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You Have to be Gay to Know God
"At about 5:20 pm on 31 December 2012, a colleague picked a steak knife from a cutlery tray. He yelled, ‘Angi-gay, mina!’ — I’m not gay! — and came at me with it." Siya Khumalo grew up in a Durban township where one sermon could whip up a lynch mob against those considered different. Drawing on personal experience - his childhood, life in the army, attending church, and competing in pageants - Khumalo explores being LGBTQI+ in South Africa today. In 'You Have to Be Gay to Know God', he takes us on a daring journey, exposing the interrelatedness of religion, politics and sex as the expectations of African cultures mingle with greed and colonial religion.
254 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 12, 2018
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374 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
May 27, 2019
I must confess to not having heard about Siya Khumalo before reading this book. The book did shout out to me when I first saw it at Exclusive Books, and I am glad that I read it. It is a telling reminder of how much South African literature has changed post-1994, and yet how much it still remains the same.
Decades after democracy, authors (and readers) are still debating race and the legacy of apartheid. What fascinates – and haunts – Khumalo though is the intersection of race, religion, sex, and politics. He tackles this subject in what can only be described in the form of an anti-biography.
I do not think I know Khumalo any better as a person after reading this. Much of the detail in a conventional biography is only paid lip service to, and it is hard at times to work out the actual chronology. What emerges is a dialectic between Khumalo and South African society, which makes for some dry and dense sections, particularly towards the end.
The chapter on his experiences at the SANDF in Lohatla in the Northern Cape will ring true to anyone who was conscripted (I initially ended up at 2 Field Engineer Regiment at Bethlehem in the Free State). Khumalo writes poignantly about his childhood and his own tortuous coming-out process, which is contrasted specifically against the patriarchy inherent in African culture and monotheistic religions.
Then, out of the blue, there is a chapter called ‘Love’. “I have loved many times” is the opening sentence. Khumalo then launches into an extended description of sexual intimacy with a single individual. No detail is spared. But instead of coming across as gay porn, which it definitely borders on, this is an incredibly beautiful and vulnerable piece of writing that haunts the reader until the confession right at the end. It shows how powerful a role sexual union plays in bonding a loving couple.
Khumalo then offers a dual analysis of the South African political scene pre- and post- Mbeki, offering his take on why JZ was so popular and infallible – not even rape, corruption charges, and State capture seemed to have fazed him. He also swings by the Garden of Eden to explain how the story of the fall of Adam and Eve actually began the systemic subjugation of women in Christianity, by rendering sexuality a subject of shame and interrogation.
Perhaps Khumalo’s writing is most powerful and angry when he tackles toxic masculinity in South African society, where the incidents of violence and rape against women and children remains unacceptably high. So where does gay rights fit into this picture, which Khumalo calls “the handmaiden of oppression”?
It is precisely because gay rights intersects with so many other issues such as race, sex, and religion that makes it such a powerful rallying call. Despite having it enshrined in the Constitution, the ruling ANC has gone on record as saying the issue is an ‘import’ from the West, that gays and lesbians cannot be perceived as ‘normal’, and that they have no reason to whinge or feel oppressed because they are all wealthy and privileged (white) citizens.
What about the gangs that rove the poverty-stricken and crumbling townships to ‘hunt down’ African lesbians? And how can you possibly come out as a proud African if you are black, poor, and unemployed? (Khumalo also has a go at the DA for using its ‘we are proudly gay-supporting’ as a Trojan Horse to secure its ‘liberal’ credentials.) It is against this context that Mbeki’s famous “I am an African” speech becomes so politically and socially explosive.
Seeing neither redress nor justice in the law, a considerable number of black families tapped into government corruption as one of their revenue streams. Their livelihoods depended on the unconstitutional amalgamation of powers and the cross-pollination of illegal favours across different arms of government. They took the neutered, decentralised state, and made it stand, masculinised. They took the Constitution, which was the castrated Freedom Charter embodied by the mellowed Nelson Mandela administration, and stuck a penis back on it.
Lo and behold, they’d created President Jacob Zuma, the subject of a 2012 painting named ‘The Spear [of the Nation]’ by Cape Town-based artist, Brett Murray. With him in power, this idea of gender equality and gay rights could be disparaged in the open.
