Coming out as an LGBTQ+ refugee in Canada

Many refugees are fleeing conflict or poverty, but many are also seeking to escape from a society in which, because of their sexual identity and/or preference, they face violence and possibly death every day. In this podcast episode and the related article (at upstreamjournal.org), Julia Israel speaks with several guests about what it means for these people as they seek refuge in Canada.

Human Rights Magazine is produced by The Upstream Journal magazine. The host, Derek MacCuish, is editor of both. If you agree that informed reporting on human rights and social justice issues is important, your support would be welcome. Please rate the podcast wherever you listen to it, and tell your friends about episodes that you find interesting. Why not consider making a financial contribution to help us cover costs?  You are always welcome to email with your comments.

Transcript

Podcast host Julia Israel

Intro - Derek MacCuish:

Many refugees are fleeing conflict or poverty, but many are also seeking to escape from a society in which, because of their sexual identity and/or preference, they face violence and possibly death every day. In this episode of Human Rights Magazine, Julia Israel speaks with several guests about what it means for these people as they seek refuge in Canada.

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 “So this is pretty severe, it's pretty serious stuff, it's life or death for a lot of people. And if they are suspected, they may become persecuted in their country, and feel the need to escape quickly. Otherwise, the consequences could be - and the repercussions - can be really severe, from threats, to their family members being threatened and losing their jobs being attacked, if they are detained, they can be tortured. And again, they can be killed according to the state. they can be killed on the street for that matter, without the state being involved.”

 Podcast host Julia Israel:

That was queer politics researcher Nick Mulé. What he is describing now is the reality that many queer people find themselves in, leading them to seek asylum from the persecution of their sexual orientation or gender identity. It’s still illegal for LGBTQ+ people to live openly in 69 countries today, and still unsafe to be openly queer in many more. Coming out risks state violence, prison time, and – in 11 countries today – the death penalty. What we’re talking about today is the most critical coming out story of them all: it’s the story of being an LGBTQ+ refugee today. For them, coming out quickly shifts from being something that should be avoided at all costs to something that you have to prove in a court of law. 

My name is Julia. I’m based in Montreal, Canada and because I’m involved in the queer community, I wanted to understand what some of my neighbours are going through in order to reach safety in my city. I’ve spoken with several people who have gone through this experience themselves and who work in this area of migration. I asked them what barriers queer refugees face specifically in reaching Canada. I asked them what it might feel like to develop a claim for asylum that is so personal, so private in nature?

Lauren Young came to Canada eight years ago from Jamaica and is herself a lesbian refugee. In Toronto, she works as the Senior Program Advisor for the Rainbow Railroad, an organization that helps queer refugees find urgent safety. Young tells me that the largest barrier her clients face in getting to Canada is obtaining a travel visa.

 “So we have safe countries, and we have unsafe countries. So, there's the right to asylum, but then there is this barrier that continues to keep LGBTQI people on the outskirts. So, like just example, Canada is a safe country, you can make an asylum claim in Canada. And then let's use another example, the Caribbean. If homophobia happens in the Caribbean, and it's all over the US, Canada will just sit and say, ‘Oh, wow, that's so sad.’ Right? ‘I can't help you. You have to get here.’ And what is it that we need to get here? Those are the barriers, because in order to obtain a visa, a lot of countries have their restriction, their regulation, you know, you have to be employed, you have to show a job letter, you have to have money in the bank, you have to, you know, own houses or stuff like that, or show, in other words show that once you take this trip, you will go back, like you have something to go back. That's the predicament for people who are LGBT identified. Remember they're already displaced within their own environment, some dropped out of school, some experiencing homelessness, joblessness, some dealing with health issues, and there's nobody to help – we help them where they are.”

 I also spoke with Norma Lize, a Lebanese trans refugee rights activist based in Vancouver. She also works at Rainbow Refugee, an organization that supports LGBTQ+ asylum seekers in navigating the Canadian immigration system. I asked her the same question, about the barriers trans and gender-conforming refugees face in arriving to Canada when they don’t have time to spare to go through the formal process of seeking asylum in advance.

