World
LGBTQ Venezuelan migrants in Colombia struggle to survive
People with HIV again suffering from Kaposi’s sarcoma
BOGOTÁ, Colombia — Edgar García and his partner, Dannys Torres, on Oct. 3, 2018, used a canoe to cross the Arauca River that marks the Venezuela-Colombia border.
García was a member of the board of directors of Alianza Lambda de Venezuela, a Venezuelan LGBTQ rights group, before he fled Venezuela. Torres worked as a hairdresser in Caracas, the Venezuelan capital.
The couple now lives in Rafael Uribe Uribe, a working-class neighborhood in Bogotá, the Colombian capital.
Torres continues to work as a hairdresser. García most recently worked for a telecommunications company.
“We are settled here in Bogotá,” García told the Washington Blade on Sept. 21 during an interview with him and Torres that took place at a shopping mall near their home. “You have your life here.”

García and Torres are two of the more than 5.4 million Venezuelans who the Coordination Platform for Migrants and Refugees from Venezuela say have left their country as of November 2020 because of its ongoing economic and political crises.
Statistics from the Colombian government indicate there are currently more than 1.7 million Venezuelans in the country. More than 50 percent of them live in Bogotá and the departments of Norte de Santander, Atlántico and Antioquia.
Colombian President Iván Duque in February announced the country would legally recognize Venezuelan migrants who are registered with the government.
Sources in Colombia with whom the Blade has spoken say there are likely many more Venezuelan migrants in the country than official statistics indicate. Venezuelan migrants who are LGBTQ and/or living with HIV remain disproportionately vulnerable to discrimination and violence and often lack access to health care and formal employment.
A report the Red de Movilidad Humana LGBTI+—a network of advocacy groups in Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Chile, Brazil, Argentina, Guatemala and Mexico—published with the support of the U.N. Refugee Agency notes sex trafficking and even death are among the myriad threats that LGBTQ migrants from Venezuela face once they enter Colombia. The report indicates they also face discrimination in shelters because of their sexual orientation and gender identity, sexual violence and a lack of access to the Colombian judicial system.
Trans woman left Venezuela ‘in search of a better quality of life’
Vanesa, a 25-year-old transgender woman from the Venezuelan city of Maracaibo, came to Colombia eight years ago “in search of a better quality of life.”
She told the Blade on Sept. 14 during an interview at Fundación de Atención Inclusiva, Social y Humana (FUVADIS)—an organization in Barranquilla, a city in Atlántico department that is near the mouth of the Magdalena River in northern Colombia, that serves Venezuelan migrants—she entered Colombia near Maicao, a city in La Guajira department via an informal border crossing known as a “trocha.” Vanesa said she was nearly kidnapped.
“The people who were standing on the sides (of the “trocha”) who ask you for money were supposedly security,” she said. “There was no security. They left me there because I was trans. They said a lot of ugly things. They assaulted me, including one (man) who was not going to let me go. They wanted me to kidnap me or have me there to do whatever they wanted to me.”
Vanesa said a woman helped her escape.
“The experience was horrible,” she said.
Vanesa traveled to Cartagena, a popular tourist destination that is less than two hours southwest of Barranquilla, and began to work at her friend’s hair salon. Vanesa told the Blade that her friend’s mother “never liked me because … she is a Christian.”
Vanesa now lives in Barranquilla and supports herself through video chats. Vanesa also competes in local beauty pageants and is able to send money to her mother in Venezuela.
“I work here,” she said. “I am relatively well off.”

Andy, a trans man from Venezuela’s Maracay state, left Venezuela four years ago with his partner and their daughter. Andy, like Vanesa, entered Colombia via a “trocha” near Maicao.
“I migrated because the situation was becoming worse and worse each day,” Andy told the Blade on Sept. 14 as he attended a workshop that Caribe Afirmativo, an LGBTQ group in northern Colombia, organized at a Barranquilla hotel.
