Introduction
Inclusivity is critiqued as being “located as a ‘guise of truth’ which employs a cultural cloak of equality to create double binds where performativity was pitched against presence, standards against segregation and ablism against absence” (Hodkinson, 2011, p. 179). However, through a critical theory lens, specifically critical constructivism, it can be established that inclusivity programmes which are intentionally focused on reconstructing systems and processes, can enable inclusion with marginalised populations so that a relevant and authentic experience of change and belonging occurs (Williams et al., 2005; Asai & Bauerle, 2016; Puritty, et al., 2017). The conditions for inclusion and the extent to which systemic change is enabled, influenced or impeded is dependent on the receptivity by university leadership to systemic change (Aboramadan et al., 2021). Leaders within universities can either create authentic, responsive environments where the university community thrives or their power and/or leadership is used in ways to reduce, prevent or intentionally compromise the inclusion of marginalised populations. Leaders in this research are defined as people who hold power and/or influence within the university environment and range across Vice Chancellors, university staff and students in positions of governance. This paper shares insights about the roles of leaders in either enabling or upending inclusivity programmes for marginalised communities. The purpose of this research study was to identify the conditions required in the university environment to receive and sustain an inclusivity programme that focused on the inclusion of an at-risk key population who experienced high forms of marginalisation, namely men-who-have-sex-with-men (MSM). The research focused on the receptivity of university leaders and the factors that facilitated or impeded the development and implementation of the programme in the university environment.
Literature Review
Universities as sites of inclusion
Althusser (1970) theorized that university culture may replicate oppressive societal ideologies which can only be prevented through tangible action and changing systemic processes. During the period of programme implementation (2014–17) and more recently as indicated in media (Greyson, 2021), university leaders were seen to be complicit in replicating societal norms and related practices, some of which are harmful, discriminatory and oppressive.
The alignment with Althusser’s perspective reinforced my positionality as a critical theorist which is premised on changing systemic processes and practices, in consultation with the population that is experiencing marginalisation.
In this instance, the marginalised student group formed part of the gender and sexually diverse population who in biomedical terms were classified as an at-risk key population by the Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS (UNAIDS). This population was defined as an at-risk group because, despite there being a global decline in new incidences of HIV (UNAIDS, 2014) there was an increase in prevalence among this key population. As a result, this key population was 19 times more likely to be living with the human immunodeficiency virus (hereafter referred to as HIV) than the general population (UNAIDS, 2014) and in sub-Saharan Africa this population was identified as having the second highest HIV prevalence (Beyrer et al., 2012). It was identified that interventions for psychosocial support, inclusive healthcare, cultural inclusion, resources and funding may have exacerbated the incidence of HIV among this key population (Rebe & McIntyre, 2014).
In addition to the prevalence of HIV among this key population, this same group was identified as a marginalised group. Within the sub-Saharan context, this marginalised population remains one of the most stigmatised at-risk groups who are often subject to discrimination and criminalisation by their state and/or community (Smith et al., 2009; Geibel et al., 2010) due to their same-sex sexual behaviour being classified as illegal in 31 sub-Saharan countries, potentially attracting the death penalty in four (Ottosson, 2010). The consequence of state homophobia or the criminalisation of same-sex behaviour has the divisive effect of further marginalising sexually diverse communities. The legal repercussions result in some sexually diverse communities living in fear of prosecution or persecution, which limits their ability to access inclusive social environments (Tamale, 2014).
It is known that the criminalisation of same-sex relations is at odds with African history; indeed, the growing body of literature that contextualises same-sex partners prior to colonialisation demonstrates the role of Global North foreigners who used religion to vilify same-sex practices (Reddy, 2004; Muraguri et al., 2012; Tamale, 2014; Matebeni & Msibi, 2015). Owing to this acquired hegemonic norm, the creation of inclusive environments for the sexually diverse in some parts of sub-Saharan Africa is limited by unfavourable political, cultural and religious barriers.
Within this context of discrimination, a two-year research study was conducted to identify the conditions required within five South African universities that would impact or impede the inclusion of marginalised student populations. The conditions for inclusion, focused on the social, academic, health and management practices within the higher education context that would reduce oppressive systems that discriminate against marginalised students. The conditions for inclusion emerged through an externally funded programme that saw the development of an inclusivity programme at 14 universities from March 2014 to March 2016.
The period of 2014–16 was a pivotal moment for the higher education sector in South Africa where the contestation of power, marginalisation and governance surfaced through the Fallist movements. These student movements in the university sector produced a useful analysis on structural barriers that prevented access to and inclusion in higher education for students who experienced marginalisation on the grounds of race, gender, class and sexuality. As a critical theorist, employed by a higher education university, whose work focuses primarily on developing anti-oppressive programmatic responses with (and occasionally for) marginalised populations within higher education institutions, I had been privy to four student movements that shook structural discrimination at its core. In particular, two Fallist movements that occurred directly advanced the rights of marginalised populations on campus. These two movements are described in further detail below.