Zuma, of course, was himself implicated in a rape scandal. Khumalo also references the horrific July 2013 incident when Duduzile Zozo was found murdered with a toilet brush shoved up her vagina. Hence I am sure this book is bound to generate a lot of debate, which is probably Khumalo’s intention.
We cannot claim to be living up to the ideals of our Constitution if women like Zozo can be murdered simply for their sexual preferences. Lingering in the background is the issue that women who can enjoy sex without men render the role of men meaningless. This institutionalised patriarchy is used to justify all sorts of horrors against some of our most defenceless citizens, our women and children, in the name of the state, the pulpit, and in the name of men. Khumalo’s rallying cry to us all, as victims and perpetrators alike, is an incendiary one: ‘SAY MY NAME!’
Decades after democracy, authors (and readers) are still debating race and the legacy of apartheid. What fascinates – and haunts – Khumalo though is the intersection of race, religion, sex, and politics. He tackles this subject in what can only be described in the form of an anti-biography.
I do not think I know Khumalo any better as a person after reading this. Much of the detail in a conventional biography is only paid lip service to, and it is hard at times to work out the actual chronology. What emerges is a dialectic between Khumalo and South African society, which makes for some dry and dense sections, particularly towards the end.
The chapter on his experiences at the SANDF in Lohatla in the Northern Cape will ring true to anyone who was conscripted (I initially ended up at 2 Field Engineer Regiment at Bethlehem in the Free State). Khumalo writes poignantly about his childhood and his own tortuous coming-out process, which is contrasted specifically against the patriarchy inherent in African culture and monotheistic religions.
Then, out of the blue, there is a chapter called ‘Love’. “I have loved many times” is the opening sentence. Khumalo then launches into an extended description of sexual intimacy with a single individual. No detail is spared. But instead of coming across as gay porn, which it definitely borders on, this is an incredibly beautiful and vulnerable piece of writing that haunts the reader until the confession right at the end. It shows how powerful a role sexual union plays in bonding a loving couple.
Khumalo then offers a dual analysis of the South African political scene pre- and post- Mbeki, offering his take on why JZ was so popular and infallible – not even rape, corruption charges, and State capture seemed to have fazed him. He also swings by the Garden of Eden to explain how the story of the fall of Adam and Eve actually began the systemic subjugation of women in Christianity, by rendering sexuality a subject of shame and interrogation.
Perhaps Khumalo’s writing is most powerful and angry when he tackles toxic masculinity in South African society, where the incidents of violence and rape against women and children remains unacceptably high. So where does gay rights fit into this picture, which Khumalo calls “the handmaiden of oppression”?
It is precisely because gay rights intersects with so many other issues such as race, sex, and religion that makes it such a powerful rallying call. Despite having it enshrined in the Constitution, the ruling ANC has gone on record as saying the issue is an ‘import’ from the West, that gays and lesbians cannot be perceived as ‘normal’, and that they have no reason to whinge or feel oppressed because they are all wealthy and privileged (white) citizens.
What about the gangs that rove the poverty-stricken and crumbling townships to ‘hunt down’ African lesbians? And how can you possibly come out as a proud African if you are black, poor, and unemployed? (Khumalo also has a go at the DA for using its ‘we are proudly gay-supporting’ as a Trojan Horse to secure its ‘liberal’ credentials.) It is against this context that Mbeki’s famous “I am an African” speech becomes so politically and socially explosive.
Seeing neither redress nor justice in the law, a considerable number of black families tapped into government corruption as one of their revenue streams. Their livelihoods depended on the unconstitutional amalgamation of powers and the cross-pollination of illegal favours across different arms of government. They took the neutered, decentralised state, and made it stand, masculinised. They took the Constitution, which was the castrated Freedom Charter embodied by the mellowed Nelson Mandela administration, and stuck a penis back on it.
Lo and behold, they’d created President Jacob Zuma, the subject of a 2012 painting named ‘The Spear [of the Nation]’ by Cape Town-based artist, Brett Murray. With him in power, this idea of gender equality and gay rights could be disparaged in the open.
Zuma, of course, was himself implicated in a rape scandal. Khumalo also references the horrific July 2013 incident when Duduzile Zozo was found murdered with a toilet brush shoved up her vagina. Hence I am sure this book is bound to generate a lot of debate, which is probably Khumalo’s intention.