Caribe Afirmativo has opened three “Casas Afirmativos” in Barranquilla, Maicao and Medellín that provide access to health care and other services to Venezuelan migrants who are LGBTQ and/or living with HIV/AIDS. Caribe Afirmativo also operates several “Casas de Paz” throughout northern Colombia that support the implementation of an LGBTQ-inclusive peace agreement between the government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia that came into force in 2016.
Andy said his work in Venezuela allowed him to learn how “to sell whatever product,” but he told the Blade he struggled to find a job once he arrived in Colombia.
Andy told the Blade that he, his partner and their daughter now have stable housing in Barranquilla. Andy said he also has received a job offer in Medellín, the country’s second-largest city that is the capital of Antioquia department.

Jesús Gómez is a 33-year-old gay man from Venezuela’s Trujillo state in the Venezuelan Andes that are close to the country’s border with Colombia.
He previously worked with Venezuela Diversa, a Venezuelan LGBTQ advocacy group, and accepted a position with the municipality of Chacao that is part of Caracas. Gómez, whose mother was born in Colombia, also joined a student protest movement against the government.
Gómez fled to Colombia and is pursuing his asylum case with the help of UNHCR.
“I feel bad emotionally, but I am well-off compared to other people,” he told the Blade on Sept. 16 during an interview at a hotel in Cúcuta, a city in Norte de Santander department that is a few miles from the country’s border with Venezuela. “I am working to help other people who are in the same situation.”
Gómez in December is scheduled to graduate from nursing school. He also works with Fundación Censurados, a Cúcuta-based HIV/AIDS service organization that works with Venezuelan migrants, and has supported other organizations in the area that serve them.

FUVADIS Executive Director Luis Meneses, like Gómez, was an LGBTQ activist in Venezuela.
Meneses, who is from Venezuela’s Zulia state, in 2010 unsuccessfully ran for Venezuela’s National Assembly. Meneses in February 2018 fled to Colombia because of the “political persecution” he said he suffered.
“Discrimination and prejudice against me began when I came out to defend LGBTI rights,” Meneses told the Blade on Sept. 14 during an interview at his office.
Meneses in August 2018 launched FUVADIS, which receives support from groups that includes UNHCR and the International Organization for Migration. FUVADIS provides health care, antiretroviral drugs and a host of other services to Venezuelan migrants with HIV/AIDS and other populations that include sex workers. Vanessa and nearly 900 other FUVADIS clients are LGBTQ.
“We cannot work for the migrant population by only giving them humanitarian assistance,” said Meneses. “It’s also about guaranteeing access to their rights.”
Venezuelans with HIV/AIDS die because of lack of medications
The New York-based Aid for AIDS International estimates more than 10,000 Venezuelans with HIV have left the country in recent years. Activists and health care service providers in Venezuela with whom the Blade has spoken in recent years have said people with HIV/AIDS in the country have died because of a lack of antiretroviral drugs.
The Venezuelan government has also targeted HIV/AIDS service organizations.
Members of Venezuela’s General Directorate of Military Counterintelligence in January raided the offices of Azul Positivo, an HIV/AIDS service organization and arrested President Johan León Reyes and five other staff members. Venezuelan police on Feb. 15, 2019, raided the offices of Fundación Mavid, another HIV/AIDS service organization in Valencia, a city in Carabobo state, and arrested three staffers after they confiscated donated infant formula and medications for people with HIV/AIDS
Deyvi Galvis Vásquez, a doctor who is the manager of prevention and testing for AIDS Healthcare Foundation Colombia on Sept. 17 during an interview at AHF’s Cúcuta clinic showed the Blade pictures of Venezuelans with HIV/AIDS in Colombia who had cases of Kaposi’s sarcoma.
“The conditions are of extreme vulnerability,” said Galvis.

Andrés Cardona, director of Fundación Ancla, a Medellín-based group that works with migrants and other vulnerable groups, during a Sept. 13 interview with the Blade in his office echoed Galvis. Cardona added stigma specifically against Venezuelans with HIV/AIDS is one of the myriad issues he and his colleagues confront.
“The issue of the elimination of HIV also implies not only an issue of communication and prevention, but also an issue of effective attention,” said Cardona. “We have our conservative culture, an idea that the Venezuelans who are coming are going to give us HIV.”