The UCT Queer Revolution
The UCT Queer Revolution (hereafter referred to as UQR) emerged after a Students’ Representative Council leader alluded to homosexuality as sin (Petersen, 2015). The movement started in June 2015 “to raise awareness about the dangers that freedom of speech can pose with a particular focus on student leaders [… who] express homophobic views” (Varsity Newspaper, 2015). The UQR’s response was to call for the institution to take a stance against homophobia, even in the face of religious freedom. UQR drew national attention to the tension in the Bill of Rights, which questions to what extent the Constitution balances the rights of religion, freedom of expression and the protected ground of sexual orientation.
An important discussion emerged from the rising of UQR which raised questions about the role of student leaders at the University of Cape Town (UCT) and what belief systems they hold and/or (are allowed to) enforce within an academic institution. The lack of proper engagement by UCT on the issue alerted me to the gap in institutional responses and approaches in matters that were homophobic in nature, and how often popular culture and religious beliefs overshadow one’s right to express and practise their sexual orientation.
#TheTransCollective
During the RMF period, a second movement called #TheTransCollective arose as a response to transphobia at university. The #TheTransCollective is described as “a transfeminist movement which positions confronting toxic gender constructs as indispensable to the decolonisation project within and beyond the University of Cape Town (hereafter UCT” (#TheTransCollective, 2015). The mission of #TheTransCollective is,
threefold, firstly to ignite consciousness; secondly, to create a proactive and radical community and, lastly, to lobby with UCT to institutionally see and hear gender non-binary bodies and psyches. (#TheTransCollective, 2015)
This movement led to the creation of several spaces. In educational spaces, any member, regardless of sexuality and gender identity, was encouraged to attend and learn more about Trans* identity and sexuality. In other spaces, however, access was limited to Trans*-identifying students. Within institutional discourse, the voices that spoke for and with #The TransCollective were limited to only Trans*-identifying people. The meso-level power, agency and politic held by #TheTransCollective was relegated to some spaces on the University of Cape Town campus, where their art of disruption demanded attention, response and action by UCT executive management to force necessary structural and institutional changes. During this student protest, I became aware of an interesting tension in the politics of #TheTransCollective. On the one hand, #TheTransCollective power was effective within the UCT, but #TheTransCollective’s agency was entirely dependent on the academic freedom that is fiercely protected by UCT. However, this very dependency trapped #TheTransCollective’s agency (and efficacy) within the borders of UCT. Becoming aware of this tension, I realised that there was a very rare opportunity to create an ideal health and support services system for students that would only have an effect within the borders of the university. While this is ideal for students, universities may be creating unrealistic expectations for students once they graduate and enter health and social systems that are to a large extent, oppressive towards difference.
The two movements coincided with the two Fallist movements (#FeesMustFall and #RhodesMustFall), which collectively changed the trajectory of South African universities’ history in relation to privilege and intersections of race, class, patriarchy and sexuality. All four movements produced narratives that exposed the location of power within the universities, clarifying how centralised power, through the form of leadership, acted as barriers to the inclusion of marginalised students—despite the legal obligation for university leaders to adhere to their constitutional obligations.
Universities’ obligation to create an inclusive culture
Habermas writes that, if students perceive the university to be distanced from the realities of society, it is likely that they will question the knowledge economy and the purpose of a university (Habermas & Blazek, 1987). Universities are not divorced from the politics, economics or civil influences of the country, as evidenced by the student movements which identified the increasing gap between the knowledge taught at university and the application thereof to current South African challenges. The National Department of Higher Education and Training’s (hereafter referred to as DHET) transformation report defined the role of higher education in the creation of an inclusive culture. It stipulates a clear obligation for the university to respond to issues of social justice within and beyond the university.
DHET encourages universities to make their institutions accessible and inclusive to all students. The constitutional mandate reiterated by the DHET implies that the university has an obligation to create an institutional system that recognises the effects of apartheid and supports redress for students. Akin to Habermas’ writing about the role of the university in a democracy, DHET defines that one of the obligations of the university is to create social cohesion through inclusive practice and supportive institutional systems, the latter being articulated in the White Paper 3A for Transformation. The obligation on the university to provide an environment that is representative and inclusive is particularly important from both a legal and a human rights standpoint.
In 1997, the Ministry of Education articulated that universities had an obligation to create mechanisms that reformed the institutional culture. More specifically, section 3.4 of the Education White Paper 3 (1997) first made reference to the creation of a “secure and safe campus environment that discourages harassment or any other hostile behaviour directed towards persons or groups on any grounds whatsoever, but particularly on grounds of age, colour, creed, disability, gender, marital status, national origin, race, language, or sexual orientation” (Department of Education, 1997, p. 32). This call began to redefine the role of universities as sites of consciousness that influenced students’ thought and discourse (Bernstein, 2001; Hames, 2007). Later, in 2008, the former Minister of Education, Naledi Pandor, announced the establishment of a Ministerial Committee on Progress Towards Transformation and Social Cohesion and the Elimination of Discrimination in Public Higher Education Institutions to focus on transformation that included, among other focal areas, racism, gender and sexuality. The report from this committee was to provide appropriate recommendations to combat discrimination and to promote social cohesion (Department of Education, 1997).
