Long before modern debates about gender identity reached Indonesia, the Bugis people of South Sulawesi had already developed one of the most complex and spiritually grounded gender systems in the world. At its sacred center stand the bissu—ritual priests whose power comes not from choosing between male or female, but from embodying all genders at once. Neither metaphor nor social eccentricity, the bissu are living expressions of a cosmology where balance, not binary, is the organizing principle of the universe.
The origins of the bissu lie in the ancient Bugis kingdoms, centuries before Islam spread through Sulawesi. In these early polities, bissu served as royal priests, court advisers, and guardians of sacred regalia known as arajang. Their authority was rooted in the Bugis creation epic, La Galigo, one of the longest literary works in the world. In its verses, divine beings descend from the heavens to establish order on earth, and harmony is achieved only when masculine and feminine forces are perfectly balanced. The bissu, embodying male and female, human and divine, were seen as uniquely capable of mediating between worlds.
Bugis society traditionally recognizes five gender categories: oroané (men), makunrai (women), calalai (female-bodied people in masculine social roles), calabai (male-bodied people in feminine roles), and bissu. Unlike the others, bissu are not defined primarily by anatomy or sexuality. Some are intersex, some transgender, some gender-nonconforming, but what truly defines a bissu is a spiritual calling. This calling must be recognized by elders and confirmed through initiation and ritual training. To be incomplete in gender is to be incomplete in ritual power; only those who embody all genders can serve the spirits fully.
Visually and ceremonially, bissu are striking. During rituals they wear elaborate silk garments, layered sarongs, and ornate headdresses that deliberately blend masculine and feminine elements. Their appearance signals cosmic wholeness rather than personal expression. One of the most dramatic rituals they perform is Ma’giri, a trance ceremony in which a bissu becomes possessed by divine forces and demonstrates spiritual invulnerability, sometimes pressing a kris dagger against their body without harm. For believers, this is not spectacle but evidence that the bissu has become a vessel for the dewata (spirits).
Historically, bissu presided over coronations, blessed rice fields before planting, ensured fertility and protection for communities, and officiated weddings and major life transitions. Their role was both religious and political, tying spiritual legitimacy to royal authority. This close association with pre-Islamic courts, however, made them vulnerable as religious and political landscapes shifted.
The arrival of Islam in South Sulawesi from the seventeenth century onward did not erase the bissu, but it did push them to the margins. Over time, many rituals were adapted or performed quietly, especially in rural areas. The twentieth century proved far more devastating. During periods of religious purification and political violence—most notably the Darul Islam rebellion in the 1950s and later under Suharto’s New Order—bissu were persecuted, forced to cut their hair, abandon ritual dress, and destroy sacred objects. Some were killed; others survived by concealing their identities or rebranding themselves as cultural performers rather than priests.
Today, only a small number of bissu remain. They occupy a fragile position in contemporary Indonesia, sometimes celebrated by cultural institutions and tourism campaigns as symbols of Bugis heritage, yet often viewed with suspicion by conservative religious groups. Some bissu continue to perform rituals for local communities, especially agricultural blessings, while others appear at festivals or educational events aimed at preserving Bugis traditions.
In a global moment obsessed with defining and policing gender, the bissu offer a reminder that gender diversity is not a modern invention or Western import. It is, in this case, an ancient spiritual technology—one that understood centuries ago that balance, legitimacy, and social harmony might depend not on choosing sides, but on holding contradictions together in a single, sacred body.
Spicy Auntie has a confession to make: every time someone tells me that gender diversity is a “modern Western invention,” I feel a powerful urge to hand them a history book and a strong cup of coffee. Or better yet, put them on a plane to South Sulawesi and introduce them to the bissu. Because while some people are busy screaming about bathrooms and pronouns, Bugis culture has been calmly minding its gender business for centuries, thank you very much.
The bissu are not a trend, not a TikTok identity, not a talking point imported from overseas NGOs with suspicious funding. They are priests. Sacred ones. The kind entrusted with royal regalia, agricultural fertility, cosmic balance, and the very delicate task of negotiating with spirits who do not care about your binary spreadsheets. Their power does not come from choosing a side, but from refusing to be incomplete. Male, female, both, neither—why limit yourself when the universe clearly didn’t?
What fascinates Auntie most is how practical this all was. The Bugis didn’t sit around debating identity for the sake of debate. They asked a simple question: who is spiritually whole enough to mediate between worlds? And the answer was not “a man” or “a woman,” but someone who contains all of it. Gender, here, is not a costume or a rebellion. It’s infrastructure. Spiritual technology. Balance made flesh, silk, and kris.
Then, of course, history happened. Religion hardened. Politics brutalized. Armies and moral crusades arrived with scissors, uniforms, and a deep fear of ambiguity. The bissu were humiliated, attacked, forced to disappear or turn themselves into “cultural performers” so everyone could enjoy the costumes without having to respect the belief system underneath. Classic move. Asia has seen this movie before: celebrate tradition, erase the people who carry it.
And yet, some bissu are still here. Quietly. Stubbornly. Blessing rice fields. Remembering rituals. Holding together a worldview that says the problem is not too much gender, but too little imagination. In a time when politicians across the region love to shout about “Asian values,” it’s remarkable how selectively they remember them. Five genders? Sacred androgyny? Gender as balance rather than threat? Funny how those parts never make the speeches.
So the next time someone tells you that recognizing gender diversity is un-Asian, un-Indonesian, or un-traditional, smile sweetly. Think of the bissu. Think of centuries of ritual wisdom surviving purges, dictators, and sanctimonious nonsense. And remember: modern panic is loud, but ancient knowledge is patient. And Auntie always bets on patience.