A monument that pays tribute to LGBTQ Canadians who suffered government-sanctioned persecution and discrimination officially opened in Ottawa on Aug. 21.

Former Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, Governor General Louise Arbour, and Women and Gender Equality Minister Rechie Valdez are among those who attended the ceremony.

A Canadian government press release notes Thunderhead, which is located on Parliament Hill, “recognizes the historic discrimination faced by 2SLGBTQI+ (two-spirit, lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, intersex, plus) people in Canada, including during the LGBT (lesbiennes, gaies, bisexuelles, trans) Purge.”

(French and English are Canada’s official languages.)

Trudeau in 2017 formally apologized to Canadians who suffered persecution and discrimination under the country’s anti-LGBTQ laws — including those convicted of “gross indecency” before Canada decriminalized consensual same-sex sexual relations — and policies. Trudeau also formally apologized to those who were fired from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the country’s military and civil service from the 1950s to the mid-1990s because of their sexual orientation or gender identity.

The Canadian government later settled a class action lawsuit that LGBT Purge victims filed.

The settlement funded the monument.

The Canadian government’s press release notes an “all Canadian team” from Winnipeg, Manitoba, designed it. The monument is also located on the Anishinabe Algonquin Nation’s traditional territory.

“It celebrates the resilience and achievements of those who fought for equality, educates visitors, and inspires the change still needed so that everyone can openly love who they love and express and identify themselves as they choose,” reads the press release.

“Thunderhead stands as a tribute to the lives, stories, and contributions of 2SLGBTQI+ people across Canada,” said Prime Minister Mark Carney on Facebook. “It’s reminder of the discrimination too many endured — and honors those who fought to build a country where everyone can live freely, safely, and with dignity.”

Sometimes I wonder whether home is a place or a feeling.

I have lived in places where I never imagined I would stay. I have crossed borders I never expected to cross and spent years in refugee communities where people wake up each morning wondering what the future will bring. I have known Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya, spent time in Zambia and South Africa, and now live in Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.

So, when I think about migration, I don’t think first about passports, borders, statistics, or immigration offices.

I think about people.

I think about the mother who leaves everything behind because she wants her children to survive. I think about the young person crossing a border with little more than a phone, a few clothes, and memories of a life that may no longer exist. I think about the refugee who has spent years waiting for a durable solution and still doesn’t know where they will eventually call home.

Migration is often described simply as movement from one place to another. But sometimes it is much more than that.

It can mean leaving behind a version of yourself.

Africa has always been moving

Africa’s migration story did not begin with modern refugee camps or today’s international borders.

People have moved across this continent for generations. They have followed trade routes, searched for pasture and water, moved for marriage, education and employment, escaped conflict, and built new communities elsewhere.

Migration has always been part of African life.

Today, people move for many different reasons. Some flee war and political instability. Others escape persecution or discrimination. Some leave because they cannot find work or see a future for themselves. Others migrate to study, find employment, start businesses, join family members or simply seek new opportunities. There is an important distinction here.

Not every African migrant is a refugee.

A refugee is someone forced to leave because returning home is unsafe. An asylum seeker is someone seeking protection and waiting for a decision on their claim. Exile can mean living away from one’s homeland, sometimes unwillingly. The diaspora is broader still: it includes people of African origin living outside their country or continent, whether they left by choice or were forced to leave.

These words matter because behind each one is a human story.

When leaving is not a choice

I know what it means when leaving is no longer a choice.

Forced displacement takes something from you that is difficult to explain. You may still have your memories, your language and perhaps a few possessions, but the ordinary things that once made life predictable can disappear.

You begin again.

Sometimes you begin again in another country. Sometimes you begin again in a refugee camp.

My experiences in Kakuma taught me that displacement does not necessarily end when you cross a border and reach somewhere safer. The uncertainty can continue for years.

Now, in Gorom Refugee Settlement, I see that uncertainty in the lives of people around me. Mothers worry about food and the health of their children. Young people wonder whether they will return to education. Others wait for resettlement or another safe pathway while trying to build a life with very limited resources. There is a strange feeling in waiting.

You are physically present somewhere, but mentally you may still be traveling towards a future you cannot see.

What happens to identity?

One of the hardest questions migration raises is: Who am I when I am no longer where I came from?

A person can cross a border in a few hours. Identity doesn’t move that quickly.

You carry your accent.

You carry your food.

You carry your mother’s stories.

You carry songs you heard as a child.

You carry the names of people who may never know where you ended up.

You carry memories.

And sometimes you carry pain.

I have met people who have lived in several countries and can no longer give a simple answer when asked where they are from. They may have been born in one country, grown up in another, lived in a refugee settlement somewhere else and now dream of resettling in a fourth.

Does that make them less African?

I don’t think so.

Perhaps it makes their identity larger.

Carrying Africa across borders

The African diaspora is sometimes discussed as though it were simply a population scattered around the world. I see it differently.

People carry pieces of home wherever they go.