In addition to documenting how to achieve a values-led culture within universities, the Education White Paper 3 changed the role of South African universities from being just places of learning, to also being sites of community of engagement that provided nurturing spaces that were highly aware about issues of access, governance, management, curriculum, pedagogy, inclusion and support services that promoted the development and throughput of students (Department of Education, 1997).
It is evident in the Education White Paper 3 that the role of universities extended beyond that of the academic enterprise. Indeed, it stipulated the emerging role of universities as pivotal in the political, economic and cultural reconstruction and development of South Africa—one that contributed to community development; and the building of a new citizenry (Department of Education, 1997).
Through the work of the Ministerial Committee, it was found that insufficient consideration was given to gender and sexism in transformation. The ministerial report proposed that systemic interventions be introduced to remove gender discrimination and sexism in universities. The contention with the report from the Ministerial Committee is that it did not move beyond stipulating broad objectives and placed the onus on universities to define how and what transformation goals were achieved. The resultant effect is that, without unified approaches and relevant resourcing that was responsive to the needs of each university, students were in danger of becoming culturally marginalised by the very institutions that were intended to enable their personal and academic development (Reddy, 2004; Bennett, 2006; Bennett & Reddy, 2009; Francis & Msibi, 2011).
The absence of praxis in the White Paper 3A furthers the gap in university responses that seek to frame the relationship between institutional student programmes and the role of academia (Department of Education, 1997).
The inclusivity programme
In 2013, an entity established by the Department of Higher Education and Training (DHET) called the Higher Education and Training HIV/AIDS Programme (hereafter referred to as HEAIDS) collaborated with the Networking HIV/AIDS Community of South Africa (hereafter referred to as NACOSA) which had been nominated by the South African National AIDS Council (hereafter referred to as SANAC) to manage a Global Fund grant with a specific focus on services and support in South African tertiary institutions for a specific at-risk population. Through this grant, 14 universities were independently funded to develop, implement and advocate for inclusive services and an enabling university environment for marginalised youth men-who-have-sex-with-men, (hereafter referred to as MSM).
Phase one of the grant funding was a needs assessment administered at 14 universities via an electronic survey developed by Jaco Brink from the University of Stellenbosch. This was a landmark survey for South African universities, as this was the first time research was conducted specifically on the knowledge, attitudes, perceptions and experiences of MSM students at universities in South Africa (Brink, 2014). The standardised instruments that were used, gathered information on HIV knowledge, HIV risk, substance abuse, the institutional climate for MSM students and self-esteem. From the total sample of (n = 8,869), students self-identified as follows: heterosexual (n = 6,087), homosexual (n = 1,470), ‘other’ identifying (n = 778) and bisexual (n = 533) students (Brink, 2014).
Brink’s (2014) report identified significant findings for this marginalised key population. It was found that alcohol and drug use scores were significantly higher for MSM whilst lower self-esteem scores were identified among MSM students than other sexually diverse students (Brink, 2014). Of notable concern was the finding that more than one-tenth of the MSM sample reported having been forced to have sexual intercourse against their will, and 3% indicated that they had threatened to use force to get someone to have sex when they did not want to (Brink, 2014).
In the survey, MSM students reported not only their substance abuse, but also the presence of physical abuse, and a lack of access or willingness to use health services at university. More notably, MSM students were of the opinion that the HEIs are not safe (7.5%) and/or enabling environments (9%) for sexually diverse students (Brink, 2014). Brink’s (2014) survey findings are similar to biopsychosocial research that depicts the clustering of health and social effects among MSM, known as the Syndemic Effect (Singer et al., 1987; Stall et al., 2003). Similarly, research by Lyons, Johnson and Garofalo’s (2013) identify that the immediate environment has a direct effect on one’s health. Brink’s (2014) research identified that there was a higher use of substances; with lower self-esteem and the lack of access/use of health services, there is a propensity for MSM youth to be affected and/or infected by disease and psychosocial challenges (Lyons et al., 2013).
Brink’s (2014) study raises concerns about what (if any) institutional structures currently exist to support the psychosocial and biomedical factors that specifically affect MSM students at institutions of higher education. Whilst some tertiary institutions offer a variety of services to sexually diverse students, these services are not necessarily linked to a sensitised comprehensive health service that provides specific support to MSM youth (Brink, 2014).
The inclusivity programme was therefore introduced through the lens of transformation, in order to create systemic change that resulted in an inclusive and enabling environment for marginalised youth.