 “One of the main issues or obstacles that gender, gender diverse nonbinary and trans folks can face before entering Canada would definitely be safety to get a visa to start with. A lot of trans people and a lot of non-binary people, their gender identity doesn't certainly match with how they look like. And sometimes it can put them at risk to go to the visa office and to apply for visas. From personal experience I had to apply before I physically started transitioning. So, it was a bit, it, I guess it worked for me, because I represented in a certain way that reflected my gender on my passport. And this is one of the biggest obstacles that people face. Of course, let's not forget the privilege of being able to have a job so you can finance applying to the visa and you can be able to go and travel and book your ticket on your own. But one of the things I believe that is, number one, is their gender identity matching. How they look like.”

 So, while Young and Lize cite the travel visa as the number one obstacle, what each of them are also pointing out is that financial barriers play a big part in this as well.

 Now for those who make it, upon arrival or shortly after, LGBTQ+ refugees must disclose their grounds for asylum: that they are persecuted, that they are queer. Despite Canada being a safe country, state borders are generally not seen as safe places. But the fact is that the Immigration, Refugee Board judges a case by the ‘credibility’ of a person’s story – as in, ‘is this person really who they say they are’ ‘do they really need the Canadian state’s protection’? For this reason, people seeking asylum are expected to be immediately forthcoming, extremely detailed in their disclosures, and provide as much supportive evidence to their identity and their experiences of persecution as possible. But with something so private as sexual and gender identity  , how does this affect queer refugees uniquely?

 Next, I spoke with Nick Mulé, who researches social exclusion and public policy involving gender and sexually diverse populations. He talks about what claiming asylum at the border might feel like for queer refugees and how the traumas of homophobic persecution can affect their credibility rating from the get-go.

 “But when one understands this from a perspective of someone who's coming from a place for which they were persecuted, based on their sexual orientation, or gender identity, we have to be realistic about how forthcoming they're going to be about that. Right? So even if you have a person in uniform standing before you or seated before you and asking, Does this have anything to do with your sexual orientation? You know, and even going so far as to say, ‘Do you like women? Do you like men?’ that can be really invasive, and for a lot of people in the initial interviews are going to deny any of that, because of where they came from, you know, they may have been tortured for that. Right? So, so there has to be a sensitivity here on how to address that.”

 And is it addressed sensitively? I wanted to get clarification on what the claims process is like for people claiming asylum based on their sexual orientation or gender identity. I spoke to Toronto-based lawyer Nicholas Wood ward to find out what category queer refugees fall under and what the process is like to build his clients’ cases.

 “The refugee claimants who are making claims based on their sexual orientation or their gender identity, they're claiming under the ground of a particular social group. So sexual orientation and gender identity is considered as that, as a particular social group under the convention definition.”

 He’s referring to the UNHCR’s 1951 Refugee Convention which describes queer refugees as people with diverse sexual orientations, gender identities, gender expressions and sex characteristics – also known as the acronym SOGIESC.

 “LGBTQ refugee claimants face particular challenges. And I think one of the biggest challenges, and one of the things that makes these cases different is just the question of how to prove their sexual orientation or gender identity. So at the board, the Immigration and Refugee Board, when claimants go to their hearings, they have the opportunity to, to provide documentary evidence to support their claims. And so in some cases, it's hard for LGBTQ refugee claimants to actually have documentary evidence of their sexual orientation. So that's in every single case, that's always an interesting discussion that we have with all of our clients to brainstorm ways that they can prove their their sexual orientation or gender identity.

“First I would start by saying that the board members have to consider as evidence ethe claimants testimony. So all refugee claimants as their original refugee claim they write out their basis of claim which are the reasons- like their life story – the reasons why their making a refugee claim. And so they sign that document and that becomes sworn testimony.”