We cannot claim to be living up to the ideals of our Constitution if women like Zozo can be murdered simply for their sexual preferences. Lingering in the background is the issue that women who can enjoy sex without men render the role of men meaningless. This institutionalised patriarchy is used to justify all sorts of horrors against some of our most defenceless citizens, our women and children, in the name of the state, the pulpit, and in the name of men. Khumalo’s rallying cry to us all, as victims and perpetrators alike, is an incendiary one: ‘SAY MY NAME!’
August 5, 2018
A timely and beautifully written book, full of sharp wit, brilliant commentary, intellectual and political challenge and touching personal experience. I am so glad he persevered to write this book. It's in three parts...
Part One: what it is like growing up gay, black and Christian in South Africa. It is such a painful split – both unfolding a passionate self emerging and “by definition” believing that it is wrong to be gay. Khumalo is lucid about the experience of his sexuality from the first pangs of piercing desire and fantasies to the hot satisfaction of consummating loving sexual relationships with men. And in the midst of lightness and joking, he reveals the deep pain of being seen as bad and other – and of doubting and blaming himself.
This in turn drives his theological passion for a redemptive love and acceptance that belongs to all, and his rage at the hypocrisy of forgiving heterosexual violence and abuse while condemning homosexual love.
Part Two was for me a bit of a digression into the celebrity life of the author as columnist, gay pageant winner and popular commentator. What stands out is both the fun and the edginess of life as a famous flaming gay. What I missed was the depth and reflectiveness that was so strongly and beautifully written into Part One.
Part Three works the theological and moral issues in a bit more detail. It’s filled with darting critiques well expressed through Khumalo’s razor-sharp mind and brilliant prose, yet sometimes I felt he dropped the intensity when following through to the consequences of his analyses. He works up to some sharp and fascinating final chapters drawing parallels between the corruption in the Jerusalem religious establishment at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, and the tangled mess of South African politics within and beyond the ANC of today.
While I am not well enough versed in Christian history and theology to address its finer points as he does, I found food for thought in some of his broader direction. Here’s how he builds on the understanding that racism is one familiar face of a comprehensive set of social constructs that combine to legitimate and perpetuate social and economic inequality:
He ties this back to the “support Zuma to the death” phenomenon especially amongst Zulu people: “we would rather die than find fault with our leader.”
In the last few chapters Khumalo goes further into a radical analysis of the neo-liberal shortcomings of South Africa’s constitution – and then makes the telling point that trashing the constitution for its imperfections and its liberalism could easily open the door to a far more repressive regime where minorities of all sorts including gay people are abused far more than under the current dispensation. And ultimately for Khumalo, “minorities … are everyone” – in the sense that an injury to one is an injury to all. Yes!
I am not sure I ever read the words of the title in the body of the book, but the core idea suffuses the entire book: a redemptive god of love welcomes all those who love and all those who move mountains in order to love. In some deep way I get it: Being gay [or oppressed in some way] helps a person to know God.
Part One: what it is like growing up gay, black and Christian in South Africa. It is such a painful split – both unfolding a passionate self emerging and “by definition” believing that it is wrong to be gay. Khumalo is lucid about the experience of his sexuality from the first pangs of piercing desire and fantasies to the hot satisfaction of consummating loving sexual relationships with men. And in the midst of lightness and joking, he reveals the deep pain of being seen as bad and other – and of doubting and blaming himself.
This in turn drives his theological passion for a redemptive love and acceptance that belongs to all, and his rage at the hypocrisy of forgiving heterosexual violence and abuse while condemning homosexual love.
Part Two was for me a bit of a digression into the celebrity life of the author as columnist, gay pageant winner and popular commentator. What stands out is both the fun and the edginess of life as a famous flaming gay. What I missed was the depth and reflectiveness that was so strongly and beautifully written into Part One.
Part Three works the theological and moral issues in a bit more detail. It’s filled with darting critiques well expressed through Khumalo’s razor-sharp mind and brilliant prose, yet sometimes I felt he dropped the intensity when following through to the consequences of his analyses. He works up to some sharp and fascinating final chapters drawing parallels between the corruption in the Jerusalem religious establishment at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, and the tangled mess of South African politics within and beyond the ANC of today.
