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Border to border: modern slavery and human trafficking in refugee movements across East Africa

LGBTQ people disproportionately targeted for sexual exploitation

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U.S. Ambassador to South Sudan Michael Adler visits the Gorom Refugee Settlement on Oct. 25, 2023. LGBTQ refugees in the country and elsewhere in East Africa remain susceptible to modern slavery and human trafficking. (Photo courtesy of the U.S. Embassy in South Sudan)

I did not choose to become a refugee. I did not choose to become a victim of trafficking. I only chose to live as myself. Yet in the world I come from, choosing to live as myself was enough to make me a target. As a transgender woman from Uganda, my identity alone placed me in danger. What followed was not just displacement, it was a journey through systems of exploitation that closely resemble modern slavery, hidden in plain sight along the borders and pathways that refugees are forced to travel.

People often imagine modern slavery as something that happens in secret: in locked rooms, in distant brothels, in hidden factories. Human trafficking is portrayed as a dark underworld run by organized criminals. But for many refugees in East Africa, exploitation does not hide in the shadows. It exists in the open, woven into the very routes of survival. It is present at border checkpoints, in refugee camps, in the hands of smugglers, and even in the institutions meant to protect us. It is not always marked by chains or cages. Sometimes it looks like a bus ticket, a border crossing, a promise of safety, or a demand for money that you cannot refuse.

My journey across borders is only one example of how these systems operate. But it is a story shared by many LGBTQI+ refugees whose lives are shaped by violence, silence, and the constant negotiation of safety.

In Uganda, being transgender is not simply misunderstood, it is dangerous. My family, deeply rooted in conservative religious beliefs, saw my identity as a disgrace. I was threatened, rejected, and made to feel that my life had no value. Outside the home, communities policed identity through violence. The legal environment offered no protection. Instead, it reinforced fear. Laws targeting LGBTQI+ people made it impossible to seek help from authorities. Reporting abuse often meant risking arrest. Every day became a calculation of risk: where to walk, who to trust, how to hide. Eventually, the threats became too real to ignore. Leaving was not a choice, it was survival.

My journey out of Uganda began through unofficial routes. Like many refugees fleeing persecution, I could not rely on safe or legal pathways. Instead, I was forced into networks of smugglers and traffickers operating along border regions. From Uganda through border points like Maraba, and later through movements connected to Kakuma Refugee Camp and into South Sudan, each step came with a cost financial, emotional, and physical. At border crossings, money speaks louder than rights. Payments were demanded at checkpoints. There was no transparency, no accountability. You either paid, or you risked being turned back or worse.

For LGBTQI+ refugees, these journeys are even more dangerous. Visibility can mean exposure. Exposure can mean violence. There is constant fear of being outed, harassed, or assaulted not only by traffickers but sometimes by those meant to enforce the law. This is how modern trafficking operates not always through chains, but through systems of dependency, coercion, and fear.

Human trafficking is often imagined as a distant or extreme phenomenon. But for many refugees, especially LGBTQI+ individuals, it exists in subtle and systemic ways. It is in the forced payments demanded at every step of the journey. It is in the exploitation of vulnerability by those offering “help.” It is in the silence of systems that fail to protect. Many LGBTQI+ refugees face extortion by smugglers and intermediaries, threats of violence or exposure, sexual exploitation and abuse, and discrimination by officials and communities. These experiences are rarely documented. Fear prevents reporting. Lack of access prevents justice. What remains is a hidden crisis, one that continues across borders.

Reaching South Sudan did not bring safety. I now live in Gorom Refugee Settlement Camp, where the reality for LGBTQI+ refugees remains harsh and dangerous. Discrimination is part of daily life. Access to food, water, and healthcare is often affected by stigma. Moving freely within the camp can be risky. Violence and threats are constant. As a transgender woman, I am highly visible. This visibility increases my vulnerability. I have faced harassment, intimidation, and threats from both host communities and other refugees. Some blame LGBTQI+ refugees for misfortunes accusing us of bringing curses or problems. These beliefs, rooted in stigma and misinformation, fuel violence and exclusion. Safety, even in a refugee camp, is not guaranteed.

