“I just want the day to come where loving her is normal” — Katrin Figge

Indonesian singer and songwriter Kai Mata realised, as a teenager in Jakarta, she liked women more than men – but her realisation was quickly followed by disillusionment.

“There seemed to be no support networks in place, and no one I knew in Indonesia was openly gay, bisexual – or anything but straight,” she recalls. “It felt so isolating and frightening. I grew to recognise the importance of visibility for minorities, and I have become a visible part of the LGBTQ+ community.”

Using her platform as a musician, Kai – who now lives in Bali – sings pride anthems and incorporates gay revelations in her mostly acoustic, folksy songs, inspired by the work of US country singer Kacey Musgraves, who is known for her progressive stance on gay issues.

Kai’s latest single, So Hard, is a plea for the acceptance of same-sex relationships, delivered in a synth-pop style and with witty lyrics: “No this isn’t just a phase/Doesn’t even work that way/You think you can turn me straight?/Well, maybe I can turn you gay/Oh, did I just cross a line?/Because you’ve been overstepping mine/It seems your masculinity/Suffers insecurity.”

Moving to Bali was a deliberate decision for the young musician – the predominantly Hindu island is known to be one of the most tolerant and open-minded places in Indonesia.

“That being said, we still face massive discrimination and deep-rooted homophobia,” the 22-year-old says. Indonesia does not criminalise same-sex relations at the national level, but strict Muslim sharia law is in use in the western province of Aceh. As well as criminalising drinking, gambling and adultery, sharia outlaws same-sex relations.

Aceh may be the most difficult place for gay and lesbian Indonesians to live, but activists say non-heterosexuals across the entire archipelago have been facing increasing hostility.

Hendri Yulius Wijaya, the author of Intimate Assemblages – The Politics of Queer Identities and Sexualities in Indonesia, says the nation’s vaguely worded pornography law is wide open to interpretation and has frequently been used to target the LGBT community.

“It doesn’t specifically outlaw sexual identities, but it justifies police arrests of gay people just for carrying condoms or pornographic materials with them,” he says. “It also justifies the banning of gay social networking applications.”

Kai Mata at the 2019 NYC Pride March. Photo courtesy of Ryan McGinley

In 2018, a national law criminalising same-sex relations was proposed in Indonesia, but it has not yet been passed. This February, members of Indonesia’s House of Representatives proposed a “family resilience” law, which defines homosexuality as deviant and requires families to report non-heterosexual relatives to the authorities for social, psychological and medical rehabilitation.

When Kai heard about the “family resilience” bill, she took to social media to oppose it. The number of her followers has grown steadily ever since – but the exposure has gone hand in hand with an increase in hate.

“I’d say on average it’s an equal amount of hateful comments to positive, though recently I’ve seen an influx of anti-LGBTQ+ hate speech spewed my way,” she says. “On most days, I simply brush it off, as internalising their words serves no purpose for my mission.

“I’d be lying if I say I’ve never teared up, being told I should be kicked out of my country, ‘cured’ through conversion therapy, or if all else fails, killed. But I carry on, because my message isn’t for the ones who incite bigotry and hate. Their hate shows me why I choose to love, for it seems like a much better, more fulfilling life I’ve chosen compared to theirs.”

Kai draws strength from her family and friends, whose support and encouragement has never wavered.

“I’m blessed with loving parents who are supportive of my love and see the merit in the path I’ve chosen,” she says. “And I have a foundation of support both internationally and within Indonesia, which lends an important hand in building the emotional and mental resilience to move forward.”

“Indonesia has a shortage of places to meet other LGBTQ+ folks unless you’re familiar with the more underground, private communities,” she adds, which is why Kai has made it a priority to ensure that all her performances are not only friendly to queers, but actively encourage them to attend.

Feminist activist, writer and producer Olin Monteiro met Kai when she was organising a women’s poetry slam at the 2019 Ubud Writers & Readers Festival in Bali, and she asked her to join as a guest musician.

“I was in awe of both her bravery and her music,” Monteiro says. “The best thing we can do for Kai is to openly support her, share her music and praise her for her courage. She needs to be positive and feel stronger in a loving environment.” A strategically targeted campaign is needed to help Indonesians understand issues of diversity and sexual orientation, Monteiro adds.

“LGBTQ+ campaigns gain more support from the younger generation, [not] the generations who now hold powerful positions in government,” she says. “It is important to reach the older generations as well because they are decision-makers, but unfortunately many of them are narrow-minded and haven’t been exposed to the idea of equality and diversity.”

Kai, for whom music has been a staple in her life since kindergarten, is concerned about the growing bigotry in Indonesia when it comes to sexual orientation.

“It’s like our nation has completely forgotten that our culture includes long-standing traditions of waria,” she says, referring to Indonesia’s community of transgender and transvestite women.

“Indonesia seems to be growing more divided and polarised, whether through political parties or religious views. Throughout history, we’ve seen political figures unite our country by demonising specific minority groups as reasons for anything negative that exists in our nation.”

Being an openly lesbian singer has put Kai in a difficult situation. Requests for interviews, speaking engagements and performances have grown in number, but her position as an LGBT artist makes it harder for her to be invited to some gigs and events.

“I often have to think about my safety, what safeguards I have in place in the case I’m in danger, and also how I can emotionally take care of myself amid the verbal lashings and the ever growing public eye in regards to my activism and music,” she says.

“When it comes to my music career, Indonesian musician and producer Rizal Abdul Hadi propelled me forward by pushing me to record my very first album in 2018, which was the leap of faith needed to be catapulted into this creative cacophony I call my journey.”

Giving up this journey is not an option for Kai, no matter how raucous the hate speech becomes. She remains encouraged by the messages she receives from Indonesians of all ages, telling her how much it means to them to finally have a queer musician to listen to.

“I want to ensure everyone knows they are valued, respected and loved. It’s a mission of mine to remind us all that regardless of our external differences, we can empathise and relate with the human experience: the bright lights to the shadows it casts, the darkest depths to the mountaintops, and the innocent beginnings to the inevitable ends.”

Of course, Kai adds, she doesn’t want to be called courageous or outspoken for simply admitting that she is a woman who loves another woman. “I just want the day to come where loving her is normal.”

Looking ahead, Kai has many goals – among them taking part in a pride march in Indonesia and organising more international tours.

“Pretty much every decision I make is for my overarching goal – to make sure we all feel seen, valued and loved,” she says. “I think a lot of the world’s problems can only be solved once we’re able to love ourselves and others. If we took more time to see through someone else’s eyes, we’d see humanity in its purest form: we all just want to be cherished and loved.”

This article was first published in the South China Morning Post on April 26, 2020.