Commentary
LGBTQ communities around the world embrace antisemitism
Political opposition towards Israeli government has turned into Middle Ages-style bigotry
“I stopped reading Facebook feeds,” one of my queer Jewish American friends told me. I won’t say their name, but they are one of the many who showed similar sentiments.
We were speaking about increasing antisemitism among the LGBTQ community, and they were devastated.
Unfortunately, recent events in the Gaza Strip caused a peculiar situation when all Jewish people are blamed for the brutal response of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government; and LGBTQ Jews faced microaggression and direct violence, get insulted and attacked, even at Prides.
First and foremost, I want to say that indiscriminate slaughtering of Gazan civilians is definitely a war crime that should be condemned and avoided in the future, but there are a lot of articles written on this topic by others who are more competent on this topic. This time I deliberately wouldn’t discuss Hamas and Israeli politicians here, because this story is not about them — this story is about the way the LGBTQ community is treating their Jewish siblings right now.
There are not so many visible queer politicians among Netanyahu supporters, and they are not spending time in social media queer groups.
Moreover, right-wing LGBTQ people with connections to the Israeli government don’t care much about LGBTQ communities in the US, the UK, or Russia.
LGBTQ people who suffer from everyday antisemitism are the ones who need community the most. Unfortunately, we live in a world where many families don’t accept their LGBTQ children, and for many queer people, the LGBTQ community became the only family support they had.
And now antisemitism is taking this support away.
Why political opposition toward the Israeli government turned into Middle Ages-style bigotry is a very good question that doesn’t have a simple answer.
Double standards
For a person who is not deeply into political and social issues, this situation may seem quite typical. After all, people are often used to judging the whole nation based on what their government did, right? Actually, wrong.
As a person from Ukraine, I may say that I spoke a lot about the Russian-Ukrainian war with LGBTQ and progressive activists in the West, and most of them showed enormous levels of compassion to “ordinary Russians,” despite the fact that the vast majority of the Russian population supports the Russian-Ukrainian war. Moreover, even after Russia in 2022 deliberately bombed the Mariupol Theater with Ukrainian children inside, Russians en masse weren’t called “child killers” by the American and European LGBTQ communities, and Russian activists still welcomed at Prides.
So it is definitely not about bombing children.
Also, all LGBTQ organizations in the US, UK, and European Union known to me that now openly support Palestine and call themselves anti-Zionists have never openly spoken up against concentration camps, ethnic cleansing, and the genocide of Muslim Uyghur populations in East Turkestan, which is under Chinese occupation right now.
But LGBTQ groups and activists have never called themselves anti-Chinese, didn’t create a “queer for Eastern Turkistan” movement, and didn’t push Chinese LGBTQ people on campus to condemn the actions of the Chinese government.
So, it is also not about fighting Islamophobia.
What is it about? I have been a refugee in three different countries, and I have been involved in LGBTQ activism in some way in Russia, Ukraine, the UK, and the US, and I may say that antisemitism in LGBTQ communities exists in all those countries in some way.
And in different cultural contexts, antisemitism represents itself differently among LGBTQ people.
Eastern European antisemitism
Me and three other LGBTQ activists in 2018 held a small demonstration in the middle of St. Petersburg on Victory Day, a big state-promoted holiday when Russians celebrate the Soviet victory over Nazism. We were holding posters about the common threats between Nazi Germany and the modern Russian Federation, including the persecution of LGBTQ people.
Suddenly, a very respected-looking man came to us, blaming us for an anti-Russian Western conspiracy just because we criticized the Russian government, and then started to say that the Holocaust never happened. When I yelled back at this man, telling him that I’m partly Jewish and daring him to repeat his antisemitic accusation, the man announced that Jews “paid to live in Auschwitz, so later they would create their own state.”
No one said anything against this man, but Russians were angry with me for “spoiling a holiday.”
Holocaust denial and everyday antisemitism are extremely prominent in Eastern Europe, from Poland to Russia. It is especially strong in Russia.
Russian pride about “victory over Nazis” is not about fighting Nazi ideology, but rather about being proud of a Soviet legacy. Simplifying Nazis is bad only because they killed Russian Soviets.
Even in state Russian Orthodox Churches, you could buy the “Protocol of the Elders of Zion” Nazi propaganda book.
LGBTQ activists in Russia are generally less antisemitic than the majority of the population, but all the same, they were raised in this culture, so they allow themselves antisemitic jokes and sometimes share Russian supremacy ideas.
So, for them, anti-Zionism is just another, new, and more appropriate way to hate Jews, and they didn’t even try to hide antisemitic rhetoric, especially because many prominent Jewish LGBTQ people moved to Israel or to the US, so the community is mostly non-Jewish.
Western European and American antisemitism
The situation is quite different in America and Western Europe.
“Why are you supporting Palestine in a way you have never supported people from other war zones, including any other Muslim lands?” I asked my friend and activist from Sheffield in the UK.
“Because there is a first time in modern history when a country committed such an attack against civilians!” They answered me. “Especially with our government’s support.”
