I Felt a Little Homosexual Today, So I Called in Sick: The Formation of “Reverse Discourse” by Swedish Gay Activists in the 1970s

ABSTRACT

This article revolves around the legal and epistemic battles around “homosexuality” in Sweden in 1979, which led to the abolition of homosexuality being classified as a “disease”. Among other things, gay activists “called in sick” to the Social Insurance Agency (SIA) and claimed that they were unable to work because they were homosexuals (read as mentally disordered). The phone calls can be understood as a formation of “reverse” discourse; that is, gay people starting to speak on their own behalf, while using the same categories by which they were labelled. By analysing this resistance and a sit-in that was organised at the Swedish National Board of Health and Welfare (NBHW), we conclude that reverse discourse, as a productive yet rupturing practice, is not a single- handed and unaccompanied resistance strategy but materialises as one practice among many in a complex web of resistance and power.

Introduction

In 1944, Sweden came to classify homosexuality as a sexual deviation, which was presumed to reflect an underlying personality disorder (see further Bendz 1944; Rydström 2001). The classification of homosexuality as a “disease” was not eliminated until mid-1979, when Sweden was the first country in the world to remove the label. The (re)categorisation of homosexuality was the result of a longer resistance campaign, which, among other things, involved a sit-in that was organised at the Swedish National Board of Health and Welfare (NBHW) (In Swedish: Socialstyrelsen) (Quistbergh 2001). People were simultaneously encouraged by the Swedish Federation for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and Intersex Rights (RFSL) (In Swedish: Riksförbundet för homosexuellas, bisexuellas, transpersoners, queeras och intersexpersoners rättighter) to “call in sick” to the Social Insurance Agency (SIA) (In Swedish: Försäkringskassan) and claim that they were unable to work because they were homosexuals (read as mentally disordered). The phone calls can be read as a formation of a “reverse” discourse; that is, gay people employing the same categories by which they were labelled.

Michel Foucault introduced the concept of “reverse discourse” in his seminal four-volume work on the history of sexuality. The original edition was published in 1976 in French, and then two years later it was translated into English. According to Foucault (1981, 101–102) a “reverse” discourse emerged as “homosexuality” started demanding its legitimacy – often in the same vocabulary by which it had been labelled “medically disqualified”. Here, it is not a matter of a discourse of power and a counter-discourse, but rather a discourse that should be seen as “tactical elements or blocks operating in the field of force relations” (Foucault 1990, 101–102).

This article revolves around resistance strategies of the gay movement in 1979 – in particular the sit-in and “calling-in-sick” as well as the protest songs that were sung at the sit-in – by exploring reverse discourse as a resistance tactic, which interacted with other forms of resistance. To illuminate the specific way in which the 1979 resistance unfolded, we draw on two major trajectories within the scholarly literature. First of all, we turn to the scholarship on humour and irony to understand how the term “homosexuals” in the late-1970s was (re)used, but now with an ironic twist. We argue that the calling-in-sick, as well as the many songs and chants that were used during the sit-in at the NBHW, can be read as a form of reverse discourse, which took a humorous expression and not only reversed the meaning of words but also, more generally, questioned previous understandings of LGBTQ issues.

Besides this first trajectory, we also draw on the field of Resistance Studies to understand how reverse discourse almost never appears alone but materialises as one strategy among many in a complex network of resistance. Foucault (2009) points out that different forms of resistance, such as the calling-in-sick or the sit-in may be experienced as isolated occurrences, with their own dramaturgy, however, they are not autonomous from each other. Acts of resistance are almost always linked with each other, while they emerge in the same context with its particular discourses and conflicts. Thus, different forms of resistance struggles, despite their specificities, are not isolated from each other, but occur in the same web, which means that the resistance should be understood in the light of these connections. In the case of the resistance strategies of the gay movement in 1979, the occupation of the NBHW was complemented by other more “constructive” forms of resistance, which can be understood in terms of reverse discourse (for more on constructive resistance, see Koefoed 2017; Sørensen 2016; Sørensen and Wiksell 2019; Wiksell 2020; Lilja and Vinthagen 2007; Lilja 2020, 2021, 2022; Vinthagen 2005).

The scholarship on resistance studies also contributes with important insights in regard to the temporal aspects of the gay movement. As suggested by our respondents, the meaning of the campaign has changed over recent decades, and the resistance played out in the late-1970s – when repeated and (re)represented today – seems even more effective now than it was “then”. The resistance of reverse discourse seems to work as a productive yet rupturing practice that operates through reiterations, replications and re-interpretations, and sometimes gains new influence over time.

We suggest that the theoretical discussion, which emanates from our analysis of the particular events of 1979, constitutes the main scholarly contribution of this paper. By reviewing the Swedish LGBTQ activism of the 1970s, we aim to bridge the often too simplistic insights of the International Relations (IR) discipline’s vernacular, including the unfortunate focus on resistance as being now or then, organised or everyday and individual or collective. By this, we present a theory of resistance that embraces connections, time lapses and shifting connotations.