The current literature sources in South Africa provide some insight into the experiences of MSM students in higher education, but there remains a paucity of literature that provides guidance on the structural design and programmatic activities that effectively support MSM students in tertiary institutions. The absence in knowledge about appropriate responses for MSM students at South African universities is indicative of a non-responsive environment, which further marginalises self-identifying students. Indeed, international theorists would support the assertion that, even in educational environments, there exists a micro-aggressive role that reinforces hegemonic norms through policy, curricula, residence gender allocation and non-specific health services, to which MSM students cannot relate, (Kumashiro, 2000; Miller, 2012; Miller & Gilligan, 2014).
This research therefore contributes towards South Africa research about mechanisms of inclusion for MSM in higher education institutions. The tools used by the five programme coordinators, Thabo, Sam, Alex, Zama and Sipho, to produce inclusion comprised of education, campus dialogues, curriculum integration, sensitisation training as well as awareness campaigns to inform university stakeholders about the marginalised population.
Research sample
The participating universities had varying historical, cultural and social contexts and consisted of students and staff from the multicultural population of South Africa, sub-Saharan Africa and international students. The diverse demographics of the universities reflected a multicultural population of South African, sub-Saharan African and international students. While all five universities were geographically dispersed, the infrastructure of each university was comparable. Considerations about resources, affluence and private income within each university are an important factor, as the existence of infrastructure, or lack thereof, influences programmatic outcomes. Without disclosing the university names, I provide a snapshot of income sources for each university participating in this research.
Table 1 demonstrates a disparity of private income and student fees at the participating universities. While the data show that universities received similar allocations, some universities were only developed post-1994, which I had assumed would influence the infrastructure and resources available in the programme. However, despite the historical disadvantage, it became evident during the interviews that each institution had the necessary infrastructural resources for the programme to work in its university.
All the programme coordinators were contractually employed by NACOSA and, in consultation with the university, were located on the university campuses with the mandate of implementing the programme for the duration of the grant. The first programme coordinator is Sam who is 26 years old (26y). Sam has specifically requested that I do not use a gendered pronoun when referring to Sam’s responses and is therefore referred to as (Sam, 26y) throughout the research. The second programme coordinator is called Thabo. He is 29 years old (29y) and uses the pronoun “he”. I will refer to Thabo’s identity in the following way (Thabo, 29y). Zama is the third respondent who is 24 years old (24y), uses the pronoun “she” and is referenced as (Zama, 24y). Sipho uses the pronoun “he” and is 28 years old (Sipho, 28y). The last respondent is Alex who is 27 years old and uses the pronoun “he” (Alex, 27y). Table 2 presents the programme coordinator profiles.
A purposive sample was undertaken in this study, because a finite number of programme coordinators (14 in total) had developed a programme for their institution. The programme coordinators who formed part of this research were employed to embed and cultivate a programme of inclusivity in their university for marginalised youth. They were interviewed over a time series to acquire information that captured the conditions for inclusion. For reasons related to the protection of the programme coordinator and the university, the names of both will remain anonymous and where necessary, pseudonyms have been used.
In addition, the programme coordinators were invited to identify interviewees among the institutional stakeholders who had been influential in the development and/or implementation of the programme within their institutions. However, they did not identify any stakeholders, and thus no other interviewees were included in the sample group.
As part of my research approach, I deliberately did not ask the programme coordinators for identity descriptors such as sexuality, race and/or gender. The association with gender identity is implied in the use (or non-use) of a pronoun that was selected by the programme coordinator. The pronoun was requested purely to assist with the grammatical conventions required for the research. Furthermore, the reader should note that some programme coordinators’ outward gender expression did not correlate with the pronouns associated with the physiological trinary of male or female or intersex.
With regard to sexuality as an identifier, the decision to not request (and/or disclose) the sexuality of the programme coordinator was to avoid asserting a heterosexist norm that is usually asserted upon only sexually diverse individuals who may feel obligated to respond to curiosities about their sexuality. For this reason, I deliberately do not identify any of the programme coordinators’ sexualities.
Findings
University leaders performance of inclusion
In accordance with the literature, leadership within the community can negatively or positively affect the progress of a sexual diversity programme. The programme coordinators focused on developing key partnerships in their universities that would assist in linking the programme with existing services and programmes within their institutions. Therefore, the careful positioning of the programme and the management of institutional relationships influenced the extent to which the inclusion programme was embedded within the university (Trapence et al., 2012; Beyrer et al., 2012; The Global Forum on MSM and HIV MSMGF, 2013).
In order to embed the programme within the university structure the programme coordinators were required to engage with university leaders. Initially, the programme coordinators experienced low levels of resistance from the majority of the leaders. However, resistance by leaders did occur, particularly when the leaders had to confront the institutional norms or enable systemic changes.