I closed my eyes, suddenly remembering the Iraqi city of Mosul that was wiped out to the ground by US-led allies, killing not just ISIS fighters, but also peaceful townsfolk stuck under the occupation of the self-proclaimed “caliphate,” or the Syrian town of Baqhuz Fawqani, where families of ISIS fighters, including babies and pregnant women, were bombed together with Syrian civilians.
And to mention, once again, Russian “clearing” operations and bombings in Chechnya and Ukraine, Syrian President Bashar al-Assad’s crimes against his own people in Syria, crimes committed by ISIS, or the ongoing war in Mali.
My friend has no idea how wrong they were.
Modern wars are extremely brutal, and there is an ongoing problem of dehumanizing enemies and war crimes that need to be solved. It’s a much broader problem than just Israeli‘s actions, but like one of my Jewish nonbinary friends is saying, “no Jews, no news.”
Western antisemitism in the LGBTQ community, including the idea that all Jewish people are extremely privileged white oppressors, is based on a simple ignorance, no less than on prejudice. If in Russia I saw more activists who hate Jews and just want to be anti-Jewish in a modern way, in the UK and US LGBTQ community I saw more people who are generally caring about war crimes. But they refused to make their own analysis and refused to use the same standards for Jews that they use for other minorities — for example, not pushing them to condemn crimes they never committed.
The Palestinian rights movement has one of the biggest and more successful PR campaigns in modern history, while Jewish organizations failed to promote their agenda among non-Jewish populations.
“Most of them [LGBTQ activists and friends] don’t even know what Zionism is, to be really anti-Zionist,” my queer American friend noticed.
But, just like in Russia, some queer people are just bigots who now could show their hate publicly in a way that wouldn’t be condemned by their community.
Ayman Eckford is a freelance journalist, and an autistic ADHDer transgender person who understands that they are trans* since they were 3-years-old.
Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.
For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.
Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.
To every displaced person living with HIV:
• Your strength inspires us.
• Your story matters.
• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.
• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.
Let today be a reminder that:
• HIV is not a crime.
• Queer identity is not a crime.
• Seeking safety is not a crime.
• Stigma has no place in our communities.
• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.
As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.
Hope is stronger when we build it together.
Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.
Today we remember.
Today we stand together.
Today we renew hope.
Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.
Commentary
Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength
Rebuilding life and business after profound struggles
I grew up an overweight, gay Black boy in West Baltimore, so I know what it feels like not to fit into a world that was not really made for you. When I was 18, my mother passed from congestive heart failure, and fitness became a sanctuary for my mental health rather than just a place to build my body. That is the line I open most speeches with when people ask who I am and why I started SWEAT DC.
The truth is that little boy never really left me.
Even now, at 42 years old, standing 6 feet 3 inches and 225 pounds as a fitness business owner, I still carry the fears, judgments, and insecurities of that broken kid. Many of us do. We grow into new seasons of life, but the messages we absorbed when we were young linger and shape the stories we tell ourselves. My lack of confidence growing up pushed me to chase perfection as I aged. So, of course, I ended up in Washington, D.C., which I lovingly call the most perfection obsessed city in the world.
Chances are that if you are reading this, you feel some of that too.
D.C. is a place where your resume walks through the door before you do, where degrees, salaries, and the perfect body feel like unspoken expectations. In the age of social media, the pressure is even louder. We are all scrolling through each other’s highlight reels, comparing our behind the scenes to someone else’s curated moment. And I am not above it. I have posted the perfect photo with the inspirational “God did it again” caption when I am feeling great and then gone completely quiet when life feels heavy. I am guilty of loving being the strong friend while hating to admit that sometimes I am the friend who needs support.
We are all caught in a system that teaches us perfection or nothing at all. But what I know for sure now is this: Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength.
When I first stepped into leadership, trying to be the perfect CEO, I found Brené Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly” and immediately grabbed onto the idea that vulnerability is strength. I wanted to create a community at SWEAT where people felt safe enough to be real. Staff, members, partners, everyone. “Welcome Home” became our motto for a reason. Our mission is to create a world where everyone feels confident in their skin.
But in my effort to build that world for others, I forgot to build it for myself.
Since launching SWEAT as a pop up fundraiser in 2015, opening our first brick and mortar in 2017, surviving COVID, reemerging and scaling, and now preparing to open our fifth location in Shaw in February 2026, life has been full. Along the way, I went from having a tight trainer six pack to gaining nearly 50 pounds as a stressed out entrepreneur. I lost my father. I underwent hip replacement surgery. I left a relationship that looked fine on paper but was not right. I took on extra jobs to keep the business alive. I battled alcoholism. I faced depression and loneliness. There are more stories than I can fit in one piece.
But the hardest battle was the one in my head. I judged myself for not having the body I once had. I asked myself how I could lead a fitness company if I was not in perfect shape. I asked myself how I could be a gay man in this city and not look the way I used to.
Then came the healing.
