Tijdschrift voor Genderstudies - Volume 22, Issue 2, 2019

How can we embrace the appeal to use Caribbean terms for same-sex erotic relationships when we work with archives—such as the colonial archive—whose subjects are spoken about and do not speak back (at least not in a way that is understandable or recognisable to us)? This article deals with the term kambrada in Papiamentu in the context of Curaçao. The term can be translated as zami in Caribbean English Creole and mati in Suriname’s Sranan Tongo. The Caribbean terms zami and mati, like kambrada, can refer to a (non-sexual) female or male companion as well as to female same-sex erotic relationships. I trace the appearance of kambrada in the Dutch colonial archive by looking at the first three (known) sources that mention female same-sex relationships in the Dutch Caribbean in general, and kambrada relationships in particular. These are the anthropological study Curaçao en Zijne Bewoners (Curaçao and Its Habitants, 1882) by Antoine T. Brusse, the travelogue Naar de Antillen en Venezuela (To the Antilles and Venezuela, 1904) by Henri van Kol, and the novel E No Por Casa (She Cannot Marry, 1923) by Willem Kroon. I do not approach these texts as sources for the recovery of the voices of women who engaged in kambrada relationships. Rather, I group them together as part of a ‘cultural archive’ to show how, as cultural articulations of sexuality, they simultaneously articulate colonial domination, social anxieties, and patriarchy. By deducing the ideological statements of these male authors, I take up Ann Stoler’s invitation to read along the grain of the colonial archive.

This article explores arguments for erotic freedom made by three prominent leftist groups in the Dutch Antilles, illuminating an anti-colonial tradition that centred embodied pleasure over and alongside political sovereignty. Returning to the rich written legacies of Kambio and Vitó – groups that emerged from the radical student movements of the 1960s – as well as Union di Muhé Antiano (Union of Antillean Women, UMA), an anti-colonial feminist group active on Curaçao in the 1970s–1990s, this article engages archival sources, oral history interviews, and unpublished ephemera spanning three decades of radical activism in the Netherlands and Curaçao. It meditates on why – despite the richness of these archives – few have commented on the inspired defence of erotic expression that resonates across them. Building off of Caribbean and Black feminist theory, this article suggests that radical Antillean conceptions of freedom have eluded scholarly detection because they eschew normative understandings of decolonisation premised on national independence and territorial sovereignty.

This roundtable stages a conversation amongst activists and cultural producers involved in feminist and queer of colour politics in the Netherlands from the 1980s to the present. Its primary focus is on the collectives and initiatives that emerged in the 1980s and 1990s, such as SUHO (Surinamese Homosexuals), Flamboyant, Zami, Sister Outsider, and Strange Fruit. The roundtable participants – Anne Krul, Tieneke Sumter, Andre Reeder, Marlon Reina, and Ajamu – reflect on several issues, amongst which the political organising around blackness in the 1980s and 1990s, the relations between queer of colour collectives and other movements, the links between political organising and cultural work, the differences between activism and archiving in Curaçao and the Netherlands, and, finally, the possibilities and limits of archiving queer of colour histories in the Kingdom of the Netherlands. The roundtable also discusses two exhibitions held at IHLIA LGBT Heritage in Amsterdam: We Live Here (2009), on the history of the black lesbian and gay community in the Netherlands, and With Pride (2018), on the history of Dutch sexual politics.

In this article, I aim to contribute to discussions about the intersections between religion/secularity, gender, and race by drawing upon an analysis of contemporary cultural production in Western Europe: Michel Houellebecq’s 2015 novel Soumission (Submission) and the 2017 theatre play Onderworpen (Submission). The analysis focuses upon the way in which the novel and theatre play construct understandings of the Islamic State and Muslims, secular modernity, and femininity and masculinity. First, I look at how the novel responds to discussions, and anxiety, about the place of religion in contemporary public life, as well as the place of postcolonial racialised subjects. Second, I look at how the theatre play symbolically stages conversion. Here, I explore the notion of conversion as submission to the Islamic State, not just of the individual male character, but also of Western secular modernity at large. I argue that both the novel and the theatre play contribute to, and reinforce, the so-called Muslim Question. I conclude by considering cultural production as potentially an agent of secular feelings.