In the forthcoming section, we will discuss some methodological considerations in regard to the interviews with gay activists that this paper draws on. Next, we give a brief overview of the discrimination against lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people in Sweden, as well as transnationally. Thereafter, we further explore reverse discourse and other forms of resistance, while the two subsequent sections are devoted to analysis, where the first revolves around reverse discourse as an ironic and constructive form of resistance and the second on the “time lapses” of resistance. Finally, we present some of our most important conclusions.

The interviews

In order to explore the struggle around “homosexuality” in Sweden in the late-1970s, we have – besides studying various secondary sources, primarily scholarly literature, texts by stakeholders to the event(s) and TV and radio documentaries as well as primary sources, such as government committees’ reports, opinions, (amendments to) legislation – also conducted five in-depth interviews with activists and with Barbro Westerholm, who was the Director General at the NBHW in 1979. The interviews were made in late-2020 with respondents that all took part in and/or played a central role in (the preparations of) the events of August 1979. All quotes reproduced in the text, translated from Swedish to English by the authors, have when applicable been approved by those interviewed.

In line with Esaiasson et al. (2017) we are aware that these strategically selected and qualitatively researched interviews are not representative of all similar cases. The interviews are, therefore, not used to generalise and display the character of all gay resistance, but, rather, we use the quotations to theorise possible forms of subversive actions. From empirical accounts, we build theories on how resistance has been, as well as can be, enacted. Or, in the words of Robert K. Yin,

… case studies, like experiments, are generalizable to theoretical propositions and not to populations or universes. In this sense, the case study, like the experiment, does not represent a “sample”, and in doing a case study, your goal will be to expand and generalize theories (analytic generalization) and not to enumerate frequencies (statistical generalization). (Yin 2009, 15)

What Yin points towards is the possibility of building a theory of resistance from how it was played out in the particular context of the gay activists of the 1970s. Thus, we have drawn inspiration from John Gerring (2007, 1), who states that: “[s]ometimes, in-depth knowledge of an individual example is more helpful than fleeting knowledge about a larger number of examples. We gain better understanding of the whole by focusing on a key part”. We agree with Gerring in this regard and believe that in-depth studies, with few subjects, can sometimes tell us more than broad but shallow studies that are based on many samples. The in-depth knowledge we have gained from the interviews provides us with insights so that we can develop the notion of reverse discourse.

We have, in line with other researchers, allowed our participants to decide whether or not they want to remain anonymous. In this case, it was not appropriate to assume that the participating interviewees aimed for anonymisation; this was for different reasons and due to the complexity of the situation (Surmiak 2018; Miller 2015). Our respondents are activists who have struggled for their and others’ rights for decades and they want to be visible in the public debate. As researchers working in an emancipatory and participatory research paradigm, we think it is justified from an ethical point of view to follow their wishes and keep their names in the paper. It may, we suggest, even be unethical to strip the respondents of their identities and separate their words from them as they are political agents.

The discrimination and criminalisation of homosexuality: a background

Homosexuality is currently considered a crime in 72 countries. In many of them, the laws are actively enforced and penalties – ranging from fines and imprisonment to the death penalty – are frequently distributed for homosexual acts. In some cases, local authorities have not only implemented the laws but also recently broadened them and strengthened the severity of the penalties (Gerber 2021).

Of the countries that take legal action against consensual same-sex sexual conduct, 34 are part of the Commonwealth. According to Paula Gerber, this indicates that the criminalisation of homosexuality may be a legacy of the British Empire. Whether this is true or not, it can be concluded that following the decriminalisation of homosexuality in Northern Cyprus in 2014, Europe became the first region where homosexuality is legal in all countries. Regionally, most of the countries that have banned homosexuality are found in sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region (Gerber 2021). The above is not to indicate that LGBTQ people in Europe do not face various kinds of discrimination (non-legal as well as legal). For example, in Eastern Europe, laws are enacted that prohibit the promotion of homosexuality. In addition to this, it can also be mentioned that there is significant violence directed against LGBTQ people across the region (Gerber 2021). We find these facts and figures quite dismal. However, it should also be noted that, in recent years, there has been a steady decline in the number of states that consider consensual same-sex sexual conduct unlawful; the number of states that consider homosexuality unlawful has declined worldwide, from 78 countries in 2013–71 in 2020 (Gerber 2021).

The same declining trend also applies regarding the number of countries around the world that consider homosexuality to be a mental disorder. The World Health Organization (WHO) is responsible for the development of international health classification systems, such as, the International Statistical Classification of Diseases and Related Health Problems (ICD). The 1948 version of the ICD – the ICD-6 – came to classify homosexuality as a sexual deviation that was presumed to reflect an underlying personality disorder. This classification remained in the forthcoming ICDs and it was not until 1990 that WHO removed homosexuality per se from the International Classification of Diseases (ICD-10) (Drescher 2015). Following this decision, a number of states have followed and ceased to consider and/or classify homosexuality as an illness (WHO 2021).