While I am not well enough versed in Christian history and theology to address its finer points as he does, I found food for thought in some of his broader direction. Here’s how he builds on the understanding that racism is one familiar face of a comprehensive set of social constructs that combine to legitimate and perpetuate social and economic inequality:
For Khumalo, homophobia is “the handmaiden of all oppressions.” This is because he finds homophobia deeply linked to a fear of male vulnerability, and the promotion of male aggression. He sees many men and women preferring to uphold male aggression and defendedness as “the natural order” and so fearing and resisting acceptance and vulnerability. He also links it to the heterosexual male “Madonna/whore” complex.
The consequences around the world of leaders refusing to own vulnerability and accept otherness are plain to see. For Khumalo, the fear of these natural and normal parts of life and leadership drives homophobia at a deep level: being physically penetrated by a man is a powerful archetypal experience of receiving and being vulnerable to another person. He traces oppression of heterosexual women and gay men back to revulsion for the vulnerability of allowing and enjoying the experience of being sexually penetrated.
He ties this back to the “support Zuma to the death” phenomenon especially amongst Zulu people: “we would rather die than find fault with our leader.”
In the last few chapters Khumalo goes further into a radical analysis of the neo-liberal shortcomings of South Africa’s constitution – and then makes the telling point that trashing the constitution for its imperfections and its liberalism could easily open the door to a far more repressive regime where minorities of all sorts including gay people are abused far more than under the current dispensation. And ultimately for Khumalo, “minorities … are everyone” – in the sense that an injury to one is an injury to all. Yes!
I am not sure I ever read the words of the title in the body of the book, but the core idea suffuses the entire book: a redemptive god of love welcomes all those who love and all those who move mountains in order to love. In some deep way I get it: Being gay [or oppressed in some way] helps a person to know God.
Read
July 29, 2018~The English teacher had told the girls in our class, 'You must run away from a man until you catch him.' I wasn't a girl, but I liked men and I took great notes.~
~If religion, politics and sex were the three things that weren't spoken of in polite company, we were all dying of politeness.~
~'Boys will be boys' really means women are expected to keep patriarchy's tools sharpened by offering their bodies as whetstones: to keep patriarchy's archers competent by offering themselves for target practice. Then the patriarchy can co-opt women's bodies into military training and turn around to dump the blame on them for their rape. 'She wore a short skirt'...And when we fail to protect the LGBTI community, we fail to save anyone else from patriarchy's violence either.~
~When humans enthrone a probable rapist and trust in his impenetrability to make them impregnable, they are thrust into by its repercussions: his rapist impulse. When they surrender scapegoats on the altar of his homophobia and misogyny, they open the collective up for violation.~
~Randall Blamer, wrote of a time when Evangelical Christianity wasn't obsessed with abortion. Then evangelical leaders seized on abortion as a hot-button issue not for moral reasons, 'but as a rallying-cry to deny President Jimmy Carter a second term' because 'the anti-abortion crusade was more palatable than the religious right's real motive: protecting segregated schools.' . . . When push came to shove, the issue wasn't 'religious liberties' at all. It was good ol' racism. To this day, the majority of black people I meet don't think the homophobia I've experienced is connected to the racism they're oppressed by. But homophobia is to racism what appetisers are to mains.~
~The blasphemer who condemns gays in the name of God loves neither gays nor God. No one who hates his brother, whom he has seen, can claim to love God, whom he has not seen. For all we know, God could be lesbian.~
~Where there is a suicidal writer, there is faith that there will be a reader even when one hasn't appeared yet.~
~If religion, politics and sex were the three things that weren't spoken of in polite company, we were all dying of politeness.~
~'Boys will be boys' really means women are expected to keep patriarchy's tools sharpened by offering their bodies as whetstones: to keep patriarchy's archers competent by offering themselves for target practice. Then the patriarchy can co-opt women's bodies into military training and turn around to dump the blame on them for their rape. 'She wore a short skirt'...And when we fail to protect the LGBTI community, we fail to save anyone else from patriarchy's violence either.~
~When humans enthrone a probable rapist and trust in his impenetrability to make them impregnable, they are thrust into by its repercussions: his rapist impulse. When they surrender scapegoats on the altar of his homophobia and misogyny, they open the collective up for violation.~
~Randall Blamer, wrote of a time when Evangelical Christianity wasn't obsessed with abortion. Then evangelical leaders seized on abortion as a hot-button issue not for moral reasons, 'but as a rallying-cry to deny President Jimmy Carter a second term' because 'the anti-abortion crusade was more palatable than the religious right's real motive: protecting segregated schools.' . . . When push came to shove, the issue wasn't 'religious liberties' at all. It was good ol' racism. To this day, the majority of black people I meet don't think the homophobia I've experienced is connected to the racism they're oppressed by. But homophobia is to racism what appetisers are to mains.~
~The blasphemer who condemns gays in the name of God loves neither gays nor God. No one who hates his brother, whom he has seen, can claim to love God, whom he has not seen. For all we know, God could be lesbian.~
~Where there is a suicidal writer, there is faith that there will be a reader even when one hasn't appeared yet.~
July 4, 2025
How do you ignore a book with a title this provocative? I was eager to see where the author would go with this theme.
