Shilah, a Ugandan trans woman living in a shelter on the outskirts of Kampala, fears for her safety every day.
In Uganda, homophobia is rampant and homosexuality has long been a crime. In the past two years, it has even become punishable by death.
“I am only leaving my house at night. … Otherwise, I am afraid someone might see me and hurt me,” the 25-year-old says. The Globe and Mail is not identifying Shilah or other members of the country’s LGBTQ community because of fears for their safety.
The office of Sexual Minorities Uganda, or SMUG, has been attacked several times by police and religious groups. This bullet hole is a reminder of one such encounter.
The persecution of the LGBTQ community in Uganda began in the colonial era, with same-sex relationships described as “against the order of nature” in the penal code going back to 1902.
In 2009, under the growing influence of powerful evangelical movements, an anti-homosexuality bill was introduced in Parliament. Adopted in 2014, the Anti-Homosexuality Act (AHA) banned the “promotion” of LGBTQ rights and prescribed life imprisonment for “aggravated acts,” including sexual relations with minors or individuals living with HIV. However, Uganda’s Constitutional Court annulled the law a few months later because of procedural irregularities.
In May, 2023, after a back-and-forth between Parliament and President Yoweri Museveni, a new version of the AHA was made into law. This time, the death penalty was introduced for “aggravated acts,” and the new law provides for up to 20 years in prison for the “promotion of homosexuality.”
According to Amnesty International, the law “flagrantly violates the human rights of LGBTI people.”
The personal fallout from the laws is apparent at Shilah’s shelter, as most of the residents have lost their jobs because of their sexual orientation.
Shilah used to work as a peer educator for opioid users in Uganda’s capital, but when debates in Parliament for the AHA bill began, violence against her and her partner escalated in their neighbourhood. She was forced to flee Kampala and struggled to find any landlords willing to rent to her.
Eventually, she found refuge in the shelter and turned to sex work to survive. “I don’t mind being a sex worker,” she says, “but the violence I face on the streets, even from the police, is a burden that’s very hard to bear in daily life.”
The approval of the AHA in 2023 triggered a new wave of homophobia, with both police and civilians targeting LGBTQ individuals.
Accurate numbers of attacks are lacking because the community “does not report assaults to the police,” says Charity Kusemererwa, founder of the Ugandan NGO Let’s Walk, which advocates for LGBTQ rights.
Based on the limited data Let’s Walk has managed to gather by approaching members of the community, those most at risk of violence are “transgender people and homosexuals.” However, among other LGBTQ Ugandans, “no one is safe,” Ms. Kusemererwa warns.
In December, 2023, all members of her NGO were arrested by the police.
“They forced us to shut down our premises – but once we were released, we decided to reopen elsewhere,” Ms. Kusemererwa says.
Since then, Let’s Walk has been operating with utmost discretion in Kampala, fearing further violence.
'I have no family any more,' says Alex, whose brothers and father assaulted him when they learned of his sexuality. 'I eventually realized that it's just me, all alone.'
Alex, 22, is also living in a shelter near Kampala. In his hometown in Central Uganda, he was severely beaten in 2023 after being seen with his boyfriend in public. He tried to hide his sexuality from his family, who were openly homophobic. The only person he confided in was his grandmother, who accepted him as he was. However, in August, 2024, she was hospitalized and passed away soon after.
When his family discovered his sexuality, his brothers and father assaulted him. As Alex recounts this, he buries his face in his hands. He trembles and apologizes. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he says.
While he collects himself, one of his roommates opens up: “A few months ago, he started drinking alcohol daily. He’s not working and is very depressed – it’s heartbreaking.”
When Alex returns, he sits down on the floor and continues his story. “My family blamed me for my grandmother’s death,” he says. He picks up his phone and shows the last conversation he had with his brother. The final message from his brother reads: “I am very disappointed in you. They say it’s your fault she died.”
Tragically, Alex and Shilah’s stories are far from unique. The plight of the LGBTQ community in Uganda is dire, and the survival of shelters like theirs is increasingly under threat every day since the AHA bill passed.