In Sweden, homosexuality continued to be considered a (mental) illness until 1979, when, as we now know, it was finally removed from the NBHW’s list of diseases. During the period between 1944 and 1979, various “treatments” were tried against the “disease”. For example, many homosexuals were locked-up in mental hospitals. Still, it was not until 1969, inspired by the Stonewall Riots in New York City, that young Swedish activists started to demand rights as full citizens (Jonsson 2015; see also e.g. Armstrong 2002; Carter 2004; Stein 2019).¹ The younger activists advocated “gay liberation” and, in order to achieve this, they argued that the RFSL had to be outward-oriented and carry out active policy work (Jonsson 2015). This eventually led to the first Liberation Demonstration, which was held in Stockholm in August 1977. The annual demonstration soon developed into the above-mentioned gay “Liberation Week”.

One of the political victories for the RFSL during this period, among others, was when the Swedish Parliament publicly stated in 1973 that homosexual cohabitation should be considered as a fully accepted form of people living together. The statement came after the RFSL had approached the Committee on Civil Law (In Swedish: Lagutskottet), which at the time was considering proposals for new Swedish family legislation. A concrete result, following the statement made by the Swedish Parliament, was that the government appointed a committee on 17 January 1978 to work with the situation of homosexuals in Swedish society (Jonsson 2015). Another more concrete and important victory was, as we now know, won on 19 October 1979 when the NBHW, following the sit-in by the RFSL activists on 26 August, decided to remove homosexuality from its classification of diseases. Below, we will further elaborate on this and related forms of resistance.

Forms of intertwined resistance practices

Tilly (2008) has noted that political repertoires develop in relation to the nature of the ruling regimes. The repertoire of resistance that emerges in authoritarian regimes, thus, differs from those that develop in democratic ones (Tarrow 1998; Tilly and Tarrow 2007). We suggest that the distinct subversive methods in Sweden in the 1970s were made possible due to the specific political system that was established. Sweden is a consolidated democracy, and the space of manoeuvre is presumably greater compared with that of authoritarian regimes. The loudness of the public resistance of the gay movement in 1979 was probably facilitated by the structures of political opportunity. In more repressive contexts dissent is often marked by infinite and complex compromises, which contribute to its hidden expressions (Scott 1989).

As stated above, this paper analyses the strategies of the gay movement in 1979 – in particular, the sit-in and “calling-in-sick” campaign – through the concept of reverse discourse and how this interacted with other forms of resistance. Reverse discourse can be used in order to describe how subordinated individuals involve the categories and vocabularies of the dominating power and/or superior norm, precisely in order to contest them (Butler 1995, 236). As stated above, Foucault coined the concept of reverse discourse to illuminate how homosexuals began to speak on their own behalf, by using the same vocabulary and the categories by which they were medically categorised or, more correctly, disqualified (Foucault 1981, 101; Foucault in Butler 1995, 236; Butler 1997, 93; Lilja 2008). It is the idea that the subject is never produced instantly in its totality, but repeatedly constituted in subjection that enables the reverse discourse; that is, the possibility of a repetition that repeats against its origin. Foucault (in Parry 1994, 194) writes: “Deviancy returns from abjection by deploying just those terms which relegated it to that state in the first place – including ‘nature’ and ‘essence’”.

However, the use of one term, in this case “homosexuality”, does not automatically result in a transcending of the meaning of the term. Judith Butler (1995, 237) argues that:

[I]t will be the same “homosexuality” which will be deployed first in the service of normalizing heterosexuality and second in the service of its own depathologization: this term will carry the risk of the former meaning in the latter, but it would be a mistake to think that by simply speaking the term one either transcends heterosexual normalization or becomes its instrument. The risk of a renormalization is persistently there.

Even though one adds new meanings to different concepts, the actual words are still the same. The reverse discourse is thus always parasitic on the “dominant discourse” that it contests. Hence, resistance appears as the effect of power and as a part of power itself (Butler 1995, 237).

The above exemplifies resistance that is geared towards transforming the meaning of a concept. Too often, Deborah Reed-Danahay (1993, 223) argues, the term resistance connotes a “mechanical metaphor of solid bodies coming into contact”. However, when domination comes in the form of powerful narratives, resistance takes a constructive character and provides counter-narratives or other more constructive suggestions (Lilja 2020, 2021). This is not resistance that could be understood through mainstream theorising of power and resistance. Butz and Ripmeester (1999) go as far as labelling this type of resistance as: “off-kilter” resistance; that is: resistance “practices that productively circumvent power, rather than actively opposing it” (Butz and Ripmeester 1999). According to David Butz and Michael Ripmeester (1999), power’s productive character has important implications for how we understand resistance. These are resistance practices that: “manage to disrupt or partially subvert local conditions of domination or oppression, without aligning themselves in opposition to those conditions.”