Part memoir, part political discourse, part theological musing: the author takes on a lot. It works at times. (Chapter 3 is exceptionally written, blending humorous observation with real empathy around death and funeral practices. Worth reading for this chapter alone.)
The big-picture reflections and personal storytelling were compelling, but the theology felt familiar, and the political discourse leaned didactic. The threads didn’t fully cohere, though the intersectional insights remain valuable. Racism, sexism, and homophobia are cousins, after all.
That said, this is a strong outing. Siya Khumalo is a talented writer. I’m curious and excited to see what he does next.
Part memoir, part political discourse, part theological musing: the author takes on a lot. It works at times. (Chapter 3 is exceptionally written, blending humorous observation with real empathy around death and funeral practices. Worth reading for this chapter alone.)
The big-picture reflections and personal storytelling were compelling, but the theology felt familiar, and the political discourse leaned didactic. The threads didn’t fully cohere, though the intersectional insights remain valuable. Racism, sexism, and homophobia are cousins, after all.
That said, this is a strong outing. Siya Khumalo is a talented writer. I’m curious and excited to see what he does next.
July 13, 2024
Actual rating 3.5/5. The first part of this book is so strong however, the third part was such a drag. The main issue is that the author does not support his arguments effectively. He makes statements and supports his statements with other statements but not actual evidence which makes it difficult to take his arguments seriously while I agree with the sentiments. Secondly the 2nd and 3rd parts are all over the place, the editing failed him in these sections. They just aren’t as tight as the first part.
The rating is really based on the strength of the first part which was a 5/5 in my view.
The rating is really based on the strength of the first part which was a 5/5 in my view.
June 2, 2020
Great book. You laugh out loud on the funny parts and cry tears on the sad parts. Well done to Siya for allowing us into his life, his thoughts, his fears and achievements. Beautyfully written.Siya Khumalo
July 2, 2025
I started this book with the preconceived notion that its contents would be mostly erotic but was pleasantly surprised at the depth and emotional breadth that it encompassed.
The tone of the book is witty, vulnerable and surprisingly politically informative. The only downside to it were the parts on the South African political landscape, it read more like an informal lecture on political science in those parts (but perhaps that was the author’s intention 🤔).
For the most part it was a pleasurable read which I devoured in less than 20 hours. A must read for anyone interested in the intersectionality between sexuality, politics (particularly South African politics), feminism, and racism.
The tone of the book is witty, vulnerable and surprisingly politically informative. The only downside to it were the parts on the South African political landscape, it read more like an informal lecture on political science in those parts (but perhaps that was the author’s intention 🤔).
For the most part it was a pleasurable read which I devoured in less than 20 hours. A must read for anyone interested in the intersectionality between sexuality, politics (particularly South African politics), feminism, and racism.
Want to read
June 8, 2023***Who sucked me in***
Noria of Chronicles of Noria on Youtube in their Queer African Authors You Should Be Reading This Pride Month/Part 1 [CC] video published on donderdag 8 juni 2023
It sounds fascinating because it deals with a topic that interconnect with so many other heavy stuff that impacts so many people. I hope to get some insight in someones life that's so different than my own... and maybe see if that's truly the case.
Noria of Chronicles of Noria on Youtube in their Queer African Authors You Should Be Reading This Pride Month/Part 1 [CC] video published on donderdag 8 juni 2023
It sounds fascinating because it deals with a topic that interconnect with so many other heavy stuff that impacts so many people. I hope to get some insight in someones life that's so different than my own... and maybe see if that's truly the case.