“This is totally discriminatory,” he added.
Cardona, like those inside Venezuela with whom the Blade has spoken, said there are no services in the country for people with HIV/AIDS.
“There are many Venezuelan migrants with HIV who enter Colombia, because they are going to die if they don’t,” he said.
AHF operates clinics throughout Colombia
AHF operates other facilities in Bogotá and in the cities of Bucaramanga, Yopal, Valledupar and Ríohacha. The organization, along with the Colombian Red Cross and the government of Santander department, in March began to distribute condoms, food and water and offer rapid HIV tests to Venezuelan migrants who travel through Páramo de Berlín, a high plateau in the Colombian Andes through which a highway between Cúcuta and Bucaramanga passes.
AHF, among other things, offers migrants rapid HIV and syphilis tests and counseling for people who test positive. AHF also provides lab tests, formula for children of mothers with HIV and health care with an “interdisciplinary health care team.”
AHF Colombia Country Program Manager Liliana Andrade Forero and AHF Colombia Data Manager Sandra Avila Mira on Sept. 20 noted to the Blade during an interview at AHF’s Bogotá clinic that upwards of 2,000 migrants currently receive care from the organization. They also pointed out that 1,952 of them are taking antiretroviral drugs the Brazilian government donates.
Galvis noted to the Blade that many of AHF’s patients also have access to mental health care and social workers.
“AHF’s policy is to reach out to everyone,” he said.
Pandemic has made migrants even more vulnerable
Galvis, Fundación Censurados Director Juan Carlos Archila and other Colombian HIV/AIDS service providers with whom the Blade spoke say the pandemic has made Venezuelan migrants with HIV/AIDS in the country even more vulnerable.
Lockdowns prevented sex workers and others who work in the informal economy from earning money. A “pico y género” rule implemented by Bogotá Mayor Claudia López that allowed women to leave their homes on even days and men to leave their homes on odd days sparked criticism among trans activists.
Archila, who is a nurse, on Sept. 16 told the Blade during an interview at a Cúcuta hotel the pandemic has also left Censurados in a precarious situation.
“We endured practically two years with the doors closed, with expenses increasing,” he said. “The need of people who come to us for the issue of HIV remains, and yet we are all trying to cope with the situation.”
Andrade noted AHF’s Bogotá was closed for several months at the beginning of the pandemic because of the city’s strict lockdown.
The pandemic also forced FUVADIS to close its offices in March 2020, but Meneses told the Blade the organization was able to see a handful of patients at a time. He said “basic humanitarian assistance” that included hygiene kits and food were among the things that FUVADIS was able to provide its patients during the pandemic.
“Understanding how the situation for the LGBTI community, people with HIV, the migrant population and the refugee population is, we could not allow (our services) to shut down,” Meneses told the Blade.

Vice President JD Vance and his wife, second lady Usha Vance, will visit Hungary next week.
An announcement the White House released on Thursday said the Vances will be in Budapest, the Hungarian capital, from April 7-8.
JD Vance “will hold bilateral meetings with” Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán. The announcement further indicates the vice president “will also deliver remarks on the rich partnership between the United States and Hungary.”
The Vances will travel to Hungary less than a week before the country’s parliamentary elections take place on April 12.
Orbán, who has been in office since 2010, and his Fidesz-KDNP coalition government have faced widespread criticism over its anti-LGBTQ crackdown.
The Associated Press notes polls indicate Orbán is trailing Péter Magyar and his center-right Tisza party.
It was never meant to become something big.
When I say that I created the first pro-neurodiversity self-advocacy group in Russia and Ukraine, made by autistic people for autistic people, everyone imagines something grand. But it wasn’t. We had three blogs. One of them was updated every day at first, then every two days, with original translations of blog posts, personal stories, and studies about autism and neurodiversity, as well as articles written by our autistic followers.
We held a peer support group meeting once every two weeks, provided one-to-one peer support online, and sometimes offered legal and psychological advice. We also organized workshops for solicitors, psychologists, and social workers, took part in public protests, and distributed free materials.
