Eight months ago, I wrote about this issue at a time when it had not yet reached the judicial level it faces today. Back then, the conversation moved through administrative decisions, public debate, and political resistance. It was unresolved, but it had not yet reached this point.

That has now changed.

Lambda Legal appeared before the 1st U.S. Court of Appeals in Boston, urging the court to uphold a lower court ruling that requires the government of Puerto Rico to issue birth certificates that accurately reflect the identities of nonbinary individuals. The appeal follows a district court decision that found the denial of such recognition to be a violation of the U.S. Constitution.

This marks a turning point. The issue is no longer theoretical. A court has already determined that unequal treatment exists.

The argument presented by the plaintiffs is grounded in Puerto Rico’s own legal framework. Identity birth certificates are not static historical records. They are functional documents used in everyday life. They are required to access employment, education, and essential services. Their purpose is practical, not symbolic.

Within that framework, the exclusion of nonbinary individuals does not stem from a legal limitation. Puerto Rico already allows gender marker corrections on birth certificates for transgender individuals under the precedent established in Arroyo Gonzalez v. Rosselló Nevares. In addition, the current Civil Code recognizes the existence of identity documents that reflect a person’s lived identity beyond the original birth record.

The issue lies in how the law is applied.

Recognition is granted within specific categories, while those who do not identify within that binary structure remain excluded. That exclusion is now at the center of this case.

Lambda Legal’s position is straightforward. Requiring individuals to carry documents that do not reflect who they are forces them into misrepresentation in essential aspects of daily life. This creates practical barriers, exposes them to scrutiny, and places them in a constant state of vulnerability.

The plaintiffs, who were born in Puerto Rico, have made clear that access to accurate identification is not symbolic. It is a basic condition for moving through the world without contradiction imposed by the state.

The fact that this case is now being addressed in the federal court system adds another layer of significance. This is not a pending policy discussion or a legislative proposal. It is a constitutional question. The analysis is not about political preference, but about rights and equal protection under the law.

This case does not exist in isolation.

It unfolds within a broader context in which debates over identity and rights have increasingly been shaped by the growing influence of conservative perspectives in public policy, both in the United States and in Puerto Rico. At the local level, this influence has been reflected in legislative discussions where religious arguments have begun to intersect with decisions that should be grounded in constitutional principles. That intersection creates tension around the separation of church and state and has direct consequences for access to rights.

Recognizing this context is not an attack on faith or religious practice. It is an acknowledgment that when certain perspectives move into the realm of public authority, they can shape outcomes that affect specific communities.

From within Puerto Rico, this is not a distant debate. It is a lived reality. It is present in the difficulty of presenting identification that does not match one’s identity, and in the consequences that follow in workplaces, schools, and government spaces.

The progression of this case introduces the possibility of change within the applicable legal framework. Not because it resolves every tension surrounding the issue, but because it establishes a legal examination of a practice that has long operated under exclusion.

Eight months ago, the conversation centered on ongoing developments. Today, there is already a judicial finding that identifies a violation of rights. What remains is whether that finding will be upheld on appeal.

That process does not guarantee an immediate outcome, but it shifts the ground.

The debate is no longer theoretical.

It is now before the courts.

By JOHN-JOHN WILLIAMS IV | As the child of a father who hunted, Vera Snively shied away from firearms, influenced by her mother’s aversion to guns.

Now, the 18-year-old Westminster electrician goes to the shooting range at least once a month. She owns a rifle and a shotgun, and plans to get a handgun when she turns 21.

“I want to be able to defend my community, especially being in political spaces and queer spaces,” said Snively, a trans woman. “It’s just having that extra line of safety, having that extra peace of mind would be important to me.”

Snively is among what some say is a growing number of LGBTQ gun owners across the United States. Gun rights organizations and advocates say interest in gun ownership appears to have increased in that community since President Donald Trump returned to the White House last year.

The rest of this article can be read on the Baltimore Banner’s website.

In an absolute monarchy, the words spoken by the sovereign can swiftly become a baton striking a citizen. When King Mswati III speaks, his words do not simply drift into the air as political “opinion”; they often quickly turn into, sometimes violently, state policy. This reflects the reality of Eswatini, where the right to freedom of expression, including the right to hold dissenting political views, is increasingly being systematically eroded by the very voice that claims to uphold “traditional values.”

To understand the current crisis facing the LGBTIQ+ community in Eswatini, one must view it through the lens of a broader strategy: the weaponization of culture to justify the erosion of democratic institutions, the rule of law, and human rights protections. As observed across Africa, from the streets of Harare and Dar es Salaam to the parliamentary courtrooms of Dakar and Kampala, African leaders are increasingly using the marginalised as an entry point to dismantle civil society. In Eswatini, this strategy has manifest its most brutal expression in the king’s recent harmful rhetoric concerning sexual orientation and gender identity.