March 17, 2019
There are many reflections about this book. All- in - all I think it is a necessary book that deserves to be given attention. It is not a gay book. It is a memoir that reflects on the state of the nation, homophobia, sexism, religion and patriarchy. Siya’s thoughts on patriarchy are interesting.
I got to speak to Siya about this book, here is the episode: https://soundcloud.com/user-404664175...
I got to speak to Siya about this book, here is the episode: https://soundcloud.com/user-404664175...
February 3, 2024
I don’t feel the book did the title justice, sadly.
January 16, 2025
Simply brilliant 👏
A personal reflection on the intersectionality of race, religion, and sexual orientation in South Africa.
I loved reading every part of this book.
A personal reflection on the intersectionality of race, religion, and sexual orientation in South Africa.
I loved reading every part of this book.
January 26, 2025
What a brilliantly written book. Khumalo’s wit does not go unnoticed. He takes you on the journey of being a gay Black man growing up in a post apartheid South Africa.
September 19, 2022
Book Review of You Have to be Gay to know God by Siya Khumalo
You Have to be Gay to Know God. This book has a beautiful cover. Muhle uSiya. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful smile. Beautiful face. I imagined that the story told in this book would be beautiful too. Not free of heartbreak or struggle or sorrow. Just beautiful in the way it is told, beautiful in its honesty and courage to share the intimate details of one’s life, the challenges and the difficulties faced, and all the accompanying pain and joys. I was not wrong. You Have to be Gay to Know God is a beautiful work of immense vulnerability, deep intimacy and great intellectual rigour.
This book is part memoir, part sociopolitical commentary and part theological argument. Siya Khumalo constructs his narrative in a way that demonstrates the intersections of religion, politics, identity in the life of an individual – one who is particularly like him, Gay, Black and Zulu with a Christian background – and the way they move and live in society – contemporary South Africa. Khumalo tells the story of his own struggle with his sexual identity rooted in the (mis)construed conflict(s) of being Gay and African and Christian. You Have to be Gay to Know God then is a product of that process of searching for answers, responding to the questions that torment(ed) him and others in a similar predicament (of being Gay and Black and Christian); resolving the contradictions that threaten(ed) to tear him apart; and offering a way of seeing and understanding that affirms, altogether, life, love and faith.
My favourite part of this book is the memoir aspect of it. This is where Khumalo tells the story of his life, his upbringing and childhood, going to school and growing up in a Durban township. The tales of black family life, loss and struggle, adulthood and relationships, particularly between a mother and his son and a father and his son, and romances are dealt with in this book with detailed description. The boldness with with which Khumalo deals with issues of sex and intimacy is inspiring. And that he writes so boldly about gay intimacy in the same line and page as he deals with religious text and argument is unmistaken. Here, Khumalo writes against the use of religion for homophobia, to torment and to condemn. Chapter 6. Khumalo succeeds: the resistance against shame and erasure is intentional and clear. The pleasure is ours. Glory, haleluya!
Khumalo displays a deliberate commitment to vulnerability. We see vulnerability in this book as a window to the humanity of the author and those like him. Siya’s experience of friendship and romance with another boy in high school is perhaps one of the most vulnerable and emotionally intense moments in the book. Heartwarming and heartbreaking, all at the same time. Here, themes of queer love and grief emerge. Where does unacknowledged grief go? What of the love that is not affirmed? And who holds space for boys like Siya when loss happens to them too? These are the critical questions and themes that Siya engages and which demand from the reader engagement that is just as critical. Siya is without a doubt an intentional and intelligent writer.
Khumalo demonstrates an impressive intellectual rigour in his sociopolitical analysis but also in the theological depth of his argument(s). Siya deals with the latter extensively, after all the title of the book is You Have to be Gay to Know God. However, for me this was the less interesting part of the book. It was not for Khumalo’s total failure, no. If anything, the theological aspect of the book is well-researched, the construction of the argument demonstrates extensive engagement with theological perspectives on the sexuality question and the commitment to a theologically coherent and engaged argument is of academic proportions. It is just that for me there was nothing much to prove as far as the purpose and intent of this part of the book was concerned. But also the way this part of the book’s argument was executed, academic-style and theologically extensive, was not particularly interesting and absorbing for me as the other parts – memoir and sociopolitical commentary. This part of Khumalo’s argument, in the way that it is executed, could be more interesting to academics, religious scholars or theologians, or readers who are interested in the topic of being gay and black and Christian, as is executed here, for themselves or others. I could’ve skipped most of the in-depth theological academic argument and I would have understood still that Siya is Gay and he knows God. This, for me, is a sufficient conclusion: “No one who hates his brother, whom he has seen, can claim to love God, whom he has not seen. For all we know, God could be lesbian.” Beautiful.