However, constructive resistance often hybridises with more “classic” forms of oppositional resistance (cf. Koefoed 2017; Lilja and Vinthagen 2007; Lilja 2018; Vinthagen 2005; Sørensen 2016; Sørensen and Wiksell 2019; Wiksell 2020). Moreover, Foucault emphasises that different forms of resistance, such as the calling-in-sick and the sit-in campaigns (including the slogans that were shouted and protest songs that were sung at the occupation of the stairs), should not be considered as isolated occurrences, but rather, they should be understood as different acts of resistance that are (almost always) linked to one another and emerge within the same context with its own particular discourse logics and conflicts. Indeed:

… the specificity of these struggles, of these resistances of conduct, does not mean that they remained separate or isolated from each other, with their own partners, forms, dramaturgy, and distinct aim. In actual fact they are always, or almost always, linked to other conflicts and problems […] So, these revolts of conduct may well be specific in their form and objective, but whatever the identifiable character of their specificity, they are never autonomous, they never remain autonomous. (Foucault 2009, 196–197)

Thus, in the text below, we will further elaborate on how different forms of resistance activities, despite their unique features, are not isolated from one another, but occur in the same web(s) and affect as well as shape one another. From this follows that resistance is best studied and understood with awareness and acknowledgment of the connections with and overlaps of various performed activities (cf. Lilja 2021).

While the RFSL worked hard to put dominant general societal norms into question, their resistance also directed itself towards more direct expressions of governing, such as the classification of homosexuality as a mental disorder. The discrimination of LGBTQ individuals appeared in many forms, which, by extension, provoked multiple resistance activities, including the calling-in-sick and sit-in campaigns in 1979. In addition to these two, there were also a number of other – traditional as well as non-traditional, parliamentary as well as non- parliamentary – resistance activities. To put it very concisely, the struggle included not only the calling-in-sick action and the sit-in at the NBHW, but also other activities during the “Liberation Week”. For example, prior to the activities in August 1979, the Left Party (at the time: the Left Party – The Communists. In Swedish: Vänsterpartiet kommunisterna) had submitted parliamentary motions to propose the removal of the classification of homosexuality as a mental (Kaage 2017).

In the next sections, we will further elaborate on the concept of reverse discourse while revealing its ironic and humorous character as well as putting it within a time context. We will regard reverse discourse as a constructive form of resistance, which builds new discourses rather than mainly “breaking” power relations. Here it is important to note that when resistance, which aims to produce alternative meanings, is carried out, the “reader/receiver” is as important as the “writer/sender” (Hall 1997, 32–33).

Reverse discourse as an ironic and constructive form of resistance

As indicated above, it was not until the late-1960s that the gay liberation movement took off and that a younger generation of Swedish activists, inspired by the 1969 Stonewall Riots and events that followed, started to demand radically changed working methods of the RFSL, which culminated with the 1979 events. The first action was to stage a mass sick-leave campaign, in which homosexual persons called in and reported that they were unable to go to work because they “felt a little homosexual”. At the beginning of the gay “Liberation Week”, a number of activists, how many is unknown, called the SIA, completely in line with current routines for reporting illness in Sweden in the 1970s, and left a message on an answering machine stating that they were unwell. After a few days, the persons who had reported to be ill received a form, on which they had to fill in the illness that they had. The activists reported “homosexuality”. After a few more days, some of the activists were contacted by administrators from the SIA who asked if they had really filled in the form correctly. The activists replied that they had done so, with reference to the fact that homosexuality was classified as a mental disease by the Swedish NBHW. The reactions of the administrators varied from noting that it was obviously a matter of a “small protest” and rejection of the request, to the sickness benefit actually being paid out due to illness (Interview, activist, Sveriges Radio 2009). One activist stated:

It would have been great to be a part of it [the sit-in] … and hang out with my friends and do something visible. I also thought ok, I cannot [go to Stockholm]. It’s 40 miles to go there. And you cannot go up for such a thing and also, I worked, so it was hard to just leave. I think it was in the middle of the week too. But I thought I could contribute by calling in sick … This very week, everyone would call in sick so that it would have an effect … If 500 call in the same week for a sexuality disorder, it is effective. So, I called one Sunday night and I entered the code for this: 302.0 or whatever it was. Imagine that I still remember it. After I called in sick, I did not reflect upon it further. Nothing happened until September or October when I got the pay-out. (Interview, activist, Sveriges Radio 2009)

Another LGBTQ activist, Fredrik Silverstolpe, also participated in the action. He stated:

At that time, it was so simple that you called an answering machine and said you were ill (…). Then came a form where you had to fill in what illness you had. I wrote homosexuality. (Interview, activist, Sveriges Radio 2009)

After a few days, an administrative staff member from the social insurance office called him and asked if he really filled in the form correctly. Silverstolpe remembered that:

I replied that homosexuality is classified as a disease by the National Board of Health and Welfare. But she did not believe me and just said: Well, this was just a small protest, and it all just slipped past her.

