As the world prepares to mark World Refugee Day on June 20, discussions will echo across continents about war, displacement, and humanitarian assistance. But there is one story that is often left out — a story of a people who are doubly displaced, constantly under threat, and too often excluded from protection programs. We are the LGBTQ+ refugees and asylum seekers living in South Sudan, particularly in Gorom Refugee Settlement, and our daily struggle for survival continues in silence, far from global headlines and political promises.

We are refugees who fled our homes in Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Ethiopia, and Sudan — countries where being lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or queer means being hunted by the state, persecuted by society, and disowned by our own families. Many of us first found temporary safety in Kenya, only to be forced to flee once more as hostility and violence found us even there. We ended up in South Sudan, believing it might be safer. But we were wrong.

What we have experienced is a relentless cycle of flight and fear. We are tired of running, tired of hiding, and tired of being treated like we do not exist.

Fleeing persecution, only to face more

The reasons we fled our home countries are all rooted in systemic hate: we were accused of witchcraft, imprisoned for who we love, subjected to forced “conversions” or exorcisms, and physically assaulted by family members and neighbors alike.

Lesbian women in Uganda and Rwanda were forced into marriages with men, some even raped by their own relatives to “cure” them. Gay men in Burundi and Congo were arrested, tortured, and publicly humiliated. Transgender individuals in Ethiopia were stripped of all dignity, mocked in the streets, denied medical treatment, and in some cases beaten to the point of unconsciousness. Bisexual youth were disowned and kicked out of their homes. And queer children — or children simply perceived as different — were molested, assaulted, or abandoned.

We thought Kenya might provide refuge. For a while, it did. But soon, even the refugee camps in Kenya became unsafe. Attacks on LGBTQ+ individuals increased. Some of us were sexually assaulted inside UNHCR facilities. Local authorities turned a blind eye. The Kenyan government ultimately declared it would no longer support resettlement for LGBTQ+ asylum seekers. And so, once again, we fled.

This time, we crossed into South Sudan. And again, we hoped for safety. But at Gorom Refugee Settlement, we found yet another kind of danger — one that is quieter, colder, and just as cruel.

What life looks like in Gorom: constant threat and no protection

At Gorom, we face daily verbal abuse, physical violence, economic isolation, and state indifference. LGBTQ+ refugees are attacked by fellow refugees and members of the local host community. In some cases, we are targeted by our own block leaders, who refuse to distribute food or health services if they suspect we are queer. In clinics, trans women are mocked, told they are “possessed,” and denied even basic medical care. Those of us living with HIV face layers of stigma — our sexual orientation is blamed for our condition, and we are often left without access to lifesaving medication.

Safe housing for LGBTQ+ refugees does not exist in Gorom. Couples are forced to pretend to be siblings or risk being separated — or worse. One gay couple was recently threatened by men in their block who accused them of “bringing demons.” They have not slept in the same shelter since.

Lesbian sisters, sharing a small shelter to survive, told us:

“We sleep in turns at night — one keeps watch while the other rests. We’ve been threatened with rape three times. Our block leader told us to leave or act straight.”

Children of LGBTQ+ parents, or those who are gender non-conforming, are bullied at school or excluded entirely. Some are even denied meals at community kitchens — punished simply for who their parents are.

For many queer women, survival sex work becomes the only option. There is no employment, no support, and no safety. This leads to alarming rates of sexual assault and HIV infection. Yet when they seek help, they are either ignored or blamed.

And while mental health crises are rising, there is no trauma support designed for queer refugees. Many of us have attempted suicide. Some have succeeded.

We have evidence, but no urgency

In early 2024, a SOGIESC (sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, and sex characteristics) assessment was conducted by peer human rights monitors inside Gorom. It documented the situation clearly and thoroughly.

• Many transgender individuals had been physically assaulted in the span of just three months

• Lesbians received death threats or were targeted with “corrective rape”

• LGBTQ+ persons were denied medical services

• Attempted suicide

These are not just statistics. These are names, lives, and stories. And yet, most of the reports were never acted upon. Bureaucratic delays, unclear processes, and shifting responsibilities have turned urgent threats into forgotten files. Each time we cry out for help, we are told to wait. But in our world, waiting can be fatal.