But all of it was just me and volunteers that were coming and leaving. We had some donations, but we never had any grants while I was living in Russia, nor any sponsors. We have never had an office. The biggest support we received came from our subscribers, most of whom were queer, and from LGBTQ groups.
And here is the important part of the story: from the very beginning, we were LGBTQ-friendly, and queer people played a key role in the existence of my Autistic Initiative for Civil Rights.
Today, on World Autism Acceptance Day, I want to tell a story about how the autistic self-advocacy community in Russia, Ukraine, the U.S, Australia and the UK worked side by side with the LGBTQ movement — and how LGBTQ autistic people changed the pro-neurodiversity movement, using my personal journey and the story of one group as an example.
When I was 17, I started to realize that I might be autistic. There wasn’t much information about autism in my home city, Donetsk, in Ukraine — most post-Soviet psychiatrists believed that autism was a form of childhood schizophrenia, and my parents believed that my autistic behavior was the devil’s work. It wouldn’t be surprising to say they thought the same about my queerness.
So I started digging online, and from the very beginning, the work of three amazing queer autistic authors stood out to me.
Jim Sinclair, a pioneer of the modern pro-neurodiversity movement and the leader of one of the first autistic self-advocacy groups Autistic Network International, is an openly intersex person.
Ly Xīnzhèn Zhǎngsūn Brown is a queer, nonbinary transgender activist who developed an educational program about autism for police in the U.S. Like me, they grew up among intensely conservative and religious people and were interested in the Middle East and politics.
And finally, Julia Bascom, a lesbian woman, wrote the essay “Quiet Hands” about stimming, which deeply resonated with teenage me after my parents’ constant attempts to make my body language more “normal.”
These were people whose writing saved me from suicidal thoughts created by toxic ideas promoted in the Russian- and Ukrainian-language internet at the time — the idea that autistic people are a burden and would never be accepted as they are.
These amazing American queer autistics also made me question my own queerphobic thoughts. At the time, I was an extremely religious Christian, with severe OCD around prayer and a constant fear of going to hell. For the first time, I read statistics showing that autistic people are more likely to be queer. Actually, now we know that they are up to six times more likely to be trans and nearly three times more likely to be LGB.
As a young person who had decided to make autism acceptance the work of my life, I began to think that maybe it wasn’t so frightening to be openly queer. After all, if I believed that God never made mistakes and that I was destined to be autistic, then perhaps some people were destined to be queer as well.
When Donetsk was occupied by pro-Russian forces in 2014, and my family moved to Russia (political consistency had never been their strong point), I moved in with my autistic best friend in St. Petersburg, who later became my wife.
And so, away from my abusive parents, my work in autism advocacy began. But it was autistic activists who helped me to realise that I’m queer and accept it.
LGBTQ activists were our first real supporters. My first public speech about autistic acceptance was at a Rainbow Tea meeting, a space for LGBTQ teenagers. Our autistic peer support group took place in LGBT community center, such as the Coming Out group in St. Petersburg (now recognized as an extremist organization), and the Deystvie community center.
The Alliance of Heterosexuals and LGBT for Equality was our main partner in organising autistic public actions and protests, contacting Russian liberal media, and, finally, I became one of the leaders of the first Russian LGBTQ-disability group, Queer Peace. It worked side by side with my autistic informational projects, organizing workshops and masterclasses for solicitors, psychologists, and LGBTQ group leaders to bring inclusion into LGBTQ services.
Meanwhile, autism initiatives led by non-autistic people and supporters of social Darwinism were often strongly homophobic or considered work with the LGBTQ community — or support for LGBTQ autistic people — to be “unbeneficial.”
Of course, even within Russian LGBTQ organizations, it wasn’t all inclusive. Many high-ranking LGBTQ leaders in Russia are still ableist, at least on an everyday level. But when LGBTQ community in the West began moving towards disability inclusion, post-Soviet countries followed that trend.
More importantly, my LGBTQ-autistic projects were supported by other autistic queer people, including folks from Indigenous nations under Russian control, people from villages, and those from unsupportive families.
