Activist Spotlight: A. Revathi

11 November 2020

A. Revathi is a writer and an activist working for the rights of sexual and gender minorities based in Bengaluru, India. In 2004, she published her first book, Unarvum Uruvamum (Our Lives, Our Words), which tells real life stories of those belonging to the Hijra community in South India. Following this, she decided to write about her own experiences as a trans woman and published her second book, The Truth about Me: A Hijra Life Story, in 2010.

In 2019 Revathi was awarded an Activist Fellowship with SAATHII, and Indian LGBTQI organisation. GiveOut supported SAATHII to establish the LGBTQI activist Fellowship Programme last year, which seeks empower grassroots activism through arts and culture, sensitisation projects and advocacy.

To mark Trans Awareness Week, Revathi spoke with GiveOut about her work and activism. Revathi’s responses were kindly translated by Aniruddhan Vasudevan.

You were one of SAATHII’s first Activist Fellows. What was your journey into activism? 

I have given a lot of thought to this. I have some discomfort with this label – activist. There are many reasons for that, but I am unable to articulate them. A lot of people call me an activist. They say, “Revathi is an activist”… I cannot quite express how I feel about that. 

I can talk about my journey and approach. The paths that I have taken, the things that have affected me, my joys and sorrows, my sacrifices, why things happened in my life the way they did – I went through a struggle to move beyond these. That struggle encompassed others, not only the thirunangai community but minority communities more broadly – Christians, Muslims, Adivasis, Dalit movements, transmen, LGBTQI people. Whoever is discriminated against in this society, whoever’s rights are violated, whoever undergoes sexual violation, I wanted to raise my voice in support of them and against these injustices. I felt very strongly about it. I wondered why this world failed to extend its love to all human beings. In order to address that, I have done my work through my writings, my performances, and my work with non-governmental organizations. I don’t feel comfortable with calling myself an activist for that. I am a human being. That is how I feel and experience it. 

The things that propelled me were the ones I mentioned above. My pain and struggle. I was denied the recognition I wanted to live as a woman. I wanted to get married and to adopt children. These fundamental things were denied to me, and I wanted to fight for them. I felt that in order to fight for these things, I needed to be a leader and also create other leaders. These were the thoughts that encouraged me to do that work I have been doing.  

How did you connect with other activists working on human rights issues? 

Connecting with people was not an easy accomplishment. I struggled a lot to make it happen. As a sex worker, as someone who went from shop-to-shop begging for money, my early life as a transgender woman (in Mumbai they call us hijras) with the community was its own unique world. But I learned a lot more after I started working with organizations, movements, and groups that work for marginalized people. Initially, I did not even know what ‘gay’ or ‘lesbian’ meant. I did know that there were so many identities and ways of being. I only knew about the paths that were my options. But later, by watching short films, through participation in workshops, and more directly through fieldwork, I came to understand the struggles that manual scavengers, Adivasis, Dalits and others go through in order to secure their livelihood and rights. In the course of this learning, some shifts occurred within me. I thought – at least I am able to beg and make a living, at least there is some sympathy in this world for someone like me, but there are people who do not have even that. They fight for their rights. For example, the fight for reservation for Dalits. When I saw all this, I realized that there were people whose suffering was worse than mine. That was when it occurred to me that I had to connect myself with others, add my voice to theirs, but it took years. 

It was in 1999 that I found the opportunity to work with others – people who were fighting against dowry, child labour, people who worked for the rights of Dalits and Adivasis. In the course of these interactions, I learned about their issues, and I educated them about the issues of my community. That was how I worked. 

What was that experience like?

I remember the International Women’s Day celebrations on March 8th. In Bangalore, the celebrations were elaborate. We would plan for the event six months ahead of time. The planning meetings would happen every week. Initially, the meetings would be once a month, but then as we came closer to the date, more frequently, once a week. I used to sit and observe these meetings. That gave me an opportunity to meet other women, get to know their struggles. Even then, many of the women felt a little shy and uncomfortable about sitting next to me. Even people who were known as activists would feel uncomfortable about sitting next to me and interacting with me. It took a long time for all that to change. Many women used to say, “Revathi, you look like a woman. Your mannerisms and the way you talk are all like ours. But others in your community are not like that. They behave differently. They wear too much makeup. They clap their hands.” 