Silverstolpe, quoted just above, used the terminology of the governing instances, including the words “homosexuality” and “sick”, when he called the NBHW. Still, he reloaded the words with a different meaning. The statements of the activists expressed an ambiguity between what was said and what was meant, while at the same time sliding between what was said and what can be understood. This implies an ironic twist that encompasses both humour and seriousness, which are closely intertwined (Ferguson 1993, 30).

The receiver of the calling-in-sick, that is, the SIA administrator, asked a few questions, which helped her to decode the message on the form that had been filled out. As appears from the quotation, she reflected upon the different representations, which assembled (the form, the vocal statements, etc.), and she recognised the calling-in-sick and the (re)use of “homosexual” and “ill” as a protest. This reveals how irony requires a solid ground of shared meanings in order for the concealed intentions and the intended meanings to be grasped: “reading irony is an ongoing process of interpretation: posing questions, making guesses, reflecting further, and inclining perhaps towards an answer” (Seery 1990, 305–306).

The above displays how the calling-in-sick could be interpreted as an attempt to establish a reverse discourse and, above all, how it was characterised by its humorous and ironic twist. The kind of irony used here could serve as an example of what has been labelled “stable” irony, which in contrast to more “unstable”, post-modern irony, signalises the opposite meaning (Booth 1974, 234–244; Colebrook 2004, 16–21; Lilja 2008, 36). This indicates that the gay movement, when reversing the discourse of “homosexuality” with an ironic twist, made other ways of understanding it possible while, at the same time, keeping the original understanding visible.

In toto, the success of the first step of the campaign was rather limited. One of the activists, who called in sick and requested a sickness benefit, describes his contact with the agency in the following way: “There was no rocket effect in the contact with the [SIA] for me”. This experience is also confirmed by some of the activists that we have interviewed and, most likely, largely reflects the immediate effect of this first step of the campaign as a whole (Sveriges Radio 2009).

At the same time as the call-in, an occupation of the stairwell of the NBHW took place, where activists demanded the removal of homosexuality from the Board’s list of diseases, which was more successful and almost instantly fruitful. By the end of August 1979, the NBHW (still) classified “homosexuality” under the code 302.00, next to “antisocial disorder” and “schizophrenia”, as a mental disorder. However, shortly after the sit-in in August, when the activists were given the opportunity to speak directly to the newly appointed Director General, Barbro Westerholm (known as a strong advocate of LGBTQ rights, interview with Voss, 2020), the classification was rapidly and finally removed from the list. To be precise, this took place on 19 October 1979, which was less than two months after the sit-in. With this, Sweden was a forerunner compared with other countries that later moved in the same direction. To illustrate this point, it was not until 1993 that WHO stopped classifying homosexuality as a disease.

Jon Voss, who took part in the sit-in at the NBHW, pointed out to us that humour and irony more generally informed/informs the gay movement as did the sit-in. This conclusion was confirmed by another contemporary activist, Georg Sved, who said as follows in regard to how the staff at the NBHW felt uneasy during the sit in: “When they said that they should call the police, we chanted: ‘No, no, no, call the ambulance [instead] we are so sick’” (Interview with Sved, 2020). Humour and irony were, according to Voss, also reflected in other slogans that were chanted during the sit-in, including the most famous one: “We are angry not kind; We’re gay. Now the stigma is to be removed. Otherwise the process will be short” (Authors’ translation from Swedish).² In our conversation, Voss emphasised that there was no real threat behind the line “otherwise the process will be short”; it was merely stated ironically. Another humorous slogan that was chanted sounded like this: “End of anxiety, shame and anguish; rather die than becoming normal” (Authors’ translation from Swedish) (Interview with Voss, 2020).³

Resisting bodies are not tamed and quiet, but rather “contain” agency and display subversive standpoints. Angry bodies are often considered frightening and a threat to the nation state and the order of democratic states; there is a belief that such bodies, which are out of place, can put the state order out of play (cf. Grosz 1994, 5; Lilja 2017). However, as displayed above, Voss emphasise that the gay activists saw themselves as neither dangerous nor threatening. The activists were, he argues, “middle-class youth” who simply sat at the stairs of the NBHW, “drinking coffee” and “using humour”, and hoping to achieve long-awaited change. Even though the slogan that ended with the words, “otherwise the process will be short” could, if literally interpreted, be understood as threat, it contains an ambiguity between the literal interpretation and what is meant. It glides between what is chanted and what can be understood (cf. Ferguson 1993, 30). We interpret this as the activists using the language in a creative manner by assigning a new meaning to already existing words – by reversing the discourse.

However, even though the sender – the gay activists – intended to send an ironic message to the receiver – the authorities – this did not automatically mean that the slogans were understood in such a way; on the contrary. One of our interviews, the one with the newly appointed (at that time) Director General of the NBHW, Westerholm, reveals that the humour and irony were not comprehended.

Interviewer: May I ask another question? … For us, they [the chants] sound very humorous now. “We are angry, not nice, We are homosexual”, but was [that] … how they were perceived then?