Autistic queer people in Ukraine soon started their own — often stronger — work in promoting neurodiversity and LGBTQ rights, both within LGBTQ communities and in wider society. In part, this was because they knew Ukrainian much better than I did. Although I understand Ukrainian and can use it, it has never been my mother tongue.
Also, a Russian vlogger and autism support group leader, Jarry, a trans autistic person, began creating the first accessible video materials about autism, sharing many stories from the perspective of autistic AFAB people.
More and more autistic people in post-Soviet countries began to argue that autism is wrongly framed as a disorder, even if it can be a disability due to the misunderstanding and discrimination autistic people face — and queer people were ahead of this shift.
Finally, Bascom, the same American autistic lesbian who inspired me as a teenager and later the executive director of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network, began mentoring our translation projects, including brochures and free books from English into Russian. The Autistic Women and Nonbinary Network, one of the most trans-inclusive and intersectional groups in the U.S., also showed us full support.
In Australia, Beinannon Lee, an autistic lesbian raising children with her wife, helped us share parenting advice for post-Soviet autistic parents and parents of autistic children. As part of the Autistic Family Collective, she opened new perspectives on homeschooling for neurodivergent families worldwide, while also showing that same-sex couples can be deeply supportive and respectful parents.
When I was stuck in Israel for four months while trying to obtain an American visa, the first organisation that supported my autistic initiative was an LGBTQ group in Tel Aviv that also supported Palestinian refugees and refugees from African countries. In the UK, Lesbian Asylum Support Sheffield was the first LGBTQ group I connected with — and the first to ask me to help with inclusion. Autistic UK, an autistic-led organization, was the first autistic group I worked with here and showed strong queer inclusivity.
And if you go to Trans Day of Remembrance events or trans protests in Sheffield, you will see just how many autistic activists are there.
In my 11 years of LGBTQ and autism activism, I have seen how much autistic and LGBTQ people have done for each other — and how those who are both queer and autistic continue to fight for their rights. It is something stronger than borders, stronger than any one country’s direction. Now, when politicians around the world are arguing against the rights of trans people to be themselves, attacking LGBTQ rights, and trying to dehumanize autistic people and take away our agency, we need to remember this — and stay together.
Commentary
Is Ghana’s selective justice a human rights contradiction?
Country’s commitment to human rights appears inconsistent
Ghana’s mission to have the United Nations recognize the trafficking of enslaved Africans and racialized chattel enslavement as the gravest crime against humanity is a historic milestone. The resolution adopted on March 25, 2026, with 123 out of about 180 countries in support, marks a major step toward global acknowledgement of the brutality and inhumanity of slavery. A 2022 report by the Equal Justice Initiative, “The Transatlantic Slave Trade,” highlights how during the slave trade, Africans who were enslaved had no rights, freedom, recognition or protection under the law. They had no voice, no bodily autonomy, no respected identity and could be brutally violated with no legal protection. This history represents a grave crime against humanity.
In my opinion, Ghana and the other countries that voted in favor are entirely right to say that such historic events cannot be sanitized or reduced to diplomatic language. Recognition is the first step towards accountability. This matter is important because it is arguably the foundation of the modern-day injustice and inequality people experience, including wealth inequality, racism, sexism, xenophobia, and queerphobia.
The double standard
Yet, despite this important step on the world stage, Ghana’s commitment to human rights appears inconsistent. The same government advocating for justice for enslaved Africans is enacting laws that jeopardies the rights of Africans today. This contradiction between Ghana’s international stance and its domestic policies is at the heart of the discussion.
In February 2026, the Ghanaian parliament formally received the Human Sexual Rights and Family Values Bill. The bill is a grave threat to the rights to nondiscrimination, protection under the law, privacy and freedom of association, assembly, and expression. It expands criminalization of LGBTQ+ people, and anyone associated with them. This Human Sexual Rights and Family Values Bill calls for a three-year imprisonment for anyone who identifies as LGBTQ+, anyone who has gender affirming treatment, anyone who enters into a same-sex marriage or attends a same-sex wedding and anyone who promotes equal rights for LGBTQ+ people. It turns enforcement into a societal obligation rather than just a state function, encouraging people to report anyone who looks suspicious or different. This further legitimizes the brutal attacks on LGBTQ+ people socially, which leaves the people of Ghana with blood on their hands.
