Gaza was different. Over the past two years, Rain Dove Dubilewski has been on the ground helping evacuate conflict areas such as Ukraine, Uganda, and Venezuela. 

But still, nothing prepared them for what they would face in Palestine. “[It] is so much different than any other [conflict zone],” said Dubilewski, explaining that in other areas, there are places to flee and organizations in place to support refugees once they get there. Dubilewski and their team’s job was to facilitate movement and help set up refugees with existing services. This is nearly impossible both in Gaza and in Egypt where the small number of refugees able to evacuate have been able to flee.

“It became very apparent to me that everything we did was like pouring water into the desert. There was nothing we can offer that is lasting or stable for the Palestinian people,” said Dubilewski. “They need comprehensive, large aid.” 

After reaching fame as a gender-nonconforming model, the LGBTQ rights activist turned almost accidentally to refugee work. A fundraiser for LGBTQ Ukrainians Dubilewski hosted on their Instagram in 2022 blew up. A call for $5,000 snowballed into $500,000 and the direct support of thousands of people on the ground in Ukraine, including members of the LGBTQ community and Holocaust survivors. 

Their refugee work in Ukraine has been featured by the Organization for Refuge, Asylum & Migration and the International Organization for Migration Germany.

The Blade interviewed Dubilewski and two LGBTQ Safebow volunteers, in addition to reviewing hundreds of photos, videos, and messages from the ground in Gaza and Egypt. Several other LGBTQ volunteers introduced themselves but chose not to be interviewed. As a whole, the testimony and documentation paint a photo of mass suffering and transnational queer solidarity.

Over the past year, Safebow has facilitated the evacuation of more than 300 people out of Gaza, which was corroborated by documentation sent by Safebow.

They have distributed LifeStraws, prosthetics, toys, clothing, food, medication, and thousands of dollars of cash to Palestinian refugees. Throughout Dubilewski’s entire time on the ground, they wore a Pride pin and lanyard that said “I am LGBT” in both English and Arabic. Dubilewski said this only posed a problem once during their work. Numerous other volunteers were trans and queer as well.

Despite positive experiences, everyone emphasized serious risks, as the LGBTQ community faces varying risks of persecution in Egypt and Gaza. Safebow largely works through collaboration with a local team, many of whom are LGBT, and Safebow was particularly careful to protect them.

Alyssa Rani Nagpal, a volunteer who oversaw 37 evacuations, is a biracial queer woman. She remains close with two families she helped, speaking with them frequently on the phone. “They remind me, repeatedly, that I’ll always be part of their families and that our connection is one they actively care to maintain,” said Nagpal. They also often ask after Naghpal’s partner, a woman.  

Nagpal, who is launching her own non-profit, said that “being an aid worker was an obvious choice, a no-brainer.”

 “The struggles of all marginalized communities are interconnected,” she said, “This intersection was always painfully obvious to me as the first-generation gay daughter of a low-income immigrant family living in NYC.” Nagpal specifically points to pinkwashing – “a horrific way to excuse violence in our name”— as a way queer and Palestinian struggles are interconnected. 

Though she was able to help many, what Nagpal carries the most is those Safebow couldn’t help. “The moments that stuck out to me, and likely won’t leave my conscious and subconscious mind for a very long time… Their heartbreak and anguish expressed during those conversations still haunts me.”

Afeef Nessouli has spoken to numerous Palestinians who he knows will not be able to evacuate Gaza, let alone survive. This has become a major part of his life over the past year.

Nessouli is a reporter and producer whose work has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, The Daily Show, CNN, and Slow Factory. As an openly queer, Muslim journalist from the Levant – Nessouli’s family is from Lebanon – he found himself in a unique situation as violence escalated in Gaza.

“Queer people from Gaza were getting in touch with me on Instagram,” he said. Being out and proud, “signals to other queer people who might be hiding [that] I exist, and I am here for you to reach out to,” says Nessouli. 

Suddenly, he was one of few who held the voices of LGBTQ Palestinians at a time when their very existence was being questioned. He has published sparingly, respecting the unique vulnerability of his sources. 

Nessouli emphasizes that there is a diversity of Palestinian queer experiences in Gaza. 

“There are some that have hooked up many times and found love and found excitement and surprise and queerness in all of the ways,” said Nessouli. “And then you have people who’ve never met another queer person at all in Gaza. You have people who are struggling with mental health challenges,” said Nessouli. 

“You have people who are very aware that they don’t identify as queer as their first identity, even if they do identify as queer, their first identity is Palestinian,” said Nessouli.

For Nessouli, documentation is the biggest concern. “I think journalism is necessarily about documenting history,” he said. “God forbid something happens to them, I want to always be able to point and say we exist in droves, and we exist in multiplicity.” 

Not that Nessouli was going to sit passively waiting for something to happen. He quickly connected with Dubilewski through actor Sara Ramirez. “Rain’s reputation precedes them,” he said, speaking to their work across other war zones. 

Nessouli, who also has a J.D. in human rights law and a master’s in international relations, connected Dubilewski and the Safebow team with LGBTQ Palestinians living in Gaza. He also provided much-needed logistical support on the back end. “It was 1,000 conversations, hours upon hours of just logistics and also just venting, being comrades and bonding over the impossibility of just trying to help where we could help,” he said.

Nessouli recently went to Cairo to visit refugee families helped by Safebow and document their stories. Safebow documented the stories of every LGBTQ person they evacuated, which will not be published but will be available for preservation in archives and future museums, as agreed to by the refugees. 

“Importantly, a genocide has been happening for a year, and it’s important to record people’s stories because of the act of ethnic cleansing and the act of erasure has been upon us,” said Nessouli. “Journalism is aid work, in some ways. It’s not, but it’s heavily connected.”

At the directive of the Egyptian government, Safebow has to wrap up its work by the end of this year as part of a larger trend of not supporting refugees, says Dubilewski. Many volunteers continue the work through other initiatives, like Nagpal, whose non-profit is working to fill the education gap for Palestinian youth in Egypt who are ineligible for Egyptian public schools.

As Dubilewski works on the next steps, they reflect on the tenacity of their team. “I will forever be grateful to every single person group, they are some of the bravest, boldest, kindest, funniest, and just most dedicated people you’ll ever meet.”