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LGBTQ community plays integral role in autism advocacy

April 2 is World Autism Acceptance Day

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Autism rainbow infinity symbol (Image by Soodowoodo/Bigstock)

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.

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Chile

Santiago Pride march doubles as protest against new Chilean president

José Antonio Kast took office in March

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Participants in the annual Santiago Pride March in Santiago, Chile, on June 27, 2026. (Photo courtesy of María José Venegas Moya)

More than 100,000 people participated in the 26th Pride March in Santiago, Chile, one of the largest demonstrations by the LGBTQ movement in the South American country, on June 27. 

The event, organized by the Movement for Homosexual Integration and Liberation and Fundación Iguales, proceeded along the Alameda, the capital’s main avenue, with flags, signs, and slogans in support of equality, against a backdrop of concern among organizations regarding the direction of President José Antonio Kast’s administration.

The march was preceded by speeches in Plaza Baquedano and included the participation of human rights organizations, families, activists, victims of discrimination, and representatives from various embassies. This year, the parade was also led by LGBTQ seniors from the group Años Rosados, part of Acción Gay, as a gesture of historical remembrance for those who lived through decades when publicly expressing one’s sexual orientation or gender identity could mean persecution, imprisonment, or social exclusion.

“This march demonstrates that the fight for equality is still alive and will not be pushed back into the closet,” said Movilh spokesperson Javiera Zúñiga. “We march with remembrance, with pride, and with the conviction that Chile cannot roll back the rights we have won.” 

During the event, the organizations called upon the Chilean government to move forward with a comprehensive reform of the Zamudio Law — the anti-discrimination law in effect since 2012 — as well as to introduce penalties for hate speech and strengthen protections for LGBTQ people in education, health care, the workplace, and public spaces.

Movilh founder Rolando Jiménez noted that Chile between 1991 and 2022 made significant strides toward equality and nondiscrimination. He warned, however, that this progress has begun to lose momentum in recent years and that, under the current administration, the signs have become increasingly concerning.

“For decades, Chile forged a path of progress, with laws and public policies that expanded rights. Today we are marching because there are attacks aimed at weakening those protections and preventing further progress,” Jiménez stated.

The march took place place in a country that, in recent years, has established a robust legal framework for sexual and gender diversity. Chile has had a Civil Union Agreement since 2015, a transgender rights law since 2018, and marriage equality since 2022. For these organizations, this legal framework explains why recent decisions by the executive branch and Congress are viewed as signs of regression, not merely as administrative debates.

One of the main points of concern arose in March, when the Kast administration shortly after the new president took office decided not to endorse an Organization of American States’ LGBTQ rights declaration. The decision marked a departure from the stance taken by previous administrations and was interpreted by civil society organizations as a sign of a weakening of Chile’s foreign policy on human rights.

The Foreign Affairs Ministry, however, has maintained that Chile remains committed to promoting and protecting human rights without discrimination, and that the decision stemmed from differences regarding the document’s wording. That explanation has not fully dispelled the doubts of these organizations, which, during the march, demanded that the executive branch take a clear and consistent public stance.

One hundred days into the Kast administration, Fundación Iguales also presented the findings of its LGBTQ+ Radar, an ongoing monitoring initiative of government, legislative, and administrative measures that impact the rights of LGBTQ people in Chile. 

According to the organization, of the nine measures recorded so far, five have been rated as unfavorable, three remain under evaluation, and only one has been considered favorable.

Among the adverse measures, Fundación Iguales identifies actions that, in its view, involve hostility, restriction, or elimination of previously existing public policies or safeguards. In this category, it includes the repeal of Circular 781, which protected LGBTQ students in educational institutions; Chile’s decision to abstain from the OAS LGBTQ declaration; the elimination of the section on diversity from the national household survey; the discontinuation of the inclusion training program for public officials; and alignment with the U.S. to restrict the definition of gender at the U.N.

The monitoring also includes three measures currently under evaluation whose final impact has not yet been determined: the National Human Rights Plan, the regulations on access to justice, and the regulations for the Adoption Law. In contrast, the only favorable measure identified so far is the enactment of the School Coexistence Law, which the foundation considers an action that expands or protects rights.

Fundación Iguales states that the LGBTQ+ Radar is updated in real time and that each measure includes its source, date, and the responsible institution. For the organization, the assessment of Kast’s first 100 days confirms that the signals from the executive branch are not isolated incidents but part of a pattern that must be monitored by civil society and the international community.

Another controversial move took place in the education sector. The Superintendency of Education repealed circulars related to school coexistence and internal regulations, including provisions addressing gender identity and nondiscrimination. However, a few days before the march, the Comptroller General’s Office upheld the legality of Circular 812, which protects the rights of trans students in the school system, rejecting the attempt to declare that regulation illegal.