You Have to be Gay to Know God is overall an important work, written with inspiring boldness and immense vulnerability. “This book is your and my Faith. We made this baby together.” – Siya Khumalo. You Have to be Gay to Know God is truly ours. Get it.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ 3.5/5
You Have to be Gay to Know God. This book has a beautiful cover. Muhle uSiya. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful smile. Beautiful face. I imagined that the story told in this book would be beautiful too. Not free of heartbreak or struggle or sorrow. Just beautiful in the way it is told, beautiful in its honesty and courage to share the intimate details of one’s life, the challenges and the difficulties faced, and all the accompanying pain and joys. I was not wrong. You Have to be Gay to Know God is a beautiful work of immense vulnerability, deep intimacy and great intellectual rigour.
This book is part memoir, part sociopolitical commentary and part theological argument. Siya Khumalo constructs his narrative in a way that demonstrates the intersections of religion, politics, identity in the life of an individual – one who is particularly like him, Gay, Black and Zulu with a Christian background – and the way they move and live in society – contemporary South Africa. Khumalo tells the story of his own struggle with his sexual identity rooted in the (mis)construed conflict(s) of being Gay and African and Christian. You Have to be Gay to Know God then is a product of that process of searching for answers, responding to the questions that torment(ed) him and others in a similar predicament (of being Gay and Black and Christian); resolving the contradictions that threaten(ed) to tear him apart; and offering a way of seeing and understanding that affirms, altogether, life, love and faith.
My favourite part of this book is the memoir aspect of it. This is where Khumalo tells the story of his life, his upbringing and childhood, going to school and growing up in a Durban township. The tales of black family life, loss and struggle, adulthood and relationships, particularly between a mother and his son and a father and his son, and romances are dealt with in this book with detailed description. The boldness with with which Khumalo deals with issues of sex and intimacy is inspiring. And that he writes so boldly about gay intimacy in the same line and page as he deals with religious text and argument is unmistaken. Here, Khumalo writes against the use of religion for homophobia, to torment and to condemn. Chapter 6. Khumalo succeeds: the resistance against shame and erasure is intentional and clear. The pleasure is ours. Glory, haleluya!
Khumalo displays a deliberate commitment to vulnerability. We see vulnerability in this book as a window to the humanity of the author and those like him. Siya’s experience of friendship and romance with another boy in high school is perhaps one of the most vulnerable and emotionally intense moments in the book. Heartwarming and heartbreaking, all at the same time. Here, themes of queer love and grief emerge. Where does unacknowledged grief go? What of the love that is not affirmed? And who holds space for boys like Siya when loss happens to them too? These are the critical questions and themes that Siya engages and which demand from the reader engagement that is just as critical. Siya is without a doubt an intentional and intelligent writer.
Khumalo demonstrates an impressive intellectual rigour in his sociopolitical analysis but also in the theological depth of his argument(s). Siya deals with the latter extensively, after all the title of the book is You Have to be Gay to Know God. However, for me this was the less interesting part of the book. It was not for Khumalo’s total failure, no. If anything, the theological aspect of the book is well-researched, the construction of the argument demonstrates extensive engagement with theological perspectives on the sexuality question and the commitment to a theologically coherent and engaged argument is of academic proportions. It is just that for me there was nothing much to prove as far as the purpose and intent of this part of the book was concerned. But also the way this part of the book’s argument was executed, academic-style and theologically extensive, was not particularly interesting and absorbing for me as the other parts – memoir and sociopolitical commentary. This part of Khumalo’s argument, in the way that it is executed, could be more interesting to academics, religious scholars or theologians, or readers who are interested in the topic of being gay and black and Christian, as is executed here, for themselves or others. I could’ve skipped most of the in-depth theological academic argument and I would have understood still that Siya is Gay and he knows God. This, for me, is a sufficient conclusion: “No one who hates his brother, whom he has seen, can claim to love God, whom he has not seen. For all we know, God could be lesbian.” Beautiful.