Despite these challenges, I have chosen not to remain silent. In Gorom, I serve as a leader and representative of an LGBTQI+ Refugees and Asylum Seekers Network. Our community includes individuals who are traumatized, isolated, and often unable to advocate for themselves. Many cannot read or write. Some are dealing with serious medical conditions. Others are too afraid to speak. I support them by helping fill out applications and forms, writing emails to organizations, connecting them with protection pathways, and providing peer support and coordination. Through this work, several members of our community have managed to access opportunities for relocation and protection. Some have received case numbers and are progressing through international processes. While I am proud of this work, it comes with a cost. My visibility as a leader makes me a target. The more I help others, the more I am exposed.

The systems I have experienced reflect a form of modern slavery that is not always recognized. It is not defined by ownership, but by control. It is not enforced by chains, but by fear and dependency. When refugees are forced to rely on informal and unsafe systems to survive, exploitation becomes inevitable. International frameworks like the Palermo Protocol recognize trafficking as involving coercion, exploitation, and abuse of vulnerability. By these definitions, what many refugees experience during displacement falls within this reality. Yet, these experiences are rarely acknowledged in policy or response.

My story is one thread in a much larger tapestry of exploitation. Across East Africa, displacement has created informal systems where movement is controlled not by law, but by power, money, and vulnerability. Within these systems, trafficking and modern slavery are not isolated crimes; they are embedded in the everyday experiences of refugees. The blurred line between smuggling and trafficking becomes clear when a voluntary agreement turns into coercion. Payments increase unexpectedly. Conditions worsen. Threats emerge. At this point, smuggling begins to resemble trafficking. People are forced to pay additional fees under threat, detained or abandoned if they cannot pay, and subjected to coercion, intimidation, or violence. The journey becomes one of survival under control, rather than movement by choice.

Checkpoints are one of the most visible forms of exploitation. Across multiple borders, movement is regulated not only by official policies but by informal practices. Travelers are often required to make payments to pass through, regardless of their legal status. These payments are rarely documented. They are negotiated at the moment, often under pressure. Failure to comply can result in detention, forced return, physical intimidation, or exposure to further risks. For those already vulnerable, checkpoints become sites of control and exploitation. This system benefits from a lack of accountability. It thrives in environments where oversight is weak and corruption is normalized.

Modern slavery is not always about physical confinement. It can also take the form of economic exploitation. During transit, individuals may be required to pay escalating fees at each stage of the journey, surrender money or belongings, or depend entirely on intermediaries for movement. In some cases, individuals are left stranded if they cannot meet financial demands. This creates a cycle of dependency: you rely on the network to move, the network controls the cost, and the cost determines your safety. Such systems exploit vulnerability in a way that aligns closely with definitions of modern slavery particularly the abuse of power and the extraction of value through coercion.

Reaching a destination, such as a refugee settlement, does not necessarily end exposure to exploitation. In many camp settings, individuals continue to face restricted access to resources, dependency on aid systems, and informal economies that can be exploitative. Where formal support systems are overstretched or under-resourced, informal structures emerge again. These structures may involve gatekeeping access to services, manipulation of aid distribution, or continued financial or social exploitation. The conditions that enable trafficking do not disappear; they evolve.

Beyond East Africa, modern slavery takes other forms that mirror the same patterns of vulnerability and exploitation. Labor trafficking to the Gulf has become a major issue for migrants from Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania. 

A beach in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, on Oct. 3, 2024. Labor trafficking to the United Arab Emirates and other Gulf counties has become a major issue for migrants from East Africa. (Washington Blade photo by Michael K. Lavers)

Recruitment agencies promise good jobs, but many migrants end up in forced domestic labour, with confiscated passports, unpaid wages, and conditions amounting to slavery. Some never return home. Organ trafficking has also been documented, with victims from Africa ending up in countries such as Thailand, Malaysia, Russia, and China. Kidneys are the most commonly trafficked organs. Some victims are coerced; others are deceived; some are killed. Women, girls, and LGBTQI+ individuals are disproportionately targeted for sexual exploitation. For refugees, “survival sex” becomes a coping mechanism in the absence of protection and resources. Modern slavery thrives because the global economy rewards cheap labour. Migrants from East Africa are used in construction, domestic work, agriculture, and manufacturing. Their exploitation is hidden behind the products the world consumes.