Ghana’s proposed and reintroduced anti-LGBTQ+ legislation is said to be among the most restrictive in the world and will result in the inhumane treatment of LGBTQ+ people. It not only further criminalizes consensual same-sex relations but also targets civil society organizations that are perceived to be supporting equal rights for LGBTQ+ people. So, if this law passes, it will be illegal to support equal rights and challenge the inhuman treatment of queer Ghanaians and allies. Is this not a double standard? Ghana seeks justice for the ill-treatment of Africans during the transatlantic slave trade but is actively in the process of seeking to harm its own people.
This is not theoretical harm; it is practical harm. According to the Human Rights Watch, LGBTQ+ people in Ghana already face systemic stigma, discrimination, harassment and violence, often enabled by both legal frameworks and social stigma, resulting in a hostile climate.
Ghana falls short of upholding human rights at home
On the global stage, Ghana is arguing that the dehumanization of Africans through slavery was so severe that it constitutes the gravest possible violation of human dignity. This argument rests on a core principle that reducing people to less than fully human is unacceptable under any circumstances.
Back at home, the state is endorsing laws that do exactly that to LGBTQ+ people. Criminalizing identity, suppressing expression, clamping down on civic space, monitoring and surveilling citizens and advocating for social exclusion. These are elements of dehumanization signaling that some are less deserving of protection, dignity, respect, and justice. That is the definition of a double standard.
Supporters of these laws often frame homosexuality as un-African, but this claim does not hold up under scrutiny. In his article, “The ‘Deviant’ African Genders That Colonialism Condemned”, Mohammed Elnaiem emphasizes that historical and anthropological evidence shows that diverse sexualities and gender expressions existed across African societies long before colonial rule. Ironically, many of the laws used to criminalize LGBTQ+ people today trace directly back to the colonial-era. This is even supported by the African Court, which, in December 2020, through its Advisory opinion, made it clear that these colonial-era laws are discriminatory and perpetuated marginalization. The African Court also called on African states to take action in this regard.
It is no secret that anti-rights actors are actively operating in Ghana and supporting leaders to advance their anti-rights agenda. They are increasingly organized, visible, well-funded, and influential in shaping state policy. The upcoming 4th African Inter-Parliamentary Conference on Family and Sovereignty, scheduled to take place in Accra from May 27-30, 2026, is a clear example of this coordination. The conference endorses the so-called African Charter on Family Values, a deeply contested initiative that frames LGBTQ+ people as a threat to children and positions queer identities as foreign ideologies. This platform is being used to legitimize and advance anti-LGBTIQ+ legislation, restrict comprehensive sexuality education and roll back sexual and reproductive health rights. In this context, the treatment of LGBTQ+ people in Ghana cannot be viewed as isolated policy choices, but rather as part of a broader coordinated anti-rights agenda that normalizes and legalizes discrimination. It fuels increasingly inhumane conditions for queer communities and civil society. Ghana is simultaneously rejecting colonial injustice in one breath while enforcing colonial-era morality laws in another.
There is also a legal inconsistency worth noting. Ghana’s own Constitution guarantees the right to life, protection from violence, the right to personal liberty, the right to human dignity, equality and freedom from discrimination and the right to a fair trial. Yet, in practice these rights are not equally applied to LGBTQ+ individuals. Depriving equal rights to LGBTQ+ persons is the same as what the slave owners did to slaves.
You cannot build a credible human rights position on selective application
To be clear, recognizing slavery as a crime against humanity is not diminished by pointing out this contradiction. Both truths can coexist: the UN resolution is a victory and Ghana’s domestic policies remain deeply troubling. In fact, holding both realities together is necessary if the language of human rights is to mean anything at all. Ghana has taken a powerful stand on the global stage. The question now is whether it is willing to apply that same moral clarity at home.
Bradley Fortuin is a consultant at the Southern Africa Litigation Center and a human rights activist.