For example, when Sam began to advocate for structural changes such as gender neutral toilets within the institution, Sam reported that “the VC said no … top management said no; … a lot of people shook their heads” (Sam, 26y).
In some instances, religion was used to defend institutional norms. Thabo described how, during the initial stages of implementation, the institution “didn’t give space or acknowledge LGBTI students” (Thabo, 29y). He recalls how religion and some cultural practices were used to explain “how life should actually be led”, because homosexuality was considered to be “a sin” (Thabo, 29y). In the initial stages of the programme, when Thabo put up posters about sexually diverse meetings and dialogues, “someone would come and put up a poster about a prayer session or a religious outing and all that” (Thabo, 29y). In addition to the religious beliefs, Thabo was also confronted with cultural beliefs, stating that “a man is supposed to be with a woman” (Thabo, 29y).
Sipho experienced similar responses from academic, administrative and healthcare staff who were supportive of the programme and have, to some extent, catalysed the reach of the programme. However, Sipho identified that there were varying levels of support—from the perfunctory to the genuine forms of assistance by stakeholders within the institution. He reports that he could sense a lot of negativity towards the programme,
but in terms of me implementing the activities … they would say give me the go ahead, but them [sic] to support the programme and be there, I failed to get to a level where I would hear them saying something positive about the programme. (Sipho, 28y)
Therefore, despite the programme coordinators indicating that the university stakeholders offered their support, there were also pockets of resistance by some leaders in the university, particularly when cultural, institutional and/or religious norms were challenged. This finding suggests that receptivity towards the programme does not automatically mean support.
Furthermore, the findings identified levels of support that may be genuinely provided or perfunctorily performed. Research by the Global Forum on MSM and HIV (MSMGF) indicate that resistance should be expected and that negotiations relating to issues of structural change should ensue. This is likely to produce discomfort for some institutional stakeholders, allies and programme coordinators (The Global Forum on MSM and HIV, 2013). While the negotiations can become useful educational moments that contribute towards an enabling environment, depending on the power of the decision makers within the institution, resistance can result in inaction and repulsion; however, the latter is not to be used as justification for complacency (Nyanzi, 2014).
While leaders are not the only ones responsible or able to cultivate inclusive space, the findings from this research are that leadership roles emerge as focal points for enabling or hindering the inclusion of students, hence the focus of this paper.
As evidence, a perception held by the programme coordinators believed that the work of the programme would be expedited if the executive leadership offered their support and directive. It was believed that “power has so much influence … [and] played a very important role” in influencing the levels of receptivity by institutional stakeholders (Alex, 27y). Thabo describes how a change in executive support influenced receptivity in his university. He claims that, during the initial stages of implementation, he experienced major challenges from the previous Vice Chancellor of the university who “was very vocal about speaking against LGBTI” (Thabo, 29y). However, after that Vice Chancellor’s departure, Thabo found that the programme progressed very rapidly. He attributes the ease with which the programme was included in the institution to the new Vice Chancellor who supported the programme. Therefore, Thabo considered the role of executive leadership to be a critical factor in shifting the institutional culture to becoming more responsive towards marginalised youth and the related programme.
Similarly, at Sam’s university, for example, executive leadership publicly advocated for the inclusion of the programme. Sam states that “[t]op management [was] really interested in the programme because they really want to know … is it making a difference [and] where [the university] could improve” (Sam, 26y).
Sipho experienced similar support from executive management, and described the institutional culture as open to and inclusive of all students. Executive leadership in his university provided clear support towards the implementation of the programme when the Vice Chancellor stated:
You know what, it’s okay to be gay on campus. So that message was just so powerful for us. He said whatever it is that you need, whether you need me to come and say things to students or whatever, just ask. (Sipho, 28y)
All of the programme coordinators mentioned the role of leadership in the programme. The findings from the research emphasised that the role of leadership, or lack thereof, is a notable factor that influenced the receptivity of the programme by stakeholders in the institutions.
Sam, Thabo and Alex claimed that executive support assisted in influencing the stakeholder receptivity towards the implementation of the programme in their university. However, two programme coordinators did not have explicit support from executive management. Yet they were still able to implement the programme and achieve the same programmatic outcomes.
Three programme coordinators claimed that executive support influenced the way in which the programme was received in the university.
… I think our [Vice Chancellor] made it so easy for us to do whatever work we need to do, and our programme falling under the [Vice Chancellor’s] office … gives us a bit more leeway and clout to implement programmes. So I think in that sense … it’s been beneficial. (Alex, 27y)
Thabo identified similar perceptions about the power that executive support would yield over institutional stakeholders:
… if you’ve got someone who is in power and is against a certain thing or a programme, I mean, it’s easy for them to influence everyone on the ground … you know how it is, power has so much influence. So I think that [executive support] played a very important role. (Thabo, 29y)
I was particularly interested in this finding for multiple reasons. First, the data refute Thabo’s assumption that executive support would guarantee a positive reception of the programme by institutional stakeholders. Instead, it emerged from the data that, despite executive support, there was a presence of performative inclusion and acceptance which was unsettled when actual change was requested.
