Pink News

When he made the tough choice to flee Uganda, in the wake of the country’s draconian anti-LGBTQ+ law being passed, activist Henry Mukiibi thought: “What have I left behind?” 

Mukiibi, the executive director of LGBTQ+ group Uganda’s Children of the Sun Foundation (COSF), has been on the run and living in the Kenyan capital, Nairobi, since earlier this year, after receiving information that the authorities at home wanted to arrest him under the new anti-homosexuality legislation. 

The Anti-Homosexuality Act, which was enacted in May and carries the death penalty for certain same-sex acts, has unleashed a torrent of abuse against LGBTQ+ people in the country. Several queer individuals have beenarrested. Others, including Mukiibi, managed to escape as their government enacted one of the harshest anti-LGBTQ+ laws in the world.

Mukiibi tells PinkNews that the situation in Uganda is worse than it has ever been.

COSF’s services, which provide healthcare and legal assistance as well as shelter for vulnerable people, including members of the LGBTQ+ community, have been affected by the legislation. 

Mukiibi says he witnessed people become “so homophobic” that they “started attacking” COSF committee members, “beating them because of who they are”. 

He adds: “What we did was ask the people who are close to them to bring them to the clinic, and we are giving them healthcare services to see that they get treatment.

“Evictions have become too many because the bill had a phrase which said landlords should not give LGBT people shelter or houses to rent. Many people were evicted. 

“Those whose landlords knew their identities, they were evicted because the landlords fear they will also be taken to prison. 

“We welcomed those people into our shelter, but unfortunately, our shelter’s landlord wrote me an eviction letter since they know I’m a queer person.”

Under Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act, queer people can face life imprisonment or even the death penalty in cases involving so-called “aggravated homosexuality”, which can include having sex with a minor or vulnerable person, having sex while HIV-positive or engaging in incest.

Someone simply advocating for LGBTQ+ rights could be jailed for 20 years, and individuals renting to LGBTQ+ people face up to a seven-year prison sentence. 

Mukiibi says life is really hard in Nairobi as he waits to be resettled in another country. While fearing for his own safety, he still thinks about the LGBTQ+ community trying to survive in Uganda. 

“If I’m evacuated, what am I leaving behind?” he asks. “They have this saying: ‘I cannot be a hero twice’. 

“I’m also trying to see that we are working remotely so our community members get the services they need. The reason I came up with the idea of the clinic was that sometimes the LGBT community are discriminated against in facilities, and I recently witnessed it. 

“People went [to] healthcare providers who are preaching to them to beat homosexuality out of children.”

Even before the Anti-Homosexuality Act was passed this year, LGBTQ+ people faced severe discrimination in Uganda 

Uganda was already one of several African nations where it’s illegal to be queer and enacted a previous anti-homosexuality act in 2014. The courts struck it down, although being LGBTQ+ remained illegal because of previous legislation, according to Human Rights Watch. 

Anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment has been rife in the East African nation, with president Yoweri Museveni describing queer people as “deviants”, and government officials attacking queer-focused groups. 

Police used COVID-19 as a pretence to raid COSF’s facilities for the LGBTQ+ community, accusing residents of breaking social-distancing regulations. 

Many in the Ugandan LGBTQ+ community have sought safety in Kenya, only to find they face discrimination there too. 

Dhalie Bulyaba, the director of Safe Place International’s global family initiative, decided to leave Uganda and go to Kenya because they “wanted to find a place that wouldn’t question [them] about the way [they] dress, or ask for an explanation about how [they] identify”.

But they realised that seeking asylum and appealing to authorities “forces outings” of LGBTQ+ people. 

“Kenya has one of the largest refugee populations in Africa,” Bulyaba says. “They receive a lot of people from Somalia, Sudan, the [Democratic Republic of the] Congo and other war-torn areas, so when you say you are coming from Uganda, they are confused. 

“They will ask: ‘Why are you here? There is no war in Uganda’. You are forced to out yourself and hope for their mercy because Kenya also criminalises homosexuality. 

“It’s hard enough to fight for your rights in your own country.”

LGBTQ+ people are criminalised in Kenya, and same-sex sexual activity between males carries a maximum penalty of 14 years’ imprisonment.

In September, hundreds of anti-LGBTQ+ protestors rallied outside the country’s Supreme Court to protest against its decision to reaffirm the queer community’s right of association and to form non-governmental organisations. 

Bulyaba loves “trying to think through big-picture issues and driving systemic change”, and they are as passionate about reading and cooking as they are about advocacy. 

“There is always time in my day to meet for coffee and call out these politicians and the systems they are trying to push,” they add.

They also point out that the persecution of African LGBTQ+ people doesn’t come solely from conservative forces on the continent – UK and US groups are behind some of it. 

‘We could have prevented LGBTQ+ people being forced to flee Uganda‘

US-based Christian groups – known for fighting everything from reproductive rights to the freedoms of LGBTQ+ people – have invested heavily across Africaover the past decade, pushing a strictly conservative agenda. 

In April, a damning report revealed the UK government funded the work of a virulently anti-LGBTQ+ religious organisation in Uganda, according to VICE.

The World Bank has already stopped lending to Uganda, and the European Union has denounced the most recent anti-LGBTQ+ legislation.

Sulah Mawejje, Safe Place International Dream Academy Kenya country director, says the World Bank and other organisations “need to be more proactive and less reactive” because they know the anti-LGBTQ+ movements in Africa are being funded by foreign organisations. 

“Why have they waited for something like this anti-gay bill to pass before they impose sanctions and try to stand up to the government?” he asks. 

“We could have prevented people being forced to flee and being forced to go through the very difficult process of becoming a refugee.”

Mawejje, a part-time interpreter for the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, adds that he’s “much more than a refugee, a person who has faced unspeakable discrimination” while fleeing Uganda. 