An African family living in Australia, Canada, Britain, the United States, or elsewhere may still cook the food they grew up eating. They may speak their mother tongue at home, send money to relatives, listen to African music, support community projects and remain closely connected to events thousands of miles away. Migration doesn’t necessarily erase belonging.

Sometimes it creates several belongings at once.

The diaspora also contributes enormously to communities back home. Remittances help families pay school fees, buy food, build houses, access healthcare and start businesses. Migrants also carry knowledge, professional experience, ideas and connections that can benefit communities across borders.

A person may leave Africa physically and still spend much of their life contributing to Africa.

That matters.

The price of being a migrant

But migration has another side.

Not every new country means a new beginning.

For some migrants, the journey leads to racism, xenophobia, exploitation, or discrimination. People can be judged because of their nationality, accent, skin color, immigration status or refugee identity.

Others discover that qualifications earned at home are not recognized. A professional becomes a cleaner. A teacher struggles to find work. A skilled worker is told to start again.

There is nothing wrong with honest work. The problem begins when someone’s dignity is reduced because they are a migrant.

For refugees, bureaucracy can become another form of suffering. A person can become a case number, waiting months or years for interviews, decisions, relocation opportunities, or family reunification.

But life doesn’t stop while the paperwork continues.

Children grow older, parents become sick, people lose loved ones, birthdays come and go and still the waiting continues.

I sometimes wonder whether the people making decisions about migration fully understand how heavy that waiting can become for someone sitting on the other side of the process.

Women, children, and LGBTQ refugees

Migration does not affect everyone in the same way.

Women often carry enormous responsibilities after displacement. They may become the main providers for their children while dealing with their own trauma and uncertainty.

Children experience displacement differently. They may not fully understand why they had to leave home, but they understand the absence of familiar faces, schools and routines.

Young people face another difficult question: how do you plan a future when you don’t know which country you will be living in?

For LGBTQ refugees, the journey can be even more complicated. Some leave because the place where they were born no longer feels safe for them. They may have experienced rejection, threats, violence or discrimination before they ever reached a refugee settlement.

And yet, even in such circumstances, people create community.

In Gorom, LGBTQ refugees and asylum seekers come from different African countries and backgrounds. We don’t always agree on everything. But we understand something important: when the world has already made you feel unwanted, having people around you who understand your experience can mean everything.

Community can become another form of home.

Should borders decide our worth?

I understand why countries have borders. Countries have laws and responsibilities.

But I sometimes ask myself a simpler question: Should crossing a border change the value of a human life?

A child doesn’t become less deserving of food because they were born on the other side of a political boundary.

A mother doesn’t become less worthy of safety because she crossed without the right document.

A refugee doesn’t stop being a human being while waiting for an immigration decision.

From a Humanist perspective, this seems straightforward to me. Human dignity should not depend on nationality.

We can have immigration systems and still treat migrants with compassion.

We can protect borders without forgetting that the people standing behind those borders are human beings.

We can disagree about migration policy without dehumanizing migrants.

That balance isn’t easy. But perhaps that is exactly why we need more humanity in conversations about migration.

What does home mean now?

I have asked myself this question many times: Where is home?

Is it where I was born?

Where I first felt safe?

Where my memories live?

Or perhaps home isn’t always a geographical location.

Maybe home can be the people who stand beside you.

Maybe it is the language you speak when you are emotional.

Maybe it is the smell of food that takes you back to childhood.

Maybe, after so much has been taken away, home becomes something you slowly rebuild.

My birthday falls on Sept. 12. Birthdays usually invite us to think about another year of life. But for someone who has experienced displacement, another birthday can mean something deeper.

It means I made it through another year.

I am still here.

And I think about the many refugees who don’t know whether they will be safe long enough to celebrate their next birthday. I think about children growing up in camps who deserve to celebrate their birthdays in a home they can call their own.

That thought stays with me.

We are more than where we come from

Migration has taught me that people cannot be reduced to the countries printed on their passports.

We are our memories, our relationships, our struggles, our dreams, and our choices.

Africa’s diaspora is not simply a story of people leaving Africa. It is also a story of people carrying Africa with them.

And the refugee experience is not simply a story of loss. It is also a story of survival.

I don’t know where my own journey will eventually take me. Perhaps that is one of the things migration teaches us: we can make plans, but life sometimes writes a different story.

What I do know is that every person deserves the chance to live without fear, to love without persecution, to work with dignity, to raise children safely and to imagine a future.

Borders may separate countries.

They should never separate us from our humanity.

If migration has taught me anything, it is that home is not always the place we left behind. Sometimes home is the safe place we are still searching for.

And sometimes, while searching, we become one another’s home.

India’s proposed overhaul of its foreign funding law could put LGBTQ organizations that depend on overseas donations under new pressure. 

Introduced in the Lok Sabha, the lower house of Parliament, on March 25, the Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Amendment Bill, 2026, or FCRA, would give a government-designated authority control over foreign funds, and assets when an organization loses or surrenders its registration.

The Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Amendment Bill returned to the spotlight this month as the Indian government prepared to seek its passage during Parliament’s Monsoon Session; drawing fierce opposition from political parties, civil society groups and religious organizations.