Westerholm: No, not as humorous. No.

Interviewer: No?

Westerholm: No humour, there was deep seriousness behind the chants … They directed their message to the NBHW, who for … years, [had] refused to remove the classification; and therefore they were angry and not kind. … It was frustration that produced that rhyme. (Interview with Westerholm, 2020)

One possible interpretation of the above is that the activists and Westerholm did not share the same understanding of the meanings, thus she failed to grasp the concealed intentions of the messages although she grasped the seriousness of the resistance act.

The chants and the sit-in, by their ironic meanings, more generally contributed to establishing two conflicting images of the activists. One was the “humorous but still serious activists”. This image was informed by various representations, including the ironic and humorous chants, the “middle-class” bodies and the coffee cups. However, not all considered the activists to be humorous; by some, they were perceived as “violent activists” who were threatening the authorities. One of the activists who took part in the sit-in described the ways in which gays were perceived by society in general in the following way: “we were seen as criminals, as prostituted gangs”. When speaking more directly about the sit-in, he said:

when it was … understood that it was an occupation and 50 people sat on the stairs, I think that those who were not initiated became scared and … argued that if we did not leave, they would call the police. (Interview with Sved, 2020)

This image – the one of the violent activist – is partly confirmed by the Director General of the NBHW who confronted the activists by standing at the top of the stairs. Westerholm (Interview, 2020) said: “They were afraid, my colleagues were afraid for what will happen … Will they [the activists] force themselves into the NBHW and what will they do thereafter?”

What was perceived by the staff of the NBHW during the sit-in was an emotional image that was made up of angry and frustrated bodies, who were gathered together to struggle against the marginalisation and discrimination that was expressed in the form of a medical classification. While the chanting per se cannot directly cause chaos or violence, bodies are able to cause physical damage and expose people to violence. The knowledge of what (material) bodies can do also adds to the representations of resisting bodies as “dangerous” (cf. Lilja 2017). At the same time, the activists who participated (as well as those who did not participate) in the sit-in also experienced fear. One of the gay activists, Eva Bohlin, said as follows when we interviewed her in November 2020:

[There was] a huge debate … and friction within the group. [Between] those who dare and those who do not dare … [About] how much [you] should dare and so on … [In conclusion], I would like to say that before the 1970s it is … it is simply terrible to be gay. It is the lowest you can be.

The manifold strategies applied by RFSL and others reflect the strong relationship between the form of power and form of resistance. Foucault (1982, 780), among others, argues that we might use resistance as a “chemical catalyst so as to bring to light power relations, locate their position, and find out their point of application and the methods used”. In the case of the sit-in, the aim was to alter a classification. Considering this, the chosen strategy appears reasonable. But this strategy might be less reasonable if not directly inappropriate to challenge and negotiate other forms of power. This was eloquently expressed by Stig-Åke Petersson (Interview, 2020), a former chairman of the RFSL:

What still prevails as a big problem, is the attitudes and prejudices surrounding homosexuality. They have decreased, but not stopped … If you are going to sit and blow a whistle in the lobby of a State authority, you need to have a very clear and distinct demand that can be met, and since many discriminating laws have been abolished it is not as easy as it used to be to formulate such demands. To occupy the NBHW and demanding the end of prejudices is not a viable option. Therefore, I think, it would be very difficult to play out that kind of actions today.

An overall conclusion from the above is that different types of power and discrimination require different types of resistance acts. This often leads to a situation where different resistance strategies exist side-by-side. Still, as expressed by Foucault (Foucault 2009), even though different forms of resistance may be expressed with all their specificities, they are not autonomous. They rather occur and are played out in a “web” of different forms of resistance and expressions of power. In 1979, the sit-in at the NBHW was, as indicated above, complemented with a calling-in-sick campaign, a parliamentary motion submitted by the Left Party, the parliamentary debate that followed and the gay “Liberation Week”, which all addressed discrimination against homosexual persons. The manifold and almost parallel resistance actions, which took place in different venues, reveal the richness and complexity of the resistance as well as the commitment that the issue conjured.

All in all, various strategies were used at the same time to protest against the classification of homosexuality. While the occupation was a collective and locally performed demonstration, calling-in-sick was an individual practice that was practiced nationally. At the same time, both had the same purpose and were aimed at the same power relationship. Thus, they should be analysed together and shed light on each other.

Moreover, the sit-in described above appears as mainly resistance “against” something; that is, “breaking resistance”. Still, the performed resistance, with its chants, also holds a constructive potential. It is, at least indirectly, resistance that seeks to establish something else, an alternative that involves bodies, images as well as words and sounds (see further Lilja 2020, 2021; Lilja and Lilja 2018; Baaz and Lilja 2017; Vinthagen 2005; Lilja and Vinthagen 2007; Koefoed 2017; Sørensen 2016; Wiksell 2020; Sørensen and Wiksell 2019).