Other documentation stems from letters of support from friends, former partners, family members, to photos at gay events, dating app profiles and conversation screenshots and proof of involvement in LGBTQ+ community organizations.

“it's not a requirement in any way to provide evidence of of like, you know, being open or, you know, being gay in their country of origin. So, in cases where there's just no evidence from from before, it's completely okay, just to focus on what, you know, on what they have here. And like I said, if they don't have any evidence, if it's really not possible, then it's going to be just a question of providing really credible testimony at the hearing about how they identify.”

 Has the Immigration and Refugee Board always had this understanding that proving sexual orientation or gender identity can be so hard to prove for people who have had to flee their countries in order to start living their lives authentically?

“The Immigration and Refugee Board has taken some positive steps in recent years in terms of how it deals with case cases involving sexual orientation or gender identity. So in the in the last decade, they the board introduced a guideline called the SOGI guidelines, which is a guideline issued by the board that all decision makers at the board has to consider when they're deciding refugee plans and these, this guideline it like sets particular considerations that all board members have to have to keep in mind with respect to claimants with diverse sexual orientations or, or gender identity.

By the way, this revision is called the Chairperson’s Guideline 9 and has been in effect since May 2017. It’s a guideline that Immigration and Refugee Board members have to follow when making decisions on a case. It includes proper terminology on how to identify and speak about queer people, and most importantly, a big section on avoiding stereotypes during evaluations. Whereas in the past, being in a heterosexual marriage would harm someone’s credibility, the guidelines rightly support that this can still be true for a gay person. Another one is that trans people would have undergone medical treatment to affirm their gender – something that even if one wanted to, would probably be impossible in their country of origin…as per their seeking asylum…

So I think that's a, that's a really positive step. And it sets out things that we've already talked about, like, you know, they have to consider that sometimes there isn't evidence of someone's sexual orientation or, you know, sometimes this is the first time that people are really talking openly about their sexual orientation, especially with a stranger and like a stranger with like, a person in a position of authority. And so they have to take these kinds of factors into consideration when they're assessing someone's identity.” 

 Do you see the result of this new training in court?

“Yeah, for the for the most part. In, in most hearings, I would say that they that the board members are referring to this guideline, and it's clear that there's been some training done where, you know, they're, they're applying what the guidelines say.”

So, I asked Norma Lize about her experience putting together her claim for asylum, and the kinds of documentation she used. She ended up telling me that having documentation is quite a privilege for people coming from a place where they can’t live authentically.

“You know, it can be different from one person to another because in my experience, I had a lot of documentation, and I had a lot of evidence to provide. But for someone else, their their evidence might be just one picture, or maybe a screenshot from a dating app that they joined. Because not all of us have the privilege of being out there, or the privilege of experiencing a lot of stuff we don't have, like, we have to remember that a lot of the refugees that are moving to Canada to seek asylum, not all of them live their authentic lives outside of Canada. Canada can be the first country where they will be able to move and live who they who they really are.

I remember one of my friends back in 2017, when he moved to Canada to apply, he only had one picture of him and his partner back then. And that was the only evidence that he could provide. You know, and he had once once he landed in Canada, he had to go to gay clubs and download few dating apps, take screenshots, take the receipt from the gay club and attach it as evidence as well.”

When I asked Lauren Young if it’s harder for LGBTQ+ refugees to prove their credibility in their case, she told that she wouldn’t say it is more difficult, but just that this process is uniquely vulnerable and emotionally demanding of its claimants. 

“It's very unique for LGBTQIA people because one, they want you to detail from the very moment you realize that you are LGBTQ identified. And so you know, coming into a new space not knowing, not familiar with the culture, the food, the clothes, the people not getting, you know, maybe the right, connected to the right services, not knowing what the, the process entails, it is frightening and rehashing your story rehashing traumas that you've been through, it's heavy, right? And, and that fear of, ‘I want to tell you my story. But if I tell you my story, people are going to know that I tell you my story, and I can't return’ and that fear of you know, ‘am I going to be accepted or not?’ Right? It is. It is not an easy process. But it is doable, right?