The government says the bill is intended to address gaps in the management of foreign funds and assets when an organization’s FCRA registration is cancelled, surrendered, or expires. The Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Amendment Bill, 2026, would create a Designated Authority to oversee the vesting, supervision, management, and disposal of foreign contributions and assets when an organization’s FCRA registration is cancelled, surrendered , or ceases. If a vested asset is a place of worship, the authority would be required to preserve its religious character. The FCRA would also reduce the maximum prison term for violating the law from five years to one year.

The changes could also make it difficult for organizations to leave the FCRA regime without surrendering assets created with foreign funds. Under the bill, an organization would have to keep renewing its FCRA certificate to retain those assets. FCRA rules also impose spending requirements on organizations seeking to maintain their certificates.

The bill may also create a distinction between assets created by organizations with FCRA registration and those created through the separate prior-permission route.

More significantly, neither the existing law nor the bill provides an appeal mechanism when the central government refuses to renew an FCRA certificate. They also do not expressly require the organization to be given an opportunity to be heard before renewal is denied. Under the proposed framework, such a denial could trigger the vesting of the organization’s foreign-funded assets in the Designated Authority.

The bill would also widen the circle of people who could face consequences for an organization’s FCRA violations. 

Its definition of “key functionary” extends beyond directors and office bearers to trustees, governing-body members, managing-committee members and others responsible for an organization’s affairs. Those functionaries could be held liable for offenses committed by the organization, unless they can show that they were unaware of the violation or had exercised due diligence to prevent it. The FCRA bill would also impose restrictions on dealing with foreign-funded assets during a suspension and leave several important operational details — including timelines and procedures for managing and returning assets — to rules that have yet to be prescribed.

Parliament on Aug 12 moved to refer the FCRA bill to a parliamentary committee for further scrutiny and wider consultations. 

Minister of State for Home Nityanand Rai moved the motion in the Lok Sabha, to refer the bill to a committee comprising 21 members of the lower house and 10 members of the Rajya Sabha, Parliament’s upper house. 

The Rajya Sabha subsequently approved the nomination of its 10 members to the committee. The panel is expected to submit its report by the last day of the first week of Parliament’s Winter Session.

The proposed changes could have significant implications for LGBTQ organizations that rely on the FCRA framework to receive foreign contributions. (The global LGBTQ and intersex rights movement since the Trump-Vance administration took office in 2025 has lost nearly $50 million in U.S. funding because of foreign aid cuts. One source with whom the Washington Blade spoke described the funding loss as a “catastrophe” for the global movement.)

While the government does not appear to have published an easily accessible, consolidated list of LGBTQ organizations receiving such funding, FCRA registration records and organizations’ financial disclosures indicate that foreign contributions have supported LGBTQ rights, healthcare, and community services in India.

K.C. Venugopal, general secretary of the opposition Indian National Congress, told reporters his party and other opposition parties would strongly protest the legislation if it were introduced in Parliament. He said the bill was aimed at targeting minorities and NGOs and vowed that the opposition would oppose its passage.

Venugopal called the proposed legislation “unconstitutional and anti-people.” 

“If the Central Government thinks they can cook up and introduce the Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Amendment Bill within these two or three days, they should keep that wish to themselves,” he told reporters in Alappuzha, Kerala, on Aug. 9.

“Three provisions worry LGBTQ+ organizations like ours most directly,” said Souvik Saha, founder of People for Change and Jamshedpur Queer Circle. “First, the 2026 bill would let a government-appointed ‘Designated Authority’ take control of an organization’s foreign-funded assets— bank balances, equipments, sometimes even property— the moment its FCRA registration is cancelled, surrendered, or simply not renewed, and this happens through an administrative process, without prior judicial adjudication. For a small community organization, that means losing everything we have built — case files, shelter infrastructure, helpline equipment — almost overnight, with no court hearing first.”

Saha told the Blade the revised FCRA Rules announced in June introduced a minimum spending threshold: organizations must spend at least $10,449 in foreign contributions over two financial years or risk cancellation and non-renewal of their registration.

“This specifically penalizes small and grassroots groups that deliberately keep their foreign funding modest — which describes most LGBTQ organizations in India, including ours,” said Saha. “We are not running core-scale budgets; we are running helplines, safe spaces, and district-level outreach on modest grants.”

Saha told the Blade that the ban on sub-granting, carried over from the 2020 amendment, means larger, well-established rights organizations cannot pass foreign funds to smaller, unregistered LGBTQ collectives that could not obtain FCRA registration themselves. He said rights groups have long described the restriction as a near “death knell” for hundreds of small nongovernmental organizations that work collaboratively with larger organizations, adding that LGBTQ groups outside major metropolitan areas depend heavily on such funding arrangements.

“Domestic funding for LGBTQ work in India is still thin, CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) money avoids us because we are seen as ‘controversial,’ and most Indian foundations would not touch gender-identity programming,” Saha said. “So foreign funding is not a convenience for organizations working with the transgender and LGBTQ community, it is often always funding.”