“There is another side to me, like many refugees, that the media doesn’t get to, I’m the life of the party,” he says. “I love being bold and challenging.”

Max and Sasha are just two of the many LGBTQ+ people who have joined the mass exodus fleeing Russia to avoid violence, discrimination and war.

Now, the queer Russian-Ukrainian couple are left with the scars of living under Vladimir Putin’s repressive regime.

Putin’s obsession with rejecting what he sees as Western “degradation” has led to Russia toughening anti-LGBTQ+ legislation in recent months. At the same time, the Kremlin has clamped down on free speech, human rights and dissent as the war in Ukraine drags on. 

Max and Sasha fled Russia this time last year. They joined the hundreds of thousands of people trying to find safety in other countries bordering the huge nation. 

They made it to the the Latvian border, hitching a ride with a stranger. 

When the queer couple got to the crossing, guards confronted them, demanding to know why they were leaving Russia. 

Unable to reveal their real reasons, they had “full-on panic attacks just trying to hold back tears” as they waited hours to be let them through, the pair tell PinkNews. 

“When we got there and we gave our passports, the guard looked at Sasha’s, and he was like: ‘I can’t see the visa, so what are you doing? What are your plans? What are you thinking? What are you doing there?’” Max, who is Ukrainian, recalls. 

“We were like: ‘There are some people waiting for us there’. We were trying to say at least something. You’re completely stunned… we were standing there trying not to cry because they took our passports. 

“We were like: ‘What next? What are they doing with our passports? They’re not letting us go’.”

Several countries – including Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Poland and Finland – have put in place measures to restrict the entry of Russian citizens, limiting the chances for people to use them as safe havens. 

At one point, the border guards let Sasha, who is Russian, through but said that Max couldn’t join him. However, the couple knew they had to stay together so they regrouped in Russia and used “some other ways to cross the border”. 

‘The scariest thing was that people were delusional about Russia’

Eventually, they made it into one of the Baltic states and began the process of applying for asylum. But they encountered difficulties with access to resources because of their differing citizenships, given the ongoing war. 

Max feels he has a “lot of privilege as a Ukrainian” because he can travel, and it’s “easier” to find a job. Sadly, he can’t share that same level of support with Sasha because the pair aren’t married yet.

The queer couple’s asylum application was initially denied because the person reviewing it argued that it’s merely “hard” for gay people in Russia – refusing to recognise the very real abuse LGBTQ+ people face. 

“The arguments were: ‘It’s hard for gay people in Russia, but you did go to work. You did finish at school’,” Max explains. 

“We were basically going around the streets, pretending we are someone who we are not. No matter how [hard] we try, people always figure everything out.

“We were standing near a subway station and hearing a guy talk to his wife like: ‘Oh my God, you won’t believe it. I’m standing next to the most disgusting f*****s. Come save me. They’re gonna rape me right now’. People don’t understand that it’s not possible to get any proper help. 

“At [one] point, we were shot at. There were four guys passing us by in a car. They stopped to ask if we’re f*****s, and we said ‘no’. They said: ‘We saw you guys kiss’. We weren’t kissing. 

“When we were talking about this in our [asylum] interview, they were like: ‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’ It’s pointless, you’ll leave the police station feeling worse.”

Sasha and Max, who have since been granted asylum after appealing the first ruling, say that people react with shock when they discover the true level of discrimination and violence LGBTQ+ people face in Russia. 

“I think the scariest thing was, when we arrived, that people were delusional about Russia,” Sasha says. “They don’t know anything, what happens there and how it happens, which also affected our case.

“They don’t understand that, if you go to the police, you can be assaulted or even killed there, and no one will know. People have no idea what it is like… I was so scared after all that, that while being [in the country that last year], I wouldn’t go out of my house because I was so scared of people, men specifically.”

Anti-LGBTQ+ ideology has been a central axis of political propaganda in Russia over the past decade

In July, Moscow approved a law that prohibits gender-affirming care for trans people, nullifies marriages where at least one partner has transitioned and makes it illegal for transgender people to adopt or foster children.

This came hard on the heels of legislation expanding Russia’s “LGBTQ+ propaganda law”, which prevents any positive or neutral queer representation in public spaces and pop culture. 

There’s also been a surge in anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment. 

A gay university student was expelled after posting videos of himself in makeup online, a queer YouTuber was arrested after uploading videos of himself with his partner, and a trans woman said she’s “scared s**tless” as Putin paints transgender people as enemies of the state. 

Sasha and Max still feel the impact of the Russia’s oppressive anti-LGBTQ+ laws, which have led to hate and violence on the streets. As they put it: “You left Russia, but Russia never left you.

“It’s been a year, and when we got the asylum status approved, it was a relief, but I did not feel safe,” Sasha says. “It’s still hard for me to get out of the house. I’m still wearing a hat outside when I dye my hair. 

“Yes, I understand that I don’t live in danger any more. I’m not in Russia. A rational part of me knows I’m not there, and it’s not as scary as I think it is outside [and] I can express myself with clothing more.”

Anna-Maria Tesfaye, the co-founder of LGBTQ+ not-for-profit organisation Queer Svit, says many LGBTQ+ people think they can “leave this bulls**t behind” when they flee Russia, but they realise they are still “mentally” trapped in the country’s politics of terror.

“You finally have the ability to think because you’re not in Russia any more,” she says. 

“You don’t need to do anything, then it hits you. You understand that maybe you’re out of Russia, but you’re in Russia mentally. A lot of people understand that it’s probably post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Max and Sasha say they still “scan every corner [and] every street” for “scary-looking people” and the police because of their Russian experiences. 

The pair are feeling a “little more freedom” in their new home, but it’s still difficult to live fully in the moment given the hate they endured.