This finding may demonstrate that executive support is not necessarily a critical factor in influencing stakeholder receptivity for sexual diversity programmes in the university. In fact, as evidenced in the data, support for the programme does not necessarily have to come from the executive, but can also come from the structures outside of centralised governance within the university and still produce the same desirable programmatic outcomes. The findings bring into question whether executive support is ceremonial in nature.
This brings me to my next point, which considers where power is held within the institution. The data emphasised considerations of institutional power: who yields it, and for what purpose. For example, Zama initially claimed that, whilst there was “no resistance” towards the programme, she jests that
management got to realise that eish, we can’t run away from this. This [the programme] is here to stay. We can’t [resist the programme] because of the number of students that came out and supported it … SRC is way more powerful than management itself. (Zama, 24y)
Three of the five university leaders were receptive towards the programme. Their rationale for providing support was less about their constitutional obligations to ensure that the university environment was non-discriminatory. Rather, their intention for supporting the programme was based on their need to align with the student body and, in these instances, the programme coordinators experienced performative inclusion that influenced the extent and pace of inclusion within the university. In the remaining two universities, the programme coordinators had hardly any to no support from executive leadership; the research emphasises that, even without executive support, the inclusion programme continued unabated, as the capacity, resourcing and funding was independently provided. The ability to continue without support relied solely on the agentic power held by the programme coordinators who facilitated alliances, established relationships and identified synergistic access points for the programme to exist in the university.
In the same way that universities were forced into introspection by the student movements, it is likely that one of the navigational manoeuvres used by programme coordinators who received hardly any to no executive support was to cultivate student support in a way that leadership could not ignore or refute. I do not negate the necessity of executive management approving whether an institutional programme takes place, but whether executive management is the only echelon that yields institutional power to influence stakeholder receptivity is questionable. Therefore, while executive support is useful for this type of work, the programme may not be dependent on executive support.
Building inclusion in the university operational environment
As with most transformation programmes in higher education, the implementation of programmes that seek to dismantle oppression requires competencies beyond that of programme management. Through an analysis of the research, a variety of skills were used to cultivate access and inclusion within the university environment. Programme coordinators had to employ critical skills of mediation (between disgruntled stakeholders); negotiation (for access and inclusion); lay counselling (for affected students); sustaining peer efforts; integrating prevention education within healthcare settings and providing strategic guidance for executive management. All the programme coordinators are, therefore, viewed as linking agents between university structures. They are also identified as the key role players within the university setting despite facing resistance and lack of support by university leaders.
In order to develop an enabling environment for the inclusivity programme, the programme coordinators used education, campus dialogues, sensitisation training as well as awareness campaigns to inform university stakeholders about the marginalised population. In addition, these institution-wide dialogues were viewed as influencing the university culture, as an increasing number of university stakeholders began to advocate for a more inclusive environment in the institutions.
By using campus dialogues to disseminate inclusivity discourse, Thabo created “a platform for the university community to engage in conversations around this topic [of sexuality] … whereby everyone is included in … [the] programmes or in the community of the university” (Thabo, 29y). Similarly, Alex used the larger campus dialogues to create “open spaces for engagement where anyone can bring any issues or concerns” (Alex, 27y). These campus dialogues were publicly advertised via Facebook and posters. The campus dialogues were useful in that they provided an educational environment for all institutional stakeholders in the university, regardless of sexuality. Within these spaces, Alex cautioned self-identifying students that anything could be said in a campus dialogue space, including the use of offensive and/or discriminatory language. In order to circumvent any trauma that may occur within these broader dialogue spaces, Alex provided a debriefing space for self-identifying students where they could access lay-counselling support immediately after the dialogue.
Like Thabo and Alex, campus dialogues at Sam’s university were primarily education platforms that facilitated discourse among the student population. These were held “at least twice a month or three times a month, depending on demand” (Sam, 26y). In addition to the larger campus dialogues, other programme coordinators emphasised building partnerships with institutional stakeholders by means of smaller sensitisation training workshops. Sam, for example, used these smaller educational spaces to raise awareness about the human rights framework and its application in the university’s programme. Some individuals found the educational spaces challenging due to their existing religious and personal beliefs. However, by placing greater emphasis on “social inclusion” through the application of a human rights framework, sensitisation training was found to be “the most powerful tool … to actually change people’s perceptions”, more so than the other programmatic functions (Thabo, 29y).
On the other hand, Alex specifically used the sensitisation space with staff who were in contact with students. The sensitisation training was used to help reframe perceptions and provide information on the current trends in pronoun use and terminology for self-identifying students. He stated that the training included “informing and raising awareness about subtle discrimination through words and actions which may be more pervasive than physical manifestations of discrimination” (Alex, 27y). The sensitisation space created by the programme coordinators was also a forgiving space, where staff and students had “that opportunity where … you say something [and] make a mistake, so let’s know what is right, what is wrong, what to say, [and] what not to say” (Sam, 26y).