The danger of the king’s words lies in how the state apparatus interprets them as a divine mandate for persecution. Recently, we have seen this “Rhetoric-to-Policy Pipeline” operate with chilling efficiency. Shortly after the Minister of Education made public vitriol against the existence of LGBTIQ+ students, reports emerged of children being expelled from schools. In a country where the king is culturally and traditionally called the “ingwenyama” (the lion), the bureaucracy acts as his pride; when leadership suggests that a particular group is “un-African” or “deviant,” the machinery of the state, along with the emboldened segments of the public, moves to purge that group from society.

For an openly gay man who has dedicated most of his adulthood to advancing equality and dignity for all, especially marginalized communities, these are not merely policy changes; they pose existential threats. When a powerful leader speaks, they offer a moral shield for the dogmatist and a legal roadmap for the policeman. In Eswatini, where political parties are banned, and the “tinkhundla” system (constituency-based system) — a system that systematically silences dissent and favors those aligned with the sovereign — is celebrated as the sole “authentic” form of governance, any identity that falls outside the narrow, state-defined “tradition” is seen as treason. By branding LGBTIQ+ rights as “ungodly” and essentially unwelcome in Eswatini, the monarchy effectively views the mere existence of queer Swazis as a subversive act against the crown.

The most harrowing example of this pattern is the assassination of human rights lawyer Thulani Maseko in January 2023. Maseko’s murder did not happen in isolation. It followed a period of heated rhetoric directed at those calling for democratic reforms. The king had publicly warned those demanding change that they would face consequences. On the evening after the king had said, “[t]hese people started the violence first, but when the state institutes a crackdown on them for their actions, they make a lot of noise blaming King Mswati for bringing in mercenaries,” Maseko was shot dead at his home in front of his family.

The parallel here is unmistakable. When the king targets the LGBTIQ+ community with his words, he is aiming at the most vulnerable. If a world-renowned human rights lawyer can be silenced following royal condemnation, what chance does a queer youth in a rural area stand when the king’s words reach the local chief or school head? This is what I call “Chaos as Governance”: a state where the law is replaced by the monarch’s whims, leaving the population in a constant cycle of managed chaos that renders collective opposition nearly impossible. Despite strong condemnation from the organization I founded, Eswatini Sexual and Gender Minorities (ESGM), recent reports already suggest growing support for the rhetoric shared by the king, indicating treacherous weeks and months ahead for ordinary queer people in Eswatini.  

The monarchy’s defense of these actions is almost always based on “African tradition.” As Mswati has shown, the ban on political parties and the suppression of minority rights are framed as a return to indigenous governance, the “tinkhundla” system. But we must ask: whose culture is being defended? Is it a culture that historically valued communal care and diverse social roles, or is it a modern, imported authoritarianism cloaked in the robes of the ancestors?

When he uses his platform at the “sibaya” (traditional gathering) to alienate a segment of his own people, he is not engaging in dialogue; he is delivering a monologue of exclusion. This weaponized version of culture serves a dual purpose. First, it offers a “neocolonial” defense against international criticism, portraying human rights as a foreign threat. Second, it creates an internal enemy, the “terrorist” political dissident or the “immoral” LGBTIQ+ person, to distract from the fact that nearly two-thirds of the population live below the poverty line. In contrast, the royal family resides in obscene luxury, acquiring fleets of expensive vehicles.

The silence of Eswatini’s neighbors worsens its situation. The Southern African Development Community (SADC), a regional organization ostensibly committed to democracy and human rights, has repeatedly allowed Mswati to evade accountability. By agreeing to remove Eswatini from the Organ Troika agenda at the king’s request in 2024, SADC sent a message to every authoritarian in the region. If you conceal your repression behind the guise of tradition, we will not intervene.

The call for freedom of expression, including LGBTIQ+ rights, is a fundamental human right vital for safety and dignity. It demands that a child should not be expelled from school because of who they are. It insists that a lawyer should not be murdered for expressing their beliefs. It states that a king’s word should not be a death sentence. We must resist the “politics of distraction” that portrays the fight for minority rights as separate from the fight for democratic reform. The dissolution of political parties in Burkina Faso, the attack on lawyers in Zimbabwe, and the criminalization of advocacy in Senegal, Tanzania, and Uganda are all parts of the same pattern. They reflect a leadership class that fears its own people.

It is time for the African Union and SADC to decide whether to uphold the ideals of their lofty charters or to prioritize political convenience across Africa. For the people of Eswatini, improving livelihoods and human development can only occur when the king’s words are limited by a constitution that protects every citizen, regardless of whom they love or how they pray. Until then, the chaos is not a failure; it is the purpose. The monarch’s word may be law today, but the universal right to dignity is the only law that will endure. We must demand an Eswatini, and by extension, an Africa that seeks to improve the lives of its people, and where the “lion” protects all his people, rather than hunting those he deems “unworthy” of the shade.

Melusi Simelane is the founder and board chair of Eswatini Sexual and Gender Minorities. He is also the Civic Rights Program Manager for the Southern Africa Litigation Center.