You Have to be Gay to Know God is overall an important work, written with inspiring boldness and immense vulnerability. “This book is your and my Faith. We made this baby together.” – Siya Khumalo. You Have to be Gay to Know God is truly ours. Get it.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ 3.5/5
August 28, 2020
3.5 ⭐️
“I don’t share these stories about my colleagues for judgement’s sake. When we weren’t whipping out knives or racial slurs at one another, we were developing a shared sense of unconditional acceptance. It was what it was.”
This was an enjoyable read, it questioned so much in new ways and you could see a lot of thought and research was put into it.
Siya is a formidable writer and clearly a genius, so some concepts went over my head whenever you became technical. I do think he could turn some of his concepts into fictional stories that could be global bestsellers that could enable a generation to change their views on some pretty key concepts.
The title controversial? If you’re religious or a bigot? Yeah. The content, however, is enjoyable regardless of your beliefs. I found myself unable to put this book down especially when Siya would tell us his own stories of his childhood, time in the military and falling in love.
There was a lot of graphic sex but not in a gross, creepy way. I think it’s a huge step towards normalizing all sex. How many shows and movies have heterosexual sex that we watch with our parents (uncomfortably? Yes but not once did your folks switch off the TV which I suspect homosexual sex might not have been taken as “lightly”)? I found it to be informative and done in a tasteful way.
I did however find myself struggling when he become technical with politics or religion, and I found myself lost.
There was a lot of content that I believe he should ween out of this book and create fictional versions that would bring his thesis to life in an easier way to digest and comprehend.
This was further validated when we met him for our club meeting and he explained some of his themes and I understood them better than they had been expressed in the book. But I do prefer Fiction to Non-Fiction 🤷🏾♀️
This is a book that I believe ALL South Africans should read, especially if you are Christian.
“I don’t share these stories about my colleagues for judgement’s sake. When we weren’t whipping out knives or racial slurs at one another, we were developing a shared sense of unconditional acceptance. It was what it was.”
This was an enjoyable read, it questioned so much in new ways and you could see a lot of thought and research was put into it.
Siya is a formidable writer and clearly a genius, so some concepts went over my head whenever you became technical. I do think he could turn some of his concepts into fictional stories that could be global bestsellers that could enable a generation to change their views on some pretty key concepts.
The title controversial? If you’re religious or a bigot? Yeah. The content, however, is enjoyable regardless of your beliefs. I found myself unable to put this book down especially when Siya would tell us his own stories of his childhood, time in the military and falling in love.
There was a lot of graphic sex but not in a gross, creepy way. I think it’s a huge step towards normalizing all sex. How many shows and movies have heterosexual sex that we watch with our parents (uncomfortably? Yes but not once did your folks switch off the TV which I suspect homosexual sex might not have been taken as “lightly”)? I found it to be informative and done in a tasteful way.
I did however find myself struggling when he become technical with politics or religion, and I found myself lost.
There was a lot of content that I believe he should ween out of this book and create fictional versions that would bring his thesis to life in an easier way to digest and comprehend.
This was further validated when we met him for our club meeting and he explained some of his themes and I understood them better than they had been expressed in the book. But I do prefer Fiction to Non-Fiction 🤷🏾♀️
This is a book that I believe ALL South Africans should read, especially if you are Christian.
December 29, 2020
Check my video review here: https://youtu.be/duaT9tgsUh0
Overall, this book - while meant to be a memoir - did not deliver. While the topics itself are both important and interesting, its writing style is very inconsistent. It starts in a typical memoir fashion, but switches half way to a more journalistic/essay monograph. It has far too many end notes that break the flow of the text, especially if one is not familiar with specific issues and events in South African history...
I would recommend this book only to those who are very specifically interested in a deep exploration of the topics, rather than a memoir...
Overall, this book - while meant to be a memoir - did not deliver. While the topics itself are both important and interesting, its writing style is very inconsistent. It starts in a typical memoir fashion, but switches half way to a more journalistic/essay monograph. It has far too many end notes that break the flow of the text, especially if one is not familiar with specific issues and events in South African history...
I would recommend this book only to those who are very specifically interested in a deep exploration of the topics, rather than a memoir...
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May 15, 2019Good
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