From a humanist perspective, the existence of such systems raises urgent ethical questions. If all human beings have equal dignity, why are some forced to risk exploitation to survive? If rights are universal, why are they not accessible in practice? Human trafficking and modern slavery in refugee movements are not only criminal issues, they are moral failures. They reflect a gap between principles and reality. They expose the distance between what we claim to value and what we allow to happen.

Addressing these issues requires more than isolated interventions. Safe and legal migration pathways must be expanded. Border accountability must be strengthened. Anti-trafficking measures must be integrated into refugee protection. Refugee-led initiatives must be supported. Those with lived experience are best positioned to identify risks and solutions.

Modern slavery and human trafficking are not always visible in chains or confinement. In many cases, they exist within systems that appear as ordinary border crossings, transit routes, and refugee settlements. Recognizing these systems is the first step toward change. The movement of people across borders should not come at the cost of their dignity, safety, or freedom. Yet, for many, it does. Until safe alternatives exist, and accountability is enforced, these hidden systems of exploitation will continue.

The question is not whether they exist.  

The question is whether we are willing to confront them.

Aby lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement Camp in South Sudan.

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The latest Supreme Court case erasing LGBTQ identity

Chiles v. Salazar a major setback for movement

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(Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

In its recent decision in Chiles v. Salazar, the U.S. Supreme Court invalidated Colorado’s law prohibiting licensed counselors from engaging in efforts to change the sexual orientation or gender identity of minors. The decision, which puts into question similar laws in 22 other states, relied on the First Amendment to hold that the law violates counselors’ free speech rights. But the decision also strikes a blow against LGBTQ dignity, a point the court’s opinion does not even address.  

The eight-member majority, which included Justices Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor, who usually side with LGBTQ groups, justified its reasoning by suggesting that the law was one-sided: it permitted treatment that affirms LGBTQ identity but forbade treatment that seeks to change it. But the law is one-sided, as Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson’s lone dissent pointed out, because the medical evidence only supports one side: reams of research show that “survivors of conversion therapy continue to suffer from PTSD, anxiety, and suicidal ideation.” And major medical associations all agree, no evidence demonstrates the efficacy of conversion efforts. This isn’t surprising. Medicine often take sides — some treatments work, and some don’t.

But particularly concerning is the vision of LGBTQ identity that undergirds the majority opinion when compared to the dissent. Justice Jackson’s dissent explains that LGBTQ identity is simply “a part of the normal spectrum of human diversity” — not something to be “cured.” By contrast, for the majority, how best to help LGBTQ minors is “a subject of fierce public debate.” That can hardly be the case if LGBTQ identity stands on equal ground with straight, cisgender identity, or if LGBTQ people are as deserving of safety, rights, and dignity.

Indeed, the LGBTQ rights movement only began in earnest when advocates in the 1960s decided to end the “debate” over gay identity. Until then, community leaders would routinely cooperate with psychiatrists who were interested in researching homosexuality as a medical condition. A new generation of activists, led by Frank Kameny, a key movement founder, began arguing that this got the issue upside down: Rather than wondering if they could be “cured,” LGBTQ people had to assert a right to their identity. As Kameny put it—“we have been defined into sickness.” Only once the case was made that it was society that had to change, and not LGBTQ people, could LGBTQ consciousness, LGBTQ pride and LGBTQ rights develop. Their activism led to the first Pride parade in New York, and the official declassification of homosexuality as a disease in 1973. 

The Supreme Court’s conservatives don’t just want to reignite this half-century old medical “debate”; they also treat medical claims that undermine LGBTQ identity very differently from those who support it. Last year, in an opinion backingTennessee’s law that banned gender affirming care for minors, the court sympathetically marched through the reasons Tennessee offered for “why States may rightly be skeptical” of such care, and cited three times, in some detail, to “health authorities in a number of European countries” (that is, some Nordic countries and the UK) that had curbed pediatric care. It failed to mention that most of Western Europe and every major American medical association provides access to this care.