Summary
Sumartojo (2000) describes an enabling environment to be a result of structural changes to the social, cultural, economic, political and physical environment. Similar to the structural shifts in health services, the programme coordinators recognised that the beliefs and perceptions held and/or reinforced by the institution and/or its stakeholders may exacerbate discrimination towards self-identifying populations. It was, therefore, necessary to create an enabling environment within the institution that could support the changes being made within the health and support services. With this dual approach of campus dialogues and the provision of the sensitisation training, the programme coordinators began to notice some changes in the institutional culture, as stakeholders became more receptive towards the programme and its intended purpose in the various universities.
My research, therefore, provides evidence that there may be other navigational manoeuvres that also influence institutional support. Of course, where there was executive support, there were outcomes in the form of sustainability through the institutionalisation of the programme; however, it is important to realise that stakeholder engagement within an institution does not only rest on executive support, but that influence and power can exist in multiple levels of the institution, and that there is a much more nuanced experience of power and leadership found within a university environment that can cultivate institutional receptivity and support for sexuality programmes in the university.
Certainly, the development of alliances among stakeholders within the operational levels of the institution was explicit in the data, and the programme coordinators’ agency and their ability to develop supportive partnerships determined the extent to which the programme was received by university stakeholders. When there was no executive support, partnerships were formed at various levels of the institution, which catalysed the implementation of the programme within a HEI.
The research data suggest that leadership and power are, therefore, not only top down; it is possible to cultivate influence at multiple levels within the institution that has the same effect as executive support. In order for inclusivity programmes to succeed and be sustainable, sole reliance on executive support may be futile, as there is sufficient human capital within and among multiple, interdependent partnerships in the various tiers of the university system to enable the successful implementation of the programme.
Building inclusion in the university teaching and learning environment
In universities, it is argued that lecturers have their role to play in teaching to transform by developing platforms of critical consciousness. Nyanzi (2014) and Miller and Gilligan (2014), share that the teaching space should invoke intellectual discomfort for both the educator and the student, particularly when “challeng[ing] current understandings of gender and sexuality norms [which left undisturbed] leaves a myopic and vulnerabilised understanding of the evolving lived realities of people” (Miller, 2015a, p. 41).
However, the integration of content, unrelated to the discipline, presents logistical challenges in an already content-laden curriculum. Beyond these logistical barriers, other academics contend that the educators’ ability to infuse social justice issues into core curricula is limited, particularly when the lecturer has had no intellectual training or activist experience (Bennett & Reddy, 2009; Francis & Msibi, 2011; Msibi, 2013).
Similarly, in universities some academics experience discomfort with the broader role of an educator to engage with content that is not part of their specific discipline (HEAIDS, 2010a). Nzimande (Department of Higher Education and Training, 1997) argues that the absence of sexual diversity discourse in teaching spaces is a result of some educators’ opinion that such content makes them vulnerable to the negative perceptions of the learner.
However, reframing the teaching space is an important element of creating an inclusive environment in a university. Academics such as sj Miller who specialise in pedagogy of transformation have developed a framework to create neutral spaces for learning. Miller writes about the teachers’ ability “to rupture dangerous dichotomies and myths about gender and sexuality” (Miller, 2015a, p. 39). Therefore, a challenge resides with teachers being able to accommodate a human rights values system in conjunction with their own values, norms and beliefs to prevent the reinscription of gender and heterosexist norms (HEAIDS, 2010a; Miller, 2015b).
In the absence of policy and sensitised academics in universities, marginalised youth remain delegitimised by being silently or explicitly excluded from teaching praxis and rhetoric (Miller, 2015a) which further reinforces of patterns of heterosexism (Francis, 2012).
With regard to the inclusivity programme, only two programme coordinators were able to influence the academic space. Alex mentioned the development of a course related to “LGBQTIA+” discourse (Alex, 27y) and another programme coordinator was invited to “their lecture classes to come and speak to their students about this topic” (Sipho, 28y).
In both instances, this knowledge was isolated to one faculty or one lecture period. The findings from this research showed that integration of inclusivity content into the curriculum was not easily achieved by all of the programme coordinators.
Towards inclusive universities?
In June 2016, the South African Minister of International Relations attended the United National Human Rights Council (UNHRC) meeting to establish the first Independent Expert on Protection against Violence and Discrimination Based on Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity. South Africa’s ambassador abstained from voting on the formation of the Task Team to investigate violence against sexual minorities, citing an African proverb: “If you want to walk fast, walk alone; but if you want to walk far, walk together” (Unknown author, origin Burkina Faso).