The time lapses of the 1979 dissent

As stated in the introduction, we further employ the trajectory of resistance studies to analyse the temporal aspects of the gay movement. According to our respondents, the resistance of the 1979 events, discussed above, interestingly enough, seems to have sparked even more attention in the early-2000s than it did back in the late-1970s and early-1980s. Lately, the sit-in and calling-in-sick campaigns have been elaborated in all of the biggest Swedish newspapers (e.g. Dagens Nyheter 2018). The (re)newed interest was confirmed by Sved (Interview, 2020); he said:

I do not know, but I think I mentioned to Mikael [when he contacted me the first time] that he was the third or fourth in line of researchers who suddenly are paying an interest in this … But, [I think] that after 30 years there is an “administrative” weight attached to these questions, which makes it possible to address them in serious research projects. Funds can be granted, resources can be allocated. People like yourself can devote a couple of months to work with these issues. This was not possible previously.

Other activists that we spoke to when preparing this paper substantiated Sved’s observation and affirmed that the interest for the events of 1979 is bigger today than ever before; museums, researchers and media forward and (re)present the events. But how, then, can we understand this rather newly awakened interest in the matter? Why is the narrative repeated?

Thus, while not considered to have had a “rocket effect” back in 1979, the calling-in-sick action, according to our respondents, has received increased attention throughout time. Even though it happened “then”, the action is also being relived and re-experienced “now”; among other things, through story-telling of what happened in 1979. The representation of the resistance action has changed from the event as such to the description of the event. What is particularly interesting is how this story-telling has been increasingly intensified.

Interestingly, the last two decades – which is now the context of the stories of the sit-in and calling-in-sick actions – are marked by a renewed interest in the concept of “resistance”. Slavoj Žižek (2002, 66–67) even goes so far as to argue that the hegemonic attitude in the social sciences of today is that of “resistance”; he writes:

The hegemonic attitude of academia is that of resistance – all the poetics of the dispersed marginal sexual, ethnic, lifestyle multitudes (the mentally ill, prisoners) resisting the mysterious central (capitalized) Power. Everyone resists, from gays and lesbians to rightist survivalists – so why not make the logical conclusion that this discourse of resistance is the norm today and, as such, the main obstacle to the emergence of the discourse that would effectively question the dominant relations of Power?

As a norm’s content changes, different arguments, issues or perspectives become more (or less) legitimate. Thus, how the gay resistance of 1979 is represented now, in this paper and by others, must be understood through the current production of norms. The above quotation suggests that the “repeat” of the gay liberation resistance – the representations that the narratives of the event compose – is now reiterated in the context of the twenty-first century, which is characterised by a renewed and quite remarkable interest for resistance. This indicates that the resistance in 1979 is not only discursively recognisable or intelligible in a contemporary setting, but it has also been assigned new interest and new meaning in the early-2000s. As Barthes (1972) suggests, similar statements or artefacts, when repeated in different contexts, receive different meanings. Thus, every time the storyline of the resistance acts of 1979 is (re)told, its meanings alter, mainly due to the fact that the contextual setting has changed (in various degrees). Considering this, we would like to suggest that, as “the discourse of resistance is the norm today”, our attention and interest are increasingly directed towards certain events – such as the 1979 resistance of the gay movement – which, by this, become “hyper-visible”. In other words, the new political context of the “repeat” evokes its repetition.

In addition, in the twenty-first century, the gay culture has, in contrary to the 1970s, been embraced by mainstream culture. For example, an article in The Washington Post in 2019 states:

Pride Month has gone mainstream. Taylor Swift released a new LGBTQ anthem, and companies from Macy’s to Doc Martens have turned pride into a marketing tool. This widespread acceptance is a far cry from the gay liberation movement that once championed an alternative lifestyle and a culture all its own. Merging into the mainstream wasn’t always a central goal for the movement, particularly after the Stonewall riots, a pivotal moment in gay history that took place 50 years ago this month. (Winston 2019)

In a similar vein, in 2019 the theme of the Met Gala, which is a fundraising benefit for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, was titled “Camp: Notes On Fashion”. The exhibition that the gala accompanied was informed by Susan Sontag’s (1964) essay “Notes On ‘Camp’” and what she frames as “the essence of camp”; that is, to embrace all things exaggerated, spectacular and over-the-top. The camp culture was, according to Sontag, invented by the gay culture and the first English definition of the term in the Oxford English Dictionary, defined camp as: “ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, theatrical; effeminate or homosexual; pertaining to, characteristic of, homosexuals … ” (Bekhrad 2019). Thus, given that the Met Gala, by its theme, encouraged celebrities, designers, straight or gay people to dress camp, it could be seen as mainstreaming the expressions of a particular LGBTQ community strand. This too probably affects how the gay resistance of 1979 is understood in the 2000s as being increasingly accepted, normalised and/or desired.