It becomes challenging also, when you try to validate your claim, so they'll ask you for support letters. Okay, you are a lesbian. Give me some support letters from friends who can attest to the fact that you are a lesbian woman and then reaching those friends and actually getting it. I mean, it can be very tedious. Sometimes you don't get any response because persons, depending on where you're coming from the culture, persons don't want to put their identification or their signature to stuff like that, right? Because of fear. It places them in a predicament where you know what, ‘I don't care because you're in a safe country so you can out yourself, but I'm not. Until I then I don't feel comfortable writing such a letter.’ So if you don't have persons to give you that support to validate, it can be come become frightening, right? And especially coming from countries where you know, for sure if you are outted, that's it for you. That's it for your family, not only you in places your family who is actually back in that environment in danger right.

The decision makers that work with IRB, I think they're qualified enough. They know what is happening because they're related to international news and actually they can tell you more about what is happening in your culture than you can. What they want you to detail is your personal experience with that and things that, you know, they will ask you things that they will ask you for that can that can validate your claim with like, ‘show me a picture with an LGBTQ advocate,’ ‘show me screenshots of conversation you have had with previous partner, same-sex partner previous or current’, ‘show me screenshots of LGBTQI online groups that you're following’. This poses a challenge to persons who don't want to be out, like persons in the Middle East and North Africa, they would not readily have those things on their phone, because they have religious police going around and police they stop them and say unlock phone. And that would mean imprisonment. And that can mean death also. so not having those, then how do you determine if this person is who they say they are? Right? It becomes challenging, it becomes frightening for the person going through the process.

The difference with LGBTQI people, if this is personal stuff, like, you're telling me to tell you that I like girls, you're telling me to prove to you that I like girls, and that is something that people don't really, really talk about in public spaces, or have people read in their story, ‘oh, I've been with this person, I've been with that person, this person did me this, that person did me that’. It becomes personal, and it becomes it is unsettling for a lot of person to kind of rehash that all the time, you know, trying to tell their story. Sometimes you don't remember some of the stuff, right? Because you're so preoccupied with thinking about, you know, am I safe? Where am I gonna go? And then you're in this new environment? How do I get around, you're navigating, you're navigating so many things, right? You're not familiar with the setting you are not familiar with the climate, you're not familiar with the food, it is a lot of stuff. And then to navigate that, that process and do so successfully. But luckily, we have organizations on the ground that help people through those processes make an application and we're thinking about the capacity of the person themselves. Can they read and write? Can Do they understand English? Do they need an interpreter? Right? are they struggling with mental health issues that impairs them in remembering, you know, what's happened, which one happened first, how it was detailed? Because they're asking you to detail every single thing I had to go back to age, age eight. And at the time, I was age 36. And I'm thinking I can't even remember what happened yesterday or what I had for dinner yesterday, right? Because I'm so stressed about just the entire process. It is a lot to deal with."

What really strikes me is the fact that queer refugees must bear their soul to strangers, who don’t know you or your culture, who have an authority over you, who may see you as a number in their day job, while risking that your life’s testimony – since the first moment you knew you were gay, through all the trauma that has led you to flee your country – that all of this might not even be enough to grant safety in the end. The truth is, even after arrival, the struggle is not over. This whole journey takes a lot of rehashing that some people don’t ever feel ready to do. Then there’s searching for housing, for employment while waiting for permanent status which could take years. What’s more, queer refugees often have specific needs that general refugee community organizations can’t provide for. In the end, people can feel an inner tension for seeking asylum in a foreign country, with the understanding that a part of them will always be left behind when they leave home.

But the story doesn’t end there. Lauren Young and Norma Lize both work in organizations that create the sense of community that sparks that magic again of what coming out should feel like. The self-empowerment that declaring who you are to the people you care about is meant to give.