A visa for life
In Turkmenistan, for example, consensual sexual acts between people of the same sex are illegal. Article 135 of the Criminal Code punishes male homosexuality, defined as “sodomy,” with imprisonment for up to five years. Before 2019, the sentence was two years of imprisonment. In the case of repeat offences or acts committed by a group of two or more people, the sentence is imprisonment from two to five years and compulsory residence in a place chosen by the government for a period of five to ten years. Furthermore, homosexuality is considered a mental disorder; therefore, punishments for behaviours considered homosexual may include forced admission to psychiatric institutions. Recently, the country launched a campaign to identify LGBTQ+ adolescents and punish them.
La Tenda di Gionata, an association of LGBTQ+ Christians, is dedicated to providing moral, practical and financial support and assistance to Turkmen and neighbouring-country gay refugees seeking to escape discrimination and oppression. Alessandro Previti, coordinator of the initiative, and Anvar Avezov, a 31-year-old Turkmen who managed to reach Europe thanks to a humanitarian visa and is now committed to assisting other persecuted people in Central Asia, tell the story.
Alessandro, how did the initiative to support people fleeing contexts in which homosexuality is criminalised or heavily stigmatised come about?
AP: What happened was more organic than structured. One day an email arrives: the person is not asking for money, the story is dramatic, powerful but not extraordinary. It seems like a farewell message: his only request is that his story be told. Often the drama is a phishing technique, but as I read his email I felt that something was missing; and the omissions spoke, the gaps spoke. This pushed me to investigate. We started asking questions, collecting documents and evidence, and verifying them. The more I talked to him, the more I understood that he was leaving things out because he was afraid of not being believed. And he was right. His story was incredible: torture in military psychiatric hospitals, people left to die for days in front of other gay prisoners; people literally treated like insects, to name just a few. He had already turned to some large organisations, his case had been assigned a number. His visa was about to expire; all the evidence was there, and yet he was just a number in a queue. I am certain that that number will look very good in front of investors when they ask how many cases they are handling. The only ethical and Christian thing to do was to act. We knew we could fail; we knew that death would weigh on our hands. But we also knew that he would die if we did not act. We did not bring certainty, but a probability. It may have been providence or recklessness, but we succeeded. Other people wrote to us seeking help. One of the young men we met kept repeating: “Don’t leave us alone.” In Turkmenistan and the surrounding areas there is almost nothing in terms of aid, humanitarian corridors, etc. Perhaps there are countries where providing humanitarian aid is trendy; their emergency is not fashionable. But dignity does not depend on how fashionable the country you are fleeing from is.
What kind of journeys do the people you come into contact with go through before they reach you? What are their most urgent needs?
AP: The journey is almost always the same: fleeing persecution. The younger ones are targeted and blackmailed, sent to act as bait for others through dating apps, chat rooms, local social media or those accessible via VPN. A sophisticated strategy to make people feel safe and catch them anyway. When they manage to reach a safer country, they seek help. And that is where the trap lies: responses take weeks to arrive, and one week at a time the months go by. Then comes the worst deception: “We have raised your case with…”. Meanwhile, the visa expiry date approaches and it is too late to think of another plan. Then they face becoming bait, prison, torture. They are people who have been given an expiry date. I want to ask a question to those reading us. Imagine that you have risked everything, you are persecuted and the world seems rotten to you, you know what will happen to you, you know it will be rape, violence, boots in your face. You know that you will be the lowest of the low even among the prisoners. If then you flee, ask for help, and all you get is a little number, like at the post office, like in a car park, where however you are the shopping trolley or the car, not the person, the visa expires and no one has written to you anymore and you will not have a second chance. If you return to your homeland and do not end it all, what kind of person do you become? When they come to us, they are at the end of the line. The most urgent, and most surprising, need is listening. They tell us that we are the first people who have truly listened to them. We do not have a methodology: we are human beings listening to other human beings.
Anvar, you fled Turkmenistan and stayed in Georgia for a period of time. You are now safe in a host country. What has this latest journey meant to you?
AA: The fact that I managed to leave Turkmenistan and reach Georgia was already a great achievement for me. But managing to get from Georgia to Europe is like a fairy tale to me: here I feel safe, I have the opportunity to build my family, to help other people and to fight for the rights of LGBT Q+ people in Central Asia. Europe means freedom to me. I never knew what it would be like to live freely. Now I am learning to live without hiding, without wearing masks to pretend to be another person. I am learning to be myself.
Alessandro, let us return to your commitment on this front. How is the support structured, both practically and on a human level?
AP: It is not structured. There is a small group in direct contact with them. I am perhaps the main point of reference at the moment. We do not have a dedicated lawyer or psychologist – except for a few friends who help us – and we do not have the funds. We do, however, have legal consultations when necessary and I study a great deal: laws, procedures, regulatory changes, possible interpretations. We look for possibilities, within the limits of the law, morality and ethics. If they have a moment of anxiety, there is someone to listen. I am not a psychologist: I listen because I am a person, because we are Christians, because we are human beings. I have discovered that talking about hope is fundamental; it is a word that someone rarely reminds them of. On a practical level, for the good of these people it is better that I say as little as possible. We do not guarantee a service in the technical sense. We offer service. Not a service: the service, the Christian one. We serve where we can.