For Fundación Iguales, this ruling was a significant signal amid an adverse political climate. 

“The fact that organized groups have tried to eliminate this circular speaks volumes about the times we are living in. We celebrate that the Comptroller’s Office has clarified the matter, and we will remain vigilant to prevent setbacks,” said María José Cumplido, the organization’s executive director.

The debate also reached Congress. 

The Chamber of Deputies amid Pride month approved a draft resolution calling on Kast to eliminate the use of inclusive language in public services. The initiative, backed by right-wing sectors, called for the repeal of administrative acts promoting these forms of communication and for a ban on what it defined as “grammatical distortions” based on gender, ethnicity, or other identity classifications.

For LGBTQ organizations, the measure is ideological in nature and fails to recognize that inclusive language has not been a widespread imposition, but rather a tool used in certain contexts to name historically excluded groups. At the march, this point was one of the most frequently cited examples of the new political climate that has taken hold under the Kast administration.

Despite this situation, the organizations also highlighted a positive institutional development: Senate President Paulina Núñez of Renovación Nacional, a more moderate right-wing ruling party, pledged in May to push for reform of the Zamudio Law and to serve as a bridge with the executive branch to advance the modernization of anti-discrimination legislation. The reform is currently stalled in Congress, despite years of criticism from human rights organizations regarding its limited effectiveness.

“The commitment to move forward with reforming the Zamudio Law is good news, because Chile needs effective anti-discrimination legislation, with real tools to protect victims and combat hate speech,” Movilh representatives stated.

The march culminated with a cultural event in Plaza Los Héroes, but the political message was clear from the start: the organizations not only celebrated the progress made but also warned that these rights require constant defense.

For the organizing groups, the country continues to have a strong legal foundation regarding sexual and gender diversity, but it faces a period of uncertainty under a conservative government that, in its first months, has sent mixed signals about the continuity of those commitments.

Chile already has legislation in place regarding gender identity, civil unions, and marriage equality. For this reason, the organizations believe that the setbacks they have observed are not merely symbolic but could undermine the safeguards that form part of the democratic framework the country has built over the past decades.

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Asia

LGBTQ rights gains in Asia come through courts, not legislatures

Marriage equality lawsuits filed in Japan

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(Photo by Proxima Studio via Bigstock)

In recent years, some of Asia’s most significant legal developments involving LGBTQ rights have unfolded not in parliamentary chambers but in courtrooms. From marriage equality lawsuits in Japan to litigation over same-sex spousal benefits in South Korea and constitutional challenges in countries including India and Nepal, courts across the region have increasingly been asked to decide questions that lawmakers have yet to resolve. The trend raises a broader question: Why has constitutional litigation become a recurring pathway for LGBTQ people seeking legal recognition in parts of Asia?

The pattern has unfolded over nearly two decades. 

In 2007, Nepal’s Supreme Court issued one of Asia’s earliest landmark rulings recognizing the rights of sexual and gender minorities, directing the government to end discriminatory laws and examine legal recognition for same-sex couples. A decade later, Taiwan’s Constitutional Court ruled that denying same-sex couples the right to marry violated the constitution, paving the way for the region’s first marriage equality law. In India, the Supreme Court recognized transgender people as a third gender in 2014 before striking down a colonial-era ban on consensual same-sex relations four years later.

The pattern continued across Asia. 

Japan’s courts repeatedly questioned the exclusion of same-sex couples from marriage. The rulings intensified pressure for legal reform. Parliament, however, has yet to act. 

South Korea’s judiciary expanded legal protections for same-sex couples. It recognized spousal health insurance benefits. A recent district court also awarded damages after a same-sex relationship ended. The ruling added momentum to the country’s marriage equality movement. 

China’s courts took a different path. 

Landmark constitutional rulings never emerged. Still, litigation prompted the Supreme People’s Court to acknowledge anti-LGBTQ discrimination. The developments reflected courts’ growing role in LGBTQ rights disputes.

The Philippines added another dimension. 

Marriage equality remains unresolved, yet the Supreme Court recently recognized property rights for some same-sex couples. The ruling stopped short of recognizing marriage. Still, it acknowledged legal protections for LGBTQ relationships. The decision reflected another way courts have shaped LGBTQ rights across Asia.

Constitutional courts occupy a distinct place in democratic systems. Legislatures enact laws. They also respond to political priorities and public opinion. Constitutional courts serve a different function. They decide whether laws or government actions comply with constitutional guarantees. They resolve legal disputes brought before them. Their role is not to measure a policy’s popularity. It is to determine whether it is constitutionally valid. That distinction has placed constitutional courts at the center of many of Asia’s most consequential LGBTQ rights disputes.

Nepal offers an early example. 