Acknowledging those who have helped; and those who must do more

We extend sincere appreciation to the Commission for Refugee Affairs of South Sudan. Since December 2023, LGBTQ+ refugees were allowed to remain in Gorom with a degree of tolerance. In a country where same-sex relationships are widely condemned, this space mattered. But the relief was short-lived.

We now face an eviction order, issued for June 20, ironically, on World Refugee Day. The government has declared that all LGBTQ+ individuals must leave the settlement. No safe relocation site has been offered. No plan for protection has been shared. Once again, we are being pushed out — not for something we did, but for who we are.

We also recognize the continued engagement of UNHCR South Sudan and some officials working on the ground. Their intent is clear. They listen to our voices, acknowledge our pain, and try to act within their mandates. But the pace of intervention is too slow. In many cases, the process of documentation, assessment, and relocation takes months. By the time help arrives, it is too late.

We also commend the advocacy of Rainbow Railroad, which has raised awareness globally about the plight of LGBTQ+ refugees. Their work has saved lives. But we need them to be faster, more connected to those of us already in danger, and more responsive to grassroots alerts from inside the camps.

If coordination, funding, and trust between grassroots advocates and major institutions could improve, we would not be burying so many of our community members. We would not have to keep writing these cries for help.

Real voices, real pain

“I was beaten because my jeans were ‘too tight.’ They said I looked like a woman. I am a woman — trans — but they made me feel like an animal,” says Daniella, 24.

“We put our names on the protection list. My partner was attacked at the water point the next day. Nobody came to help us,” says Joseph, 31.

“I am HIV-positive. The clinic nurse laughed and said I got it through sin. I haven’t gone back since. I just stay in bed now,” says Amina, 28, a lesbian mother of two.

These are not rare stories. These are everyday truths for queer refugees in South Sudan. And still, we are expected to stay silent and grateful.

Our call to the world

We are not asking for special treatment. We are demanding equal protection under the same humanitarian principles that others receive. We ask that:

• UNHCR and all partner organizations prioritize LGBTQIA+ safety in refugee camps, not as an afterthought but as a core responsibility

• Safe shelters and protection units be created for queer refugees facing internal violence

• LGBTQ+ refugees be consulted in decisions about policies, services, and resettlement programs that affect us directly

• Emergency medical and mental health services be inclusive of queer identities and trauma

• Pathways to resettlement for LGBTQ+ individuals be accelerated, especially for those in crisis.

Let this World Refugee Day mean something

To be queer in a refugee camp is to constantly fight for your life. It means being forgotten by both your country of origin and your supposed place of refuge. It means sleeping in fear, eating in shame, and living without dignity. It means being told that safety exists, but not for you.

We are tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of begging for our humanity to be acknowledged. But we are still here. We still believe that the world can listen. And we still believe that justice is possible — if only someone chooses to act.

This World Refugee Day, remember that we are not just refugees. We are LGBTQ+. We are survivors. And we deserve to live.

Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.

As queer people around the world celebrate Pride month, their Kenyan and Ugandan counterparts are also marking it with a strong message of defiance and resistance.

Their agitation for “dignity, safety, and liberation” in homophobic environments follows last month’s second Pan-African Conference on Family Values in Nairobi, whose delegates were concerned about the push to normalize so-called LGBTQ practices on the continent and resolved to resist.      

The Initiative for Equality and Non Discrimination, a Kenyan LGBTQ rights organization, for instance cites Pride’s founding spirit of protest to resist the attempt to “erase, silence and oppress” queer people.  

“In a world that tries to diminish our existence, choosing joy becomes a radical act. Queer joy is not just a celebration, it is resistance. It is healing. It is a bold declaration; we are here, we are whole, and we deserve to thrive,” INEND states. 

It affirms that queer people have space for rage, resistance, softness, and joy as they honor the roots of Pride packed with a variety of activities for the group throughout the month.    

“We demand inclusion, we bask for visibility and we dance through the fire. This, too, is revolution,” INEND says. 

During the Pan-African Conference on Family Values meeting, which delegates from national governments, anti-LGBTQ lobby groups, academic and religious institutions, and international partners attended, Kenyan National Assembly Speaker Moses Wetang’ula affirmed the country’s position on marriage between a man and a woman as the constitution states. Wetang’ula advocates for laws that protect the “traditional family” and cultural values against what he described as Western imports.

“I urge our legislators that they should shield the good provisions of our constitution on family from ideological redefinitions of marriage seeking to recognize outlawed same-sex relationships,” Wetang’ula said. 