I used to respond to all these questions. For example, I would ask: “When a girl comes of age, why do you organize a ceremony? Why do you invite people to that ceremony? Is it to let them know your daughter has come of age and is ready for marriage? And you spend so much money on weddings. You put so much make up on the bride, you dress her up for the occasion. Why? Is that your way of announcing that your daughter is ready to have sex? In this context, here I am, a person who feels she is a woman, who does sex work. People like me need to wear make-up to look attractive. But that is just one reason. Transgender women wear makeup also as a way to let the world know that they wish to be recognized as women. Today, one Revathi is fortunate enough to sit with you all and have this conversation. Have you created the opportunity for other Revathis to have such conversations?”

Human lives have to be respected regardless of caste, creed, colour, or language. The issue is not only that I am a transgender person and there are certain problems I face. The point is to raise my voice for respect for all human beings in a world where some are subjugated and oppressed. I address these issues in my play Vellai Mozhi. Young women get raped. Writers who dare to question injustices are murdered. So-called honour killings in the name of caste and religion. Throwing acid on women. I bring all these issues into my play. The reason for that is all of this happens in my society. This is my society. We are not alien beings. My parents gave birth to me just like the way other parents bring their children into this world. I might have been born male and have become a woman. That’s the only difference. But what is common to us are our feelings, our pain and suffering.  That is how I look at it. I must fight against sexual violence against women. I must fight against “honor” killings. Why? Because I am a member of this society. I am unable to view myself as separate from this society. There are people who think that I am neither male nor female, so I am outside this society. But I cannot look at it that way. Perhaps, that is why I became an activist, as you ask in your question!

Writing and theatre are an important part of your activism. How did being awarded the Activist Fellowship support this work?

This fellowship gave me a lot of encouragement and inspiration. It gave me an opportunity to make my work reach a lot of people. I am a working-class person, I cannot write or speak in English, and I undergo financial hardships. This fellowship ensured that I had a place to stay and food to eat. It also helped me take my work to places that I wanted to take it to. I wanted to reach out to the younger generation, and thanks to this fellowship, my play was able to reach college and university students. Not many people read books. Even those who read may not read it in its entirety. Sometimes students approach it as a project for which they need to get some marks. In this context, a 30 or 40 minute play has a way of reaching out and touching their hearts. It creates a space where they are ready to understand certain issues. Theatre is a very live and vibrant medium. I don’t mean this only in the context of performing for college and university audiences. This is true with public audiences too.  

Through this fellowship, I have performed for various audiences. After every performance, people have so many questions and so much to share, that sometimes I was afraid I would miss my train! The discussions after the performances were always long and engaged. That was one the greatest things I got from this fellowship. The play creates a space for a discussion where I can answer people’s questions or clarify their doubts, which creates a possibility for change. This is an important thing. 

After reading my autobiography, there are parents who accepted their children’s identities as trans men and women. They have allowed their children to have the lives they want. That is the greatest award I can get, isn’t it? When my autobiography was released in Kannada, students from a theatre institute performed it as a play, and I worked with them in this play. I have done 98 shows with them. After reading my book or seeing my play, there are people who have come forward to help the community and there are people who are even actively involved in working among transgender persons. I see this as the biggest transformation. After me, many other thirunangais started writing books. Other thirunangais have done plays before my play happened. And there is more theatre work happening now among thirunangais. These are important changes. The work I have done through this fellowship has given me much satisfaction. It has also given me the inspiration to do more theatre work, and seek new stories.

Thank you so much for speaking with me today. Do you have any final thoughts or hopes for the future that you would like to share?  

I am indebted to Ramki, Vice President of SAATHII, who was instrumental in my receiving this fellowship. He has been working for several years for the welfare of our communities. I want to thank him for facilitating this fellowship for me through SAATHII. I also want to thank you at GiveOut on behalf of my community. My desire and my wish is that your work must continue. Like I said earlier, when I am in financial hardship, I cannot be productive. It takes a lot of work to create a play. It involves training. It involves travel. All of this requires time commitments. While I do all this work, I also need to ensure that my needs are fulfilled. Most people in the world of theatre do not get much income out of this. They do other work for their livelihood and do theatre part-time. But there are some who manage to make a living through their art. But when we do theatre work that is not in the genre of comedy but takes on serious issues, it is difficult to find organisers. So, creating new work takes a lot of time and work, and people like me are often without the means to do that. We need support – from organizers, from funders. 

I want to continue with my theatre and performance work, because I find great satisfaction in it. As an individual artist, I want to do my work through theatre. But I don’t have the financial means to be able to do that. I have a lot of desires and plans. I want to prepare scripts for new plays and find excellent directors to work on them. I have plans to bring new and innovative work to this world.

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