As a Catholic fundamentalist nation, the Democratic Republic of Congo is very conservative, politically speaking. Having grown up a quiet liberal in an overwhelmingly conservative town, I’m pretty good at holding my tongue when I disagree politically with my friends. When I traveled to the Congo the summer before my sophomore year at Wellesley, this skill once again became useful. I wasn’t about to reveal to my new Congolese friends that I’m gay, but even admitting my support of queer rights earned me stricken responses like, “I’ll pray for you,” and “you’ll go to hell.” Nevertheless, I’d have felt disloyal to my values if I’d refrained entirely from advocating for my beliefs, so I found myself on the losing end of many political debates, struggling to stay afloat with my clumsy French. Try as we might, they could not fathom my views, and I could not fathom theirs.

Queerness has been adamantly discouraged in the Congo politically, socially, and historically. Aggressive heteronormativity is even built into the Congolese Constitution—article 40 states that “all individuals have the right to marry a person of their choice of the opposite sex.” It’s nice to let people choose who they marry, I can appreciate that—but true choice doesn’t include stingy stipulations or impose limitations. Biased though I may be, to me sex is sex, love is love, and bodies are bodies. Why criminalize queer existence?

On top of that, anti-LGBTQ* activists have pushed for even more stringent limitations on sexual conduct in the Congo, pressing to penalize homosexuality and zoophilia (because they’re basically the same thing, right?). Proposed bills have included punishments like a fine of 200,000 Congolese francs or up to five years in jail for these “counter-nature acts.” The most recent bill, spearheaded by Steve Mbikayi, a member of parliament, hopes to render both homosexual acts and transgenderism entirely illegal. A recent article published by Think Africa Press explains the details of Mbikayi’s proposed bill: “The proposed penalty for engaging in a homosexual act is 3 to 5 years in prison and a fine of 1 million Congolese francs; while a transgender person would face the same fine and a jail sentence of 3 to 12 years.” What is it that makes queerness such a grave criminal offense?

Mbikayi has an answer to that question: “In relation to our culture,” he says, “homosexuality is an ‘anti-value’ that comes from abroad.” His logic isn’t arbitrary—37 African countries already have sanctions in place concretely banning homosexuality and other queer lifestyles, legislating against the LGBTQ* acceptance supported abroad in order to preserve the religious righteousness of their nations. But, if you ask me, as much as everyone is entitled to their own moral values, no one is entitled to legislate the moral values—or “anti-values”—of others. That’s the central flaw in Mbikayi’s logic: his definition of Congolese culture is all too narrow and not entirely Congolese. Homosexuality is seen as an “anti-value” in the Congo primarily as a result of colonization. With Belgium’s aggressive foray into the Congo in the 1870s came the ideological imposition of Catholicism; today, most Congolese are Catholic fundamentalists and, therefore, not so LGBTQ* friendly.

However, homosexuality is not an inherent “anti-value” according to Congolese tradition. An article on gay life in the Congo relates that “in Africa, [homosexuality] has often been associated with magic and mystical practices.” As reported by a traveler in Kasai, a district in the center of the Congo, in 1977, those on the hunt for diamonds would often visit small groups of homosexuals, as it was purported to bring good luck. So, really, homosexuality is not an anti-value in relation to Congolese culture at all; this borrowed homophobia is, rather, an anti-value to colonialist Belgian culture circa 1870.

Many times since my trip, I have considered the double-edged implications of my silence. I worried that it would be disrespectful to argue with the dominant attitudes of modern Congolese culture, but I also didn’t want to partake in the fearful silencing of queer people in the Congo. In the end, I chose to stay neutral, smiling, silent, not wanting to take on a battle that wasn’t mine to fight. All I can do is support the Congolese LGBTQ* activists already fighting for justice in the Congo. Maybe they’ll begin to win over the Congolese population, and maybe queer Congolese will find a more welcoming home in their own nation. Maybe Mbikayi’s bill won’t pass.