In 2007, LGBTQ activists turned to the Supreme Court through a public interest petition. They argued that discriminatory laws and government practices violated constitutional guarantees of equality. They also sought legal recognition for gender and sexual minorities. The government urged the court to dismiss the petition. It argued existing laws already protected all citizens. It also said the claims relied on assumptions rather than specific instances of discrimination. The court disagreed. It held that sexual orientation and gender identity are natural variations of human identity. It directed the government to eliminate discriminatory laws and policies. The ruling also ordered a study on legal recognition for same-sex couples, laying the foundation for future reforms.

“Since it is the absolute jurisdiction of the legislature to decide as to what type of law should be made and amended on a particular issue, and as this matter does not fall under the jurisdiction of this office, therefore, there does not seem any pertinent reason and valid ground to make this Office a respondent,” said Office of Prime Minister and Council of Ministers in its 2007 affidavit. “Let the writ petition be dismissed on the ground that the unconcerned office is being made as an opposite party in the case.”

In India, a prominent leader of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, Subramanian Swamy, described homosexuality as a “genetic disorder” in 2015. He also wrote on social media that it was a “genetic handicap,” reflecting the political discourse surrounding LGBTQ rights before the Supreme Court’s landmark ruling in 2018.

The Supreme Court’s landmark 2018 ruling decriminalized consensual same-sex relations. The decision did not end the debate. Soon afterward, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh, a right wing, Hindu nationalist volunteer and paramilitary organization, an ideological parent of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, said it did not consider same-sex relationships a crime. It added, however, that it did not support such relationships.

After the Supreme Court’s landmark 2018 ruling, Arun Kumar, a senior Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh leader, told the media that same-sex relationships and marriage were neither “natural” nor “desirable.”

During the 2023 marriage equality hearings, the Indian government repeatedly argued that the issue belonged before Parliament, not the judiciary. Solicitor General Tushar Mehta told the Constitution Bench that the case involved a “very complex subject” with “profound social impact” and that “all the questions in this case must be left to the Parliament.” He argued that recognizing same-sex marriage through judicial interpretation would require rewriting the Special Marriage Act and could have unintended consequences across multiple laws. During the hearings, Mehta also questioned how existing marriage laws would operate for same-sex couples, asking, “Who will be the wife in a lesbian relationship?” 

The Washington Blade covered these arguments as the hearings unfolded.

Three years have passed since the Supreme Court declined to recognize same-sex marriage, holding that creating such a legal framework was a matter for Parliament. Marriage equality, however, remains unrecognized in India. Parliament has not enacted legislation extending civil marriage to same-sex couples. The legal position has remained unchanged since the court’s 2023 ruling.

Similar tensions have surfaced elsewhere in Asia. 

In Japan, a growing number of courts have questioned the constitutionality of denying marriage to same-sex couples, even as Parliament has yet to amend the law. In South Korea, courts have steadily expanded legal protections for same-sex couples, while the government has argued that recognizing same-sex marriage is up to lawmakers. In the Philippines, marriage equality and civil partnership bills have repeatedly failed to secure congressional approval amid religious and political opposition. The legislative stalemate has prompted advocates to pursue constitutional litigation before the Supreme Court. 

Indonesia presents a different picture. 

Rather than debating legal recognition, much of the political discourse has focused on restricting LGBTQ rights. In a landmark 2017 case, however, rights groups successfully opposed a petition that sought to criminalize all consensual same-sex relations nationwide. The Constitutional Court rejected the petition, ruling that creating new criminal offences was a matter for Parliament, not the judiciary.

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Hungary

Tens of thousands participate in post-Orbán Budapest Pride march

New government allowed event to take place without restrictions

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The annual Budapest Pride march took place in the Hungarian capital on June 27, 2026. (Courtesy photo)

Tens of thousands of people on Saturday took part in the annual Budapest Pride march in the Hungarian capital.

The march took place less than two months after new Prime Minister Péter Maygar took office.

Hungarian lawmakers in 2025 passed a bill that banned Pride events and allowed authorities to use facial recognition technology to identify participants. MPs later amended the Hungarian constitution to ban public LGBTQ events.

More than 100,000 people defied the ban and participated in last year’s Budapest Pride parade. The event became one of the largest protests against then-Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and his government since he took office in 2010.

Magyar’s center-right Tisza party ousted Orbán’s Fidesz-KDNP coalition in elections that took place on April 12. The European Union’s top court, the EU Court of Justice, days after Orbán’s ouster struck down Hungary’s anti-LGBTQ propaganda law that MPs approved in 2021.

Hungarian police last month announced they would allow the Budapest Pride march to take place without restrictions.

Authorities subsequently dropped charges against Budapest Mayor Gergely Karácsony over his role in organizing the city’s 2025 Pride march. Officials in Pécs, a city near Hungary’s border with Croatia, have also dropped charges against Géza Buzás-Hábel, who organized a 2025 Pride event.

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