He also asked lawmakers to enact laws to prohibit comprehensive sexuality education in schools and only permit a science-based curriculum that is appropriate to the age, development level, and cultural background of school children without normalizing same-sex sexual acts and relationships.

“In modern times, across all nations, there have emerged two forces: one fighting for, and the other pursuing ideologies, positions, and acts that are against the traditional family,” Wetang’ula said. 

The delegates during the conference, which sparked criticism from Kenyan queer groups committed to resist the imposition of LGBTQ rights and other so-called external values under the pretense of development aid, international agreements, or donor partnerships that conflict with national laws and cultural integrity. They also committed to establishing, strengthening, and coordinating “pro-family” advocacy platforms and multi-sector coalitions at national, regional, and continental levels to engage with policymakers, legislators, and public education players.  

This pledge was in response to the delegates’ concerns over external manipulation of national legislative processes through covert or overt efforts to influence or bypass national parliaments in adopting judicial decisions that redefine family, life, and gender. They were also concerned over the global push to normalize gender fluidity and “non-biological” sexual identities in law, education, and healthcare, contrary to established biological, African culture, and religious norms.  

The delegates asked the African governments, parliaments, the African Union, and regional economic blocs to urgently undertake legislative reviews and reforms to ensure all national laws align with constitutional protections for the family, life, and parental rights. The Initiative for Equality and Non Discrimination, however, argue that describing queerness as un-African is a lie and a tool of imperialism used as a weapon to justify violence, exclusion and erasure, which should be rejected as it was enacted by colonial powers. 

Kenya’s queer community has nevertheless lined up a month’s worth of Pride events in Nairobi, the country, and across the country. Some of the locations are not publicly disclosed because of security reasons.

The events calendar that Galck, a group of 16 LGBTQ rights organizations, released includes entertainment and socializing every Friday evening in various places for queer party lovers. The celebrations also include queer community networking events to empower each other, meet-ups in safe places for soft, acoustic jam sessions and reflection, queer community days where the group gather to connect and celebrate queer lives. 

The calendar also invites queer people to participate in an open conversation with Galck, a trivia and karaoke event with the National Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission, a supportive healing circle termed ‘Healing out Loud’ for distressed queer people, and a queer community potluck for the group to enjoy food, fun and connection. 

Other Pride events include queer love edition for singles, an art exhibition that includes rainbow- themed painting, a healing-centred therapy workshop termed “Chosen Family, Chosen Self,” a literary forum for bookworms to celebrate queer African literature, and movie night for film lovers.

The Cosmopolitan Affirming Community, a Nairobi-based church for queer people, has organized Gospel Sunday. Trek Tribe Kenya, an outdoor activity organizer, is also organizing activities that include climbing Mount Kenya, Africa’s second-highest mountain, hiking the gorges of Hell’s Gate National Park, and enjoying a “Pastel in the Park” wellness treat. 

“Respect the spaces you attend as they are safe, affirming environments, and take care of oneself and each other during Pride fun fare celebration,” Galck urges.  

‘Pride is not just parades or celebrations’

Their queer counterparts in Uganda are also having an eventful Pride month, despite persistent challenges.

“Pride is not just parades or celebrations. It is solidarity for many who cannot celebrate or march. It means refusing to be erased and choosing to simply be who you are,” said Sexual Minorities Uganda, which LGBTQ activist Frank Mugisha leads.

The World Bank Group has resumed lending to Uganda.

The bank in 2023 suspended new loans to the African country after President Yoweri Museveni signed the Anti-Homosexuality Act, which contains a death penalty provision for “aggravated homosexuality.” Reuters reported the bank decided to resume lending on June 5.

“We have now determined the mitigation measures rolled out over the last several months in all ongoing projects in Uganda to be satisfactory,” a bank spokesperson told Reuters in an email. “Consequently, the bank has prepared three new projects in sectors with significant development needs – social protection, education, and forced displacement/refugees – which have been approved by the board.”

Activists had urged the bank not to resume loans to Uganda.

Richard Lusimbo, director general of the Uganda Key Population Consortium, last September described the “so-called ‘mitigation measures’ are a façade, designed to provide the illusion of protection.”

“They rely on perpetrators of discrimination — the government of Uganda — to implement the measures fairly,” said Lusimbo. “How can they be taken seriously?”