In Chiles, by contrast, the court cites none of the evidence that Colorado amassed that conversion therapy harms LGBTQ children. None of the countries that the court had invoked to justify anti-trans policies allow conversion therapy in their health care systems (indeed, one of them criminalizes such practices). So rather than cite medical evidence, the court simply asked — why trust medical evidence at all? “What if,” asks the court, “reflexive deference to currently prevailing professional views [does] not always end well?” and cites an infamous 1927 Supreme Court case, Buck v. Bell.

In Buck, the Supreme Court embraced eugenic reasoning, backing a eugenic state law that allowed the sterilization of individuals with mental disabilities, on the grounds that such disabilities were hereditary. As Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes opined, “three generations of imbeciles are enough.” Look at what happens when we listen to medical expertise, today’s court seems to say, as an excuse to disregard the LGBTQ-affirming medical evidence they don’t like.

But the court has missed the key lesson of Buck. The law at issue in Buckdiscriminated against a certain group, seeking, through sterilization measures, to erase it from existence. Indeed, LGBTQ people (whom doctors of the day would have referred to as sexual “inverts”) were exactly the kind of people that the eugenic program of Bucksought to eliminate. Conversion therapy seeks similar erasure.

The lesson of the 1960s LGBTQ rights movement remains as relevant today as it was then. Without an unapologetic LGBTQ identity, LGBTQ Pride, LGBTQ rights and the LGBTQ movement itself can all founder. By supporting only the anti-LGBTQ side in this medical saga — and by suggesting that LGBTQ existence is subject to medical debate at all — the court is reaffirming, rather than repudiating, minority erasure.


Craig Konnoth is a professor of law at University of Virginia School of Law.

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Response to a personal attack against me

Writers should stick to facts and reason

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(Photo by sqback/Bigstock)

I was disappointed when the Blade didn’t publish my response to a personal attack on me in a column by Hayden Gise, in last week’s print edition. They did publish it online. To be clear, I have no problem with people disagreeing with my columns and opinions. That is absolutely fair. But when they get into personal attacks, it often means they don’t have enough to say about the ideas they are trying to criticize. 

In a recent column ‘Why the Democratic Socialists of America are right for D.C.,’ the author decided to attack me personally. Here is the response I wrote to her column: 

“I am responding to a column by Hayden Gise who says in her column she is a transgender, lesbian, Jewish, Democratic Socialist, and supports having the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) in Washington, DC. She is definitely as entitled to her view on this, as I am to mine. However, I was surprised she clearly felt it important to use the column to attack me personally, without even knowing me. What she didn’t do is respond to the issues in the DSA platform I wrote having a problem with, and which I asked candidates endorsed by the DSA to respond to. 1. Are they for the abolishment of the State of Israel? 2. What is their definition of a Zionist? 3. What is their definition of antisemitism? 4. Will they meet with Zionist organizations? 5. Do they support BDS? One needs to know when a candidate claims they are only a member of the local DSA, according to the DSA bylaws no person can be a member of a local DSA without being a member of the national organization. So Hayden Gise has a little better idea of who I am she should know: I was a teacher and a union member. I worked for the most progressive member of Congress at the time, Bella S. Abzug (D-N.Y.), and supported her when she introduced the Equality Act in 1974, to protect the rights of the LGBTQ community, and have fought for its passage ever since. I have spent a lifetime fighting for civil rights, women’s rights, disability rights, and LGBTQ rights. I have no idea what Hayden Gise’s background is, or what her history of working for the causes she espouses is. But I would be happy to meet with her to find out. But she should know, I take a back seat to no one in the work I have done over my life fighting for equality, including economic equality, for all. So, I will not attack her, as I don’t know her, and contrary to her, don’t personally attack people I don’t know much about. 

“I have, and will continue to attack, what the government of Israel is doing to the Palestinian people, and now to those in Lebanon and Iran. I will also attack the government of my own country, and the felon in the White House, and his sycophants in Congress, for what they are doing to our own people, and people around the world, and will continue to work hard to change things. However, I will also continue to stand for a two-state solution with the continued existence of the State of Israel, calling for a different government in Israel. I also strongly support the Palestinian people and believe they must have the right to their own free state.”