The 1979 events are also reiterated as they have become a part of how the history of the Swedish gay movement is narrated. The constructing of a history proceeds through the narrating of different connections, developing a plot and giving meaning to different events. Different experiences are tied together and by telling these stories, the plot is produced (Lilja 2008; see also Lenz Taguchi 2004, 209; Stapleton and Wilson 2004; Whitebrook 2001). Today, the 1979 resistance activities form the history of Swedish gay activism. That the storyline of the gay community contains the sit-in, the calling-in-sick as well as other resistance activities, ensures its repetition. As the constructed story is repeated by journalists, activists, researchers and others, they help to maintain and advance the plot. When talking to Sved he said that as:

… 40 years have passed (since the 1979 protests), you can approach [the issue] from a somewhat wider historical perspective by which you can grasp the big changes of the time. This is not possible to do at the time. (Interview with Sved, 2020)

Director General Westerholm, further explained that: “I think (the sit-in) has meant a lot more than I understood back then. It was the very first step in making the discrimination visible” (Interview with Westerholm, Sveriges Radio 2009).

Today, the sit-in is rightly recognised as a great success. The events of August 1979 have come to play an increasing role as time has passed by. The resistance seems to be more discursively anchored in the context of the early-2000s than of the late-1970s or early-1980s. The events of 1979 are now an integrated part of how we present and understand the “now”. It is hard to overstate the significance of the events of autumn 1979 for the situation of homosexuals in Sweden today.

Conclusion

Inspired by the Stonewall Riots in New York City 1969, a younger generation of gay activists within the RFSL, a rather inward-oriented and cautious organisation at the time, begun to demand a more outward-oriented and radical action programme under the label of gay liberation. The resistance involved, among other things, demonstrations, a gay “Liberation Week”, a calling-in-sick campaign and an “occupation” of the staircase at the NBHW. According to Westerholm, the latter campaign led to the removal of the classification of homosexuality as a mental disorder on 19 October 1979.

This article has revolved around the resistance strategies of the gay movement in 1979, while exploring reverse discourse as a resistance tactic and how this interacted with other forms of resistance. By revisiting the concept of reverse discourse, we suggest that humour and irony (as a serious and important form of resistance) form a complex rhetoric, which can challenge/reverse dominant perceptions. In this paper we have also displayed that reverse discourse tends to materialise as one strategy among many, which are tied together in (a) complex web(s) of resistance (activities) that can be composed by parliamentary, non-parliamentary, breaking and/or constructive strategies. In addition to this, we have also suggested that the meaning of the campaign has changed over time and that the resistance played out in the late-1970s, when (re)represented, might be even more effective today.

By adding to the concept of reverse discourse as resistance to power – as originally formulated by Foucault and later developed by others – and by including irony, humour and aspects of temporality, as well as applying this theoretical framework to the legal and epistemic battles around homosexuality in Sweden in 1979, we would like to suggest the following:

1. In some situations reverse discourse must be understood through the concept of humour and irony, which adds additional qualities to the concept.

2. Reverse discourse is best understood in close relation to the societal issue at stake and other resistance practices that are simultaneously played out.

3. Reverse discourse should be understood in relation to historical context and temporality.

Affirming these suggestions when exploring reverse discourse as constructive resistance enables a deeper understanding of the investigated phenomenon and its potential to change society. By the above analysis, this paper has theoretically added to the field of resistance as well as LGBTQ studies, by transcending the often too simplistic vernacular, including the unfortunate focus on resistance as being singular or multiple, now or then, organised or everyday and individual or collective.

Acknowledgement

We, the authors, gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Swedish Research Council, which has allowed us to undertake research in a programme titled “Resistance and its impact on Processes of Democracy” (project number: 2017-00881). This article is an integral part of this wider research programme. We would also like to express our sincere gratitude to our respondents and the anonymous reviewers for their very helpful comments.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Mikael Baaz

Mikael Baaz is a full Professor of International Law, an Associate Professor in Political Science and an Associate Professor in Peace and Conflict Studies. He works at the University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Baaz’s core research interest is various aspects of the international society, in particular international law, international criminal law, and resistance and social change. Together with professors Mona Lilja and Stellan Vinthagen, he has authored the book Researching Resistance and Social Change: A Critical Approach to Theory and Practice (Rowman and Littlefield, 2017).

Mona Lilja

Mona Lilja currently serves as a Professor of Peace and Development Research at the School of Global Studies, University of Gothenburg, Sweden. Lilja’s areas of interest are the linkages between resistance and social change, as well as the particularities – the character and emergence – of various forms of resistance. She is the author of the recently published book Constructive Resistance: Repetitions, Emotions, and Time (Rowman & Littlefield, 2021).

Notes

1 During the the Stonewall Riots in New York City, homosexuals and transgender persons fought back when the police became violent during a police raid on 28 June 1969 at the Stonewall Inn (a gay bar and recreational tavern) in the Greenwich Village of Manhattan.

2 In Swedish: ”Vi är arga, inte snälla, vi är homosexuella. Nu skall sjukdomsstäpeln bort, annars blir processen kort”.

3 In Swedish: “Slut på ångest, skam och kval. Hellre dö än blinormal”.