A fraternity brother said to me on the phone, “G, you have to forgive yourself.” It stopped me in my tracks. I had never considered forgiving myself. I only knew how to push harder, chase more, and hide the cracks. When we hung up, I cried. That moment opened something in me. I realized I had not neglected my body. I had held my life and my business together the best way I knew how through unimaginable seasons.
I stopped shaming myself for not looking like my past. I started honoring the new ways I had proven I was strong.
So here is what I want to offer anyone who is in that dark space now. Give yourself the same grace you give everyone else. Love yourself through every phase, not just the shiny ones. Recognize growth even when growth simply means you are still here.
When I created SWEAT, I hoped to build a home where people felt worthy just as they are, mostly because I needed that home too. My mission now is to carry that message beyond our walls and into the city I love. To build a STRONGER DC.
Because strength is not perfection. Strength is learning to love an imperfect you.
With love and gratitude, Coach G.
Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is a D.C.-based fitness entrepreneur.
Commentary
Elusive safety: what new global data reveals about gender, violence, and erasure
Movements against gender equality, lack of human rights data contributing factors.
“My identity could be revealed, people can say whatever they want [online] without consequences. [Hormone replacement therapy] is illegal here so I’m just waiting to find a way to get out of here.”
-Anonymous respondent to the 2024 F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index from Iraq, self-identified as a transgender woman and lesbian
As the campaign for 16 Days Against Gender-Based Violence begins, it is a reminder that gender-based violence (GBV) — both on– and offline — not only impacts women and girls but everyone who has been harmed or abused because of their gender or perceived gender. New research from the Franklin & Marshall (F&M) Global Barometers and its report A Growing Backlash: Quantifying the Experiences of LGBTQI+ People, 2022-2024 starkly show trends of declining safety among LGBTQI+ persons around the world.
This erosion of safety is accelerated by movements against gender equality and the disappearance of credible human rights data and reporting. The fight against GBV means understanding all people’s lived realities, including those of LGBTQI+ people, alongside the rights we continue to fight for.
We partnered together while at USAID and Franklin & Marshall College to expand the research and evidence base to better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons through the F&M Global Barometers. The collection of barometers tracks the legal rights and lived experiences of LGBTQI+ persons from 204 countries and territories from 2011 to the present. With more than a decade of data, it allows us to see how rights have progressed and receded as well as the gaps between legal protections and lived experiences of discrimination and violence.
This year’s data reveals alarming trends that highlight how fear and violence are, at its root, gendered phenomena that affect anyone who transgresses traditional gender norms.
LGBTQI+ people feel less safe
Nearly two-thirds of countries experienced a decline in their score on the F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index (GBPI) from 2022-2024. This represents a five percent drop in global safety scores in just two years. With almost 70 percent of countries receiving an “F” grade on the GBPI, this suggests a global crisis in actual human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people.
Backsliding on LGBTQI+ human rights is happening everywhere, even in politically stable, established democracies with human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. Countries in Western Europe and the Americas experienced the greatest negative GBPI score changes globally, 74 and 67 percent, respectively. Transgender people globally reported the highest likelihood of violence, while trans women and intersex people reported the highest levels of feeling very unsafe or unsafe simply because of who they are.
Taboo of gender equality
Before this current administration dismantled USAID, I helped create an LGBTQI+ inclusive whole-of-government strategy to prevent and respond to GBV that highlighted the unique forms of GBV against LGBTQI+ persons. This included so-called ‘corrective’ rape related to actual or perceived sexual orientation, gender identity, or expression” and so-called ‘conversion’ therapy practices that seek to change or suppress a person’s gender identity or expression, sexual orientation, or sex characteristics. These efforts helped connect the dots in understanding that LGBTQI+ violence is rooted in the same systems of inequality and power imbalances as the broader spectrum of GBV against women and girls.
Losing data and accountability
Data that helps better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons is also disappearing. Again, the dismantling of USAID meant a treasure trove of research and reports on LGBTQI+ rights have been lost. Earlier this year, the US Department of State removed LGBTQI+ reporting from its annual Human Rights Reports. These played a critical role in providing credible sources for civil society, researchers, and policymakers to track abuses and advocate for change.
If violence isn’t documented, it’s easier for governments to deny it even exists and harder for us to hold governments accountable. Yet when systems of accountability work, governments and civil society can utilize data in international forums like the UN Universal Periodic Review, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, and the Sustainable Development Goals to assess progress and compliance and call for governments to improve protections.
All may not be lost if other countries and donors fill the void by supporting independent data collection and reporting efforts like the F&M Global Barometers and other academic and civil society monitoring. Such efforts are essential to the fight against GBV: The data helps show that the path toward safety, equality, and justice is within our reach if we’re unafraid of truth and visibility of those most marginalized and impacted.
Jay Gilliam (he/him/his) was the Senior LGBTQI+ Coordinator at USAID and is a member of the Global Outreach Advisory Council of the F&M Global Barometers.
Susan Dicklitch-Nelson (she/her/hers) is the founder of the F&M Global Barometers and Professor of Government at Franklin & Marshall College.
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