Opinion: Weaponising “Right of Admission” Against Queer Bodies

 

I have a vivid memory of a childhood Sunday trip to the beach, where I was sent to a shop in Humewood (in then Port Elizabeth, now Gqeberha) to buy a loaf of bread. At the counter, the man told me he couldn’t sell to me. I remember feeling confused, standing in the warm scent of freshly baked bread just out of reach.

When I told my mother, her silence spoke volumes. I couldn’t fully grasp the weight of it then, but her eyes reflected a deep sadness and a quiet acceptance of a harsh reality, leaving me with a sense of humiliation that lingered long after that moment.

We found bread elsewhere. Driving through Humewood, I saw golden sand meeting the sparkling Indian Ocean, filled with white people enjoying themselves. As we continued, the landscape grew rugged, and the faces more familiar, like ours.

From Apartheid-Era Exclusion to Today’s Queerphobia

Beaches were segregated, and businesses and communities upheld “the right of admission,” creating barriers that directly impacted our presence. This wasn’t just an abstract concept; it was a painful reality that marginalised many. That’s what apartheid was, a reminder of how deeply stories of exclusion still shape us.

Now, in 2025, we stand at a crossroads that feels all too familiar. Just over a week ago, queerphobic Gqeberha shop owner Dawood Lagardien made an appearance at the East London High Court, a moment filled with tension and uncertainty.

The court appearance also marked 100 days since the tragic assassination of Imam Muhsin Hendricks, an openly gay Imam who worked tirelessly for acceptance.

His loss is deeply felt, especially in Gqeberha where in 2023 Lagardien erected a hateful sign: “LGBTQ NOT WELCOME AT LA GARDI. SAVE OUR CHILDREN. RIGHT OF ADMISSION RESERVED.”

When Private Exclusion Has Public Consequences

Lagardien’s sign evokes fear and exclusion, reminding us how crucial it is to foster kindness and compassion in our communities.

Lagardien believes it’s his right to express himself. It’s private property, and he sees it as protected speech. But history teaches us that “private” exclusions have public consequences.

As I read through the comments on articles discussing the case, one argument screamed louder than the rest: “Right of Admission Reserved.” Many also expressed support for Lagardien’s actions, framing them as a “moral stand.” Others echoed the same old arguments that portray LGBTQIA+ individuals as threats, suggesting they corrupt children or defy religious beliefs.

It struck me deeply, as it brought back memories of a time when people like me were marginalised, when we couldn’t even access basic rights or spaces that others took for granted. When people like me couldn’t buy bread at certain shops or couldn’t swim where others swam.

Our Constitution Is Not a Weapon

What’s terrifying is how easily “right of admission” for LGBTQ+ people has become the new “Whites Only.” Under our Constitution, the very document born from the ashes of apartheid, this kind of discrimination can have no place. Section 9 guarantees our right to equality, Section 10 safeguards our dignity, Section 15 supports our freedom of religion, and Section 16 ensures our freedom of expression.

Each of these rights is vital and interconnected; they should not be viewed as competing against one another. Lagardien’s invocation of religion to justify exclusion does not grant him a free pass to dehumanise others. In the case of SAHRC vs. Dawood Lagardien, the SAHRC legal team made it clear: This case is not about “religious freedom.”

According to media reports, the SAHRC is seeking an order directing Lagardien to issue a public apology and pay R500,000 penalty, as well as an order referring the matter to the NPA for criminal investigation. This underscores the seriousness of the situation and the commitment to accountability and justice.

A Dangerous Precedent That Threatens Us All

But here’s what keeps me up at night: If he wins, what happens next?

A victory for Dawood Lagardien could set a dangerous precedent empowering businesses, sports clubs, stadiums, shopping centres across South Africa to exclude LGBTQIA+ individuals from entering their premises.

Such a ruling could pave the way for further discrimination, allowing women, differently abled individuals, members of a political party or people of a specific race or religion to be barred from accessing essential facilities on religious grounds or beliefs.

This scenario raises alarming echoes of the Apartheid era, where black South Africans faced systemic exclusion from public spaces. We must recognise the grave implications of this case for the fabric of our society and the fundamental rights of all citizens.

For LGBTQIA+ South Africans this case is existential. We are already fighting to survive a country that violates us quietly, and systematically. A victory for Lagardien would not just embolden bigots; it would be a legal green light to erase us from public life.

Struggles are deeply interconnected

As much as this is about the law, it’s also about language. The words we use influence our reality. The phrase “save our children” may seem harmless, but history proves otherwise. These words have been used to justify harmful policies like Section 28 in the UK, attack drag queens in the US, and enact anti-queer legislation in the Global South.

The “children” being saved are never queer children. The ones being “protected” are not those who grow up concealing their identities, witnessing violence, mockery, or even death against people like them.

Intersectional feminism helps us understand that our struggles are deeply interconnected. It reveals how identities such as queerness, Blackness, gender, class, religion, and disability are not isolated experiences but complex layers of power, pain, and resistance that overlap.

As a Black queer Muslim, I navigate a landscape that offers both freedom and fear. This is not just about my right to exist it’s about how my right to exist is always contested, conditional, and debated in courtrooms. This underscores the ongoing fight for recognition and dignity for all of us.

I want to live in a South Africa where my humanity isn’t at the mercy of a sign, a judge, or a business owner’s beliefs. I want to enter a shop and buy bread without questioning my welcome. We need to stop pretending that “rights” are neutral when they are wielded as weapons.

Pride Is a Protest — and a Promise

As we mark Pride Month, let’s be unequivocally clear: Pride transcends mere rainbows, parades, or commercialised merchandise. It is not about brand campaigns or corporate allyship. Pride is a powerful act of protest. It embodies remembrance. It signifies survival.

Pride is a bold political declaration affirming our existence, fully, intersectionally, and joyfully, in a world that seeks to erase us.

This June, let us reclaim the essence of Pride, demanding justice, and fiercely honouring those we’ve lost, like Imam Muhsin Hendricks, through meaningful action. Remember, in our fight for queer liberation, we are advocating for a just world where everyone has the right to exist, to love, to belong.

 

Sikhander Coopoo is a black, queer, Muslim intersectional feminist with backgrounds in gender, andragogy and local governance. He is a humxn rights defender and social justice activist at heart. Sikhander serves on the Gender and Sexuality Alliance, Buffalo City committee and writes in his own capacity.