In essence, the Minister used this proverb to justify South Africa’s abstention and called for consensus among all African countries, prior to the UNHRC establishing a task team against violence and discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. The South African abstention was premised on the need for consensus among other African nations, many of whom use religion as the basis for prosecuting and persecuting sexual diversity. It was divisive and contentious. First, the abstention protected competing ideals over the very real concern for the rights and safety of self-identifying persons living in Africa. Secondly, the abstention contradicted the ethos of human rights enshrined in South Africa’s Constitution. Despite the existence of South Africa’s constitutional mandate to protect the right to sexual orientation and the right to physical security, the position taken at the UN exposes an archaic debate where the protection of rights to religion and culture trumps the implementation of the right to sexual orientation.
As evidenced in the research findings, there was the sense of acquiescence by executive management who, prior to the implementation of the 2014 programme, appeared to be unaware of challenges facing students in their universities. However, through the student movements, the gaps in practice and structural discrimination became evident and, in many ways, catalysed change in the landscape of higher education. Measures of redress that have been identified include ensuring that the institutional environment does not exclude the representation of all identities in the university. Whilst, in policy, there seems to be a clearly defined obligation for an inclusive environment, the findings from my research show gaps in practice. As demonstrated by the programme coordinators, it is possible for a university to develop an institutional culture where mostly everyone could “walk together” (albeit it via different paths) towards the common goal of an inclusive and non-discriminatory environment.
Furthermore, my study offers suggestive evidence that executive management and other institutional stakeholders may not have a clear understanding of how to implement the legal obligations conferred upon them by the Constitution. What became evident in the findings was that neither the programme coordinators nor the marginalised youth seem to access the legal remedies that are supported by the Constitution. This omission resulted in negotiating inclusion rather than articulating that such discrimination is subject to legal ramifications. One has to question why the application of the right to sexual orientation is perpetually dependent on the consensus (or acceptance) of persons who are not affected, harmed and/or influenced by the right to sexual orientation.
Drawing on the findings, the tension between articulating the university’s role in relation to the Constitution and its practical application within an institution becomes evident when relevant services and/or practices do not already form part of the institution’s culture and system. As noted in this programme, the universities appeared to be dependent on external funding and resources to provide relevant health and support services to sexually diverse populations in university. The development of an inclusive and enabling environment, as called for by DHET, brings to the fore the many complex challenges that often face universities. However, it may be necessary to carefully articulate the responsibilities of a university and then institutionalise the necessary structures and related programmes so that such obligations can be fulfilled.
I conclude with the claim that there is a slippage in the application of the right to sexual orientation within the five universities. This allows for the universities’ partial protection of the right to sexual orientation. The presence of this legal slippage begs the questions: Are universities “constitutional-free zones” (De Vos, 2015)? And will it take yet another en masse movement to teach universities that discrimination of any kind can no longer be tolerated? Until then, it is likely that the enforcement of the human rights framework and its related punitive measures may be necessary until sexual diversity (like racial diversity) is as equally protected as other rights enshrined in the Constitution. In the interim, I focus on the opportunity available for leadership to proactively apply the law available to them via the Constitution to include and protect all persons who have been rendered invisible by discrimination and stigma.
Conclusion
Drawing on the research findings, I conclude that leadership, in its most traditional sense, is not localised to the Vice Chancellor and Deputy Vice Chancellors, and that the programme coordinators identified devolved leadership within the university, which increased institutional receptivity and support for the inclusion of the programme and its related activities in university. Therefore, when considering leadership and power, one should not only think of a top-down approach, but also that there are other multi-level partnerships in the university that could be formed, by a coordinator and/or coordinating unit.
It is important to emphasise that all five institutions, regardless of their historical, financial and political positions, still delivered on the programmatic outcomes as required by the grant. Given that the institutions had various degrees of infrastructural development, there were, however, common institutional elements that promulgated the reach of the programme. These critical elements were the capacity and resourcing (including human resources with related competencies) to create the conditions for inclusivity within the university.
Furthermore, where executive support was lacking, the institutionalisation of an inclusivity programme was still possible where other forms of support are offered by consciousised staff who were willing to adopt a human rights framework within their own spheres of influence.
Secondly, as part of the institutional response, I suggest that one of the ways in which the institution could embed inclusivity is to encourage the human rights discourse within the teaching and learning environment. Such engagement would invite academics to increase their self-reflexivity and question how they engage more inclusively with marginalised youth in their academic programmes.
I conclude that university leaders influence the receptivity and sustainability of inclusivity programmes for marginalised youth in the university. The extent to which programmes are allowed to inform systemic change in order to produce relevant and meaningful action that produces inclusion for marginalised youth is dependent on leadership’s willingness to embrace change. However, inclusivity practitioners should take hope from the research findings that showed that without executive or university leaders’ support, the inclusivity programme continued; it was embedded and it did produce the same outcomes as those universities that were receptive towards systemic change.