- A:
- Recently they [my gay cousin and his boyfriend] had a kind of wedding. Where they strengthened their commitment. We were out on Margaret Island,1 there were some hundred of us. […] They asked a friend to give a speech, kinda substitute the priest, to speak about them and their relationship as he knows them. And then I don’t know, we let up these lighted balloons into the sky, we almost set fire on some trees.
- BDR:
- Oh, so you mean there were candles lit inside these balloons?
- A:
- Yes, kinda like that. It has some name too, but they’re no longer [used], now they’re banned. Besides [laughs], it was so soon after the wedding that they got banned that…
- BDR:
- You mean perhaps this was the reason?
- A:
- Maybe, yes, because really we sent up I don’t know how many into the sky. […] And it was really scary to see how this thing was nearing the leaves of the trees. So it was really scary. But we didn’t set fire on anything. (Anikó, interview)
This short account of a gay commitment ceremony in many ways symbolizes for me several themes that I encountered during my research. Though same-sex couples are not allowed to marry in Hungary, Anikó calls the ceremony a wedding, a foundational ritual of kinship, which is also ‘a major site for the installation and maintenance of the institution of heterosexuality’ (Ingraham 2006: 197); by celebrating the commitment of a same-sex couple as a wedding, participants subverted dominant understandings of the ritual and carved out a space for the same-sex couple in a country which constitutionally limits the scope of marriage to heterosexual couples. While celebrating a private commitment, the ritual took place in a public space literally in the heart of the capital, an illustration of how same-sex commitment ceremonies bridge the gap between public and private (Lewin 1998). Another connection to the public sphere is the fact that the balloons were banned soon afterward (whether or not as a result of this ceremony), which is another way the law restricts practices related to kinship. The presence of Anikó and other heterosexuals at the ceremony connects the LGBTQ community with the family of origin and shows that heterosexual kin actively participate in extending (as well as limiting) the possibilities of same-sex couples.
Same-sex commitment ceremonies are seen as the classic example where the family of origin is often (though sometimes reluctantly) involved in claiming equality for LGBTQ people (Glass 2014; Lewin 1998). Most of the stories discussed in this book, however, describe much more ordinary events: visiting relatives, catsitting, or helping with the dishes after a family dinner. If we regard kinship as performative (Butler 2000; Sahlins 2013), the practices of families of origin with regard to same-sex couples tell us more about their attitudes than focus group research exploring their opinions (like Cappellato and Manganella 2014). As we will see, non-heterosexuals2 themselves deduce their family’s attitude toward their sexual orientation more from what they do than from what they say (if indeed they say anything at all). At the same time, I also acknowledge discourses as an important site of performing and claiming inclusion and exclusion. Therefore, throughout this book we will see a dynamic interplay of discourses and practices in families and beyond.
The focus of this book is the relationship between same-sex couples and their families of origin. Based on ethnographic research (semi-structured interviews, participant observation, and analysis of written, especially online sources), I will argue that the nature of this relationship is strongly connected to the way the participants (heterosexual and non-heterosexual alike) interpret and enact the notion of kinship. Weston (1991) suggests that coming out to the family of origin is a test of kinship ties on both parts. I would add that beyond coming out, the way the same-sex couple and the family of origin continue to interact and perceive each other also reveals what they think about kinship. The notions of family transmitted through mainstream discourses, which in Hungary are strongly heteronormative, need to be reinterpreted if one is to accept the possibility of same-sex couples within the kinship network. Through this process, families get first-hand experience of intimate citizenship and the agency to claim it.
This book is the result of over 10 years of fieldwork and, overlapping with it, six years of doctoral study. During this time, the socio-political context changed enormously. My first interviews were made in the mid-2000s, before the world economic crisis, when Hungary had a Socialist government and the LGBTQ community was looking forward to the introduction of registered partnership law, which they hoped would provide their relationships equal recognition with those of heterosexuals. The law did come into force but, as I will explain in Chapter 3, with serious limitations on parenting rights. When I started my Ph.D. at the Central European University, Viktor Orbán’s right-wing nationalist FIDESZ 3 party had just come into power. Their now over 8-year rule has brought important changes into Hungarian society, including the strengthening of neoliberalist policies and economy (Gregor and Kováts 2018), the propagation of traditional gender roles (Kováts and Pető 2017), attacks against civil society and foreign institutions (including my alma mater), and the aggressive scapegoating of immigrants (Lehotai 2017) as well as internal minorities like the homeless (Ámon 2019) and the LGBTQ community. Orbán has become infamous in the EU for his anti-democratic policies, many of which he has copied from other right-wing leaders in the post-Soviet region: the extension of state control over virtually all media from Russian president Vladimir Putin (Edenborg 2017) and the framing of our country as the defender of true Christian values against the immorality of the EU from Polish nationalists (Graff 2006).4 While his ambivalent attitudes to the EU and the sometimes extreme measures he takes to consolidate his power make him figure strongly in the news and on community websites worldwide, anthropological research can also reveal how his regime affects those who live under it, especially the ones whose sexual orientation and family forms are seen as incompatible with FIDESZ’s definition of family. It is increasingly difficult to make such voices heard in Hungary; I hope that by writing this book, I can contribute to their visibility.
Intimate Citizenship, Kinship, and Agency
My main lens for exploring family formations that include same-sex couples is the concept of intimate citizenship. The expression itself was invented by Plummer, who used it to mean the possibility of decisions, access, and choices related to the body and intimacy (Plummer 2003). Thus, individual choices are emphasized rather than the constraints put on individuals by the various social spaces they inhabit. Some later scholars, on the other hand, focus on these constraints rather than individual agency (e.g., Chateauvert 2008). Most authors take a middle way, using intimate citizenship to describe how intimate decisions and practices are intertwined with state and public policies (Lind 2010; Oleksy 2009). For these scholars, the issue is basically the relationship between the individual and the state. However, if citizenship is about belonging, the state is not the only community that may become its site, neither is it the only force that can curtail it. A more encompassing definition of intimate citizenship by Roseneil acknowledges agency and limitation as well as different sorts of communities that might be involved. In her view, full intimate citizenship is ‘the freedom and ability to construct ...