situation.
But for a lot of other people in the group
it was already too late.
They'd already been scammed and harmed by someone who targeted them
because they were queer.
Later on in life, I met Nerima,
a nonbinary lesbian who, similar to me, found that in internet spaces
they could be their authentic selves safely.
In their hometown, men would grab, spit,
take unsolicited videos of them
because of how they express their gender in public.
But online Nerima could develop many versions of themselves.
For me and Nerima,
the internet was the only place where we could talk openly
and support each other
through some of the most difficult moments in our lives.
We helped each other and people in our community find safe housing,
navigate loss after being outed.
We've hosted memorials
and helped each other find queer family experts when we needed them.
These virtual networks saved and sustained us,
and these experiences led Nerima and me to create
The Queer Africa Network, QAN,
an online platform where we hope to ensure that every queer African,
both on the African continent and in the diaspora,
has access to the resources they need,
like verified opportunities, mentorship,
fundraising and safety.
Over the years,
we've learned a lot about how to build a safe online community.
And I want to share those learnings with you today.
The first key is community vetting.
Any safe online space has to find a way to keep out the bots,
the trolls and the blackmailers.
And we found that the best way to do this
is to implement a three-week probation period for new members.
Anyone joining the community can engage with limited features
as we assess their activity and ensure that accounts haven't been reported
for violating community guidelines.
After the probation period,
a member can submit a request to have a verified mark on their profile.
This indicates to other members
that this profile is safe to admit to their private groups and events.
Safety is essential above all else.
Once safety can be established,
support is the next essential feature.
We think about support very intentionally.
For queer Africans,
financial stability plays a huge role in determining how open we can be.
And over the years, I've met queer Africans who believe
that the only way they can get ahead at work
is by abandoning their identities
and anyone who shares those identities.
That's a terrible feeling.
And of course, anyone suspected of being queer
might not be able to work at all.
So in order to counteract this,
it's important to design a space with an active opportunities hub
and marketplace,
one that helps people find community, connections
and mentorship in their various fields and industries.
This moves them closer to financial stability,
and they can trade their arts and products in new ways,
not just for money, but through barter as well.
We're challenging the core tenets of capitalism
that are rooted in individualism,
capital accumulation and competition
by creating a behavior change
and system level change
that prioritizes collaboration,
resource sharing and community.
One of the key consequences of colonialism
was erasing and replacing precolonial African history.
And this made us lose stories of love, alternative social structures,
and a myriad of language to describe our identities.
More than erasing the past,
it's hindered the possibility of new futures.
Because of this,
one of the core necessary features
that we found in designing a positive and thriving online social community
is the ability for members to create a global archive
of their diverse lived experiences.
To document the stories of those who never got to tell theirs,
and to collect vital statistical information
from the community on where resources and support are needed.
Features such as blogs, archives and surveys
give us the opportunity to document our past and articulate our future
and to share where direct resources are needed.
There's an immense gap on the research on the experiences of queer Africans,
which is often weaponized against us to suggest that we don't exist.
If governments aren't collecting information on suicide rates
and homelessness,
then they can argue that if there's no data,
there's no issue.
Regardless of how often these laws are applied,
they have contributed to the lack of information
on how many queer people are barred from accessing lifesaving services,
spanning education, health, legal assistance programs and more.
But imagine for a moment if you could do this
in a way that allows us to own our own data
in a secure, encrypted and consensual manner
that is not extractive.
We'd be able to know how many of us are forced out of schools
by homophobia and transphobia.
How many of us are grappling with blackmail,
how many of us feel forced to end our lives
or how many of us seek asylum
because we can't imagine ourselves living a happy, fulfilling life
in our country of birth?
Through our platform,
members can report and record these experiences accurately.
We can co-create the infrastructure to address these issues
and protect each other.
Now, QAN is just one of many online platforms
trying to rebuild and design this new kind of queer-owned online space.
And as we continue creating this space,
we're standing on the shoulders of all those who've come before us.
And while I don't think safe online spaces
can solve all the problems that queer communities face,
I do think that being able to gather safely in community,
collect stories and share resources
is leading to noteworthy changes.
For example,
most of the queer organizations operating across the African continent,
especially in contexts where it’s illegal to be queer,
use social media to identify people in need,
organize and survey their constituents in order to know what is going on.
And over the past years,
we’re seeing waves of decriminalization of same-sex intimacy laws,
and we're seeing new momentum
and unprecedented levels of acceptance.
Though there's still a long way to go.
In the last decade, we've seen these changes across Africa,
Angola, Botswana, Seychelles, Mozambique and Lesotho.
We've also seen decriminalization outside of the continent,
such as in Antigua and Barbuda,
which decriminalized homosexuality in July of 2022.
More than keeping queer people safe,
these approaches show us what our future could look like.
A world where we're safe online and thriving offline.
Thank you.