On this day in queerstory: new DSM published, legal changes in Germany and South Africa

January 9 appears in queer history as a date when LGBTQ+ existence was formally documented—sometimes protected, sometimes exposed, but no longer invisible. Across different countries and decades, January 9 marks moments when queer lives entered official records: court files, medical classifications, censuses, and state archives. What followed was never neutral.

A key moment occurred on January 9, 1974, when the American Psychiatric Association’s decision to remove homosexuality from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) formally took effect in print distribution. While the vote happened weeks earlier, January 9 marked the widespread circulation of revised materials to hospitals, universities, and clinics worldwide. For the first time in modern medical history, homosexuality was no longer officially classified as a mental illness.

This mattered far beyond the United States. The DSM shaped psychiatric practice globally. Its definitions influenced insurance coverage, court rulings, immigration decisions, and child custody cases across Europe, Latin America, and parts of Asia. January 9 represents the moment when that change moved from theory into daily practice. Queer people were no longer automatically “sick” on paper.

The shift didn’t end discrimination overnight. Conversion therapies persisted. Stigma remained embedded in institutions. But January 9 marked a rupture: the medical authority that had justified decades of abuse withdrew its endorsement. Activists worldwide seized on this moment, citing the DSM change in legal challenges and public education campaigns.

January 9 also carries weight in the realm of law enforcement and surveillance. In several countries during the twentieth century, early January updates to criminal registries and policing guidelines determined how sexual “deviance” was tracked. In Germany, for example, postwar revisions to enforcement practices around Paragraph 175—criminalizing sex between men—were often circulated to police departments in early January. Even when laws softened, records lingered. Names stayed on file. January 9 symbolizes how documentation could outlast reform.

In contrast, January 9 has also been used to undo erasure. In South Africa, early January sessions of the post-apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commission in the late 1990s included testimonies from LGBTQ+ individuals whose persecution had been excluded from earlier narratives. While not tied to a single headline moment, January 9 hearings brought queer suffering into the official archive of state violence, where it could no longer be denied.

Culturally, January 9 highlights the power—and danger—of being recorded. For queer people, visibility has often meant vulnerability. To appear in a medical text, court ruling, or government file could offer protection—or invite punishment. The same record that validates existence can enable control.

In the digital age, January 9 has taken on new meaning. As governments and institutions shifted toward data-driven systems, early January updates determined how gender markers, relationship status, and identity categories were encoded. In several countries, LGBTQ+ advocacy groups have used January 9 deadlines to challenge exclusionary forms, binary classifications, and invasive documentation requirements.

Globally, January 9 reminds us that queer history isn’t only made through protest or celebration. It is also written into paperwork. Into footnotes. Into databases. These records shape who is believed, who is protected, and who is erased.