I have not heard from Gise, but I hope she knows that since she wrote her column indicating her support for Janeese Lewis George for mayor, her preferred candidate has attended a birthday party to celebrate a person who still refers to gay people as ‘fags.’   

We should not personally attack people we don’t know as a way to criticize their views on an issue. Once again, I have no problem with people disagreeing with what I write, and having the Blade publish those contrary columns. But a plea to all who disagree with any columnist, or story: disagree with the issues and refrain from making personal attacks on the writer. That actually takes away from whatever point you are trying to make. 


Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist. 

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Science said stop; the Supreme Court said no

What Chiles v. Salazar means for LGBTQ health

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(Washington Blade file photo by Michael Key)

Imagine if researchers found that coffee drinking increased your risk of death by more than 50%. The public health response would be immediate – regulations, warnings, a swift mobilization of policy to match the evidence. We would act, because protecting people from documented harm is what evidence-based policy exists to do.

The same logic is why Colorado banned conversion therapy. The science was clear: research from The Trevor Project and others shows that exposure to conversion therapy increases suicidal ideation among LGBTQ+ youth, and more than doubles suicide attempts for transgender youth. Every major medical organization in the country – the American Medical Association, the American Psychological Association, and the American Academy of Pediatrics – has condemned the practice. 

Colorado looked at the evidence and did what public health is supposed to do. It intervened. 

On March 31, 2026, the Supreme Court struck down that intervention 8-1 in the Chiles v. Salazar case, ruling that conversion therapy is protected speech.

This decision should alarm anyone who believes that science has a role in protecting human lives. The court did not dispute evidence. It did not produce contradicting research or question the methodology of the studies Colorado relied on. Instead, it decided that the ideological underpinnings of conversion therapy deserve more constitutional protection than the children being harmed by it. In doing so, it severed the fundamental link between what science tells us is dangerous and what the law is willing to prohibit. 

That severance has consequences far beyond Colorado, as Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson noted in her dissent. More than 20 states and Washington, D.C. have enacted conversion therapy bans. The court majority’s reasoning – that regulating talk-based practices constitutes censorship – hands challengers a blueprint. The scientific consensus that built those protections did not change on March 31, but its power to hold them in place did.

For LGBTQ+ public health researchers like us, this ruling is a reckoning. And a personal one. Both of us came to public health because it offered a way to ask questions that matter: How can we help people live safe, healthy, and happy lives?

As a Ph.D. student and an assistant professor focused on LGBTQ+ health, we have been energized by the possibility that rigorous research could inform policies that protect LGBTQ+ people. The Chiles v. Salazar ruling forces us to recognize something uncomfortable: the possibility of research driving policy is real, but it is not automatic. Evidence reaches policy only when researchers advocate to put it there. As it turns out, scientific evidence itself is not enough. 

This means the work of LGBTQ+ health researchers cannot stop at the journal article. It has to extend into the spaces where policy is actually made and public opinion is actually influenced. Researchers must work alongside educators, communicators, and community organizers to make evidence impossible to ignore or misrepresent. 

As Sylvia Rivera observed in 1971, “our family and friends have also condemned us because of their lack of true knowledge.” More than 50 years later, misinformation about conversion therapy, gender-affirming care, and LGBTQ+ health still fills the gap that researchers leave when they stay silent.

We also want to say this directly to LGBTQ+ young people: Science has not abandoned you. The evidence of your worth, your health, and your right to be protected is overwhelming and it is not going anywhere. The researchers, clinicians, and advocates who built that evidence are still here and still working to ensure it translates into the protection you deserve. 

The Chiles v. Salazar ruling is a serious setback. But it is not the end of the argument.

Science has shown us how conversion therapy causes harm. It has shown us clearly, repeatedly, and with the backing of every credible medical institution in the country. The Supreme Court chose to look away. The only response to that is to make looking away harder. To build a public, cross-sector, science-informed movement that refuses to let evidence be sidelined when lives are on the line.

The evidence is on our side. Now, we have to make sure it counts.


Vincenzo Malo is a Health Services Ph.D. student at the University of Washington’s School of Public Health who studies affirming health systems. Dr. Harry Barbee is an assistant professor in the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health whose research focuses on LGBTQ+ health, aging, and public policy.

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