In an era where queer liberation movements are gaining global momentum, a fascinating phenomenon is unfolding: the revival—and in some cases, resistance—of gender identities that predate colonial rule. From the muxes of Zapotec Mexico to the hijras of South Asia, communities are grappling with the complicated legacy of colonialism, modern queer politics, and the desire to reclaim indigenous understandings of gender. But how far can—or should—we go in resurrecting the past?
Before the Binary
Colonialism didn’t just redraw political borders—it also redefined the contours of gender. Pre-colonial societies often recognized more than two genders, acknowledging gender as a fluid and socially embedded identity. Spanish and British colonizers, however, imposed binary and often rigid Christian norms, labeling anything outside heterosexual masculinity or femininity as deviant or sinful.
In southern Mexico, the Zapotec people long recognized muxes—individuals assigned male at birth who live as women or as a third gender. In India, hijras—who may be eunuchs, intersex, or transgender—held ceremonial roles and spiritual significance. Both groups experienced marginalization under colonial rule, and their status continued to fluctuate post-independence.
Mexico’s Muxes: Between Celebration and Exoticization
Today, muxes are both celebrated and commodified. The annual Vela de las Auténticas Intrépidas Buscadoras del Peligro festival in Juchitán draws tourists and media fascination. While this visibility has offered a degree of protection and empowerment, muxes like Amaranta Gómez Regalado—a political candidate and anthropologist—argue that they are often romanticized as cultural “curiosities” rather than respected as political and social agents.
Scientific studies, such as those by anthropologist Lynn Stephen, reveal the complexities of being muxe in modern Mexico—where community acceptance is still tied to class, family status, and performance of gender roles that don’t challenge male power structures.
Hijras in India: Legal Recognition, Social Rejection
India legally recognized hijras as a third gender in 2014, a groundbreaking moment for trans rights. However, social reality lags behind policy. Hijras often face discrimination in education, employment, and healthcare. Some turn to begging or sex work as a means of survival. Even as they are invited to bless weddings and births, their position remains marginal.
Real-life stories like that of Laxmi Narayan Tripathi—a hijra activist who represented Asia Pacific at the UN—showcase the struggle to bridge traditional identity with modern activism. Scientific literature, including works in The Lancet Public Health, also highlights how the hijra community suffers disproportionately from mental health issues, stigma, and systemic neglect.
Revival or Resistance?
Interestingly, not all members of post-colonial queer communities embrace these pre-colonial categories. Some argue that such identities, while culturally rich, reinforce outdated gender norms or are incompatible with the lived realities of modern trans and non-binary people.
In Indonesia, for example, the waria community—assigned male at birth but living as women—is fighting both Islamic fundamentalism and rejection from Western-style LGBTQ+ activism, which often prioritizes identity over community roles. Similarly, in Samoa, fa’afafine embody gender fluidity in a cultural context, but may reject Western trans labels that don’t capture their social function.
Bridging the Gap: The Future of Queer Indigeneity
The question isn’t simply whether these identities are being revived, but how and by whom. Revival can become resistance: a pushback against colonial erasure. But when filtered through the lens of capitalism, nationalism, or tourism, these revivals can risk becoming shallow appropriations.
Post-colonial queer activism must therefore tread carefully—honoring the wisdom of the past while allowing space for contemporary evolution. As scholar Dr. Aren Z. Aizura notes in Mobile Subjects: Transnational Imaginaries of Gender Reassignment, queer and trans identities cannot be neatly mapped onto one-size-fits-all Western frameworks or essentialized pre-colonial ones.
Final Thoughts
The stories of muxes, hijras, fa’afafine, and others remind us that gender has always been more than biology—it’s about culture, power, and resilience. By acknowledging the complex dance between revival and resistance, we can build a global queer future that respects the past without being confined by it.
