Gender, Sexuality, & The Environment: The Rise Of Homegrown Queer Ecology

For centuries, queerness has been labeled as 'unnatural', an anomaly that doesn’t fit into the neat 'girl-boy' boxes society has built. The stigma surrounding queer identities runs deep, embedded in everything from cultural norms to scientific studies. But here’s the paradox: nature, in all its diversity, is incredibly queer. The rigid lines drawn between what is considered 'natural' and 'unnatural' begin to blur when we look closely at the ecosystems around us. The emerging field of queer ecology embraces this idea, challenging our understanding of both nature and queerness.

The term 'queer ecology' combines queer theory and ecological science, questioning the traditional, heteronormative assumptions that have coloured our view of the natural world. Canadian scholar Catriona Sandilands popularized the concept in her 2010 book Queer Ecologies: Sex, Nature, Politics, Desire, which explores how deeply ingrained these biases are. Queer ecology asks us to rethink the way we categorize life and behavior, urging us to move beyond binary thinking, especially the idea that anything outside heterosexuality is somehow deviant or aberrant. The truth is, the natural world is teeming with examples of queer behavior, and it’s time we took notice.

Take, for example, the famous penguin couple Roy and Silo, two male chinstrap penguins from New York’s Central Park Zoo who formed a pair bond and even adopted a chick. Their relationship lasted for over five years, and yet stories like theirs are often dismissed as anomalies in nature. But Roy and Silo are far from unique. More recent studies have found evidence of same-sex relationships in over 1,500 species, from penguins to red flour beetles.

Queerness in nature isn't limited to just homosexuality. Did you know that when a dominant female in a clownfish group dies, the dominant male changes sex to become the female? For some human beings, three sexes is one too many. Imagine their response when they find out that the Schizophyllum commune, AKA the split gill fungus has more than 28,000 sexes. Despite this wealth of evidence, queer behavior in the natural world is still often swept under the rug or viewed as an oddity.

Why does this matter? Because these biased interpretations of nature have serious consequences. In ecology, when queer behavior is ignored or misinterpreted, it limits our understanding of how species interact and evolve. Queer ecology, by contrast, opens up a new world of scientific exploration.

The clownfish mentioned previously exhibit a trait that helps them maintain reproductive success even in dire circumstances. Similarly, the female Laysan albatrosses, facing a decline in male partners, have begun forming same-sex pairings to raise chicks. These partnerships are essential for the survival of their colonies, especially as they relocate to higher ground in response to rising sea levels. If we were to cling to traditional, heteronormative frameworks, we’d miss the ecological importance of such fluidity. The ability to adapt and evolve is key to survival, and many species, including humans, have benefited from this flexibility.

Moreover, embracing queer ecology isn’t just about redefining how we see nature, it’s about reshaping our relationship with it. The gender binary has real climate implications. For too long, humans have seen themselves as separate from, or superior to, the natural world. This hubris emerges as a manifestation of masculinity in many ways. To be a man is to conquer. To conquer is to do whatever it takes to have the biggest house, car, and other social assets. The same disregard can be found in how corporations operate with an indifference towards the planet. Their intent is not preservation but dominance.

By acknowledging the fluidity and queerness inherent in nature, and ourselves, because we are part of nature too, we open up the possibility of a deeper connection with the environment that is more nourishing; more symbiotic and less parasitic. This connection, in turn, could inform more compassionate and inclusive approaches to both conservation and social justice.

In India, authors have also explored queer ecology in their narratives, highlighting the intersection between nature, gender, and oppression. Take Amruta Patil's Kari for example. Through eco-semiotics, the novel draws on symbols from nature to emphasize the link between environmental exploitation and the marginalization of queer individuals. The story frames nature not just as a setting, but as a reflection of the characters’ struggles, demonstrating how both queer identities and ecological systems are sidelined in dominant discourses.

In Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar's My Father’s Garden, the concept of queer ecology is further expanded by drawing on Indigenous Adivasi beliefs. The novel, set in Jharkhand, illustrates how Indigenous communities view nature through a lens that includes queerness. The Adivasi Sarnaistic knowledge system in the story highlights a symbiotic relationship between humans and the natural world, rejecting binary views of both gender and nature. This intersectionality reveals a deep connection between ecological balance and social justice, where Indigenous and queer perspectives align to challenge colonial ideologies.

All of which is to say: if bisexual bonobos and dolphins aren't othered by their peers, are we really the superior species? Is bigotry the only thing that makes us sentient? At its core, queer ecology is about breaking down the binaries that have long restricted our thinking. From sexuality, gender, caste and class to something frivolous like the cereal before/after milk debate: to consider one thing to be natural and other to be unnatural is something that's strictly man-made. Nature, as queer ecology shows us, is infinitely more complex, diverse, and non-dichotomous than we’ve been led to believe. Embracing this queerness is extending acceptance and grace to communities, identitie,s and values that are subversive and enforces the belief that everyone should be allowed to exist as they are.

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