Growing up in Mauritius during a time with limited internet and connectivity, I thought I was the only gay on the island.
20 years ago, being gay in Mauritius meant living in secrecy and fear, and I am still in awe of the courage of Collectif-Arc-en-Ciel which organised the first Pride held there, in 2006. None of my friends had yet dared to come out, though we showed up to support ‘someone we knew.’ Then last year, I received a phone call from a friend who told me that Section 250, which criminalises homosexuality, was finally repealed in Mauritius. I was overjoyed!
The first Pride in London after my coming out felt almost magical, a moment of liberation and elation intertwined. Today, I continue to attend several Prides in the UK and in Mauritius, because it’s about standing in solidarity for those who are oppressed and silenced.
My life of activism began as a student studying MA International Business at the University of Wolverhampton, when the 2012 campaign for same-sex marriage ignited a fire within me. We were being bombarded with bizarre arguments against same-sex marriage: “It’s a slippery slope, people will end up marrying their cats and dogs, there will be floods, civilisation as we know it will end!” I was so angry that I decided to do something about it and became part of the LGBT+ student society and then the LGBT+ staff network.
Today, 12 years later, I am an executive officer for Peter Tatchell, the human rights campaigner best known for his work with LGBT+ social movements, and whose foundation promotes and protects human rights across the world. Having this job means that I’m still on the front line.
The challenges facing the LGBT+ community are immense: many Commonwealth countries still criminalise homosexuality, and other countries even have the death penalty for it. On the home front here in the UK, scapegoating, victimization, and political backlash threaten the progress we’ve made. Transgender people bear the brunt of discrimination and vilification from part of the media, and then there is the dehumanisation of LGBT+ refugees.
No one is really free until everyone is free from persecution based on their sexuality.
Seeking refuge is an act of desperation - there is no Thomas Cook for refugees! - so I help refugees navigate the UK asylum system, providing guidance, support, and most significantly empowerment. For refugees, ‘empowerment’ means discovering their voices in this unfamiliar terrain, engaging with the LGBT+ community and forming new bonds. Many LGBT+ refugees have endured life in secrecy and oppression, making the transition to the UK especially daunting. That is why I work closely with organisations like the Gay Indian Network (GIN), and the Out and Proud African LGBTI (OPAL) group, among others, to make this process smoother.
I’ve encountered the authorities despite all our actions being peaceful and nonviolent, like being detained by the UK police for disrupting an Anglo-Iranian oil company meeting to defend the rights of Ahwazi Arabs in Iran. I confronted the chief constable of West Midlands Police as part of our #ApologiseNow campaign, urging accountability for past LGBT+ witch hunts. I also spearheaded our report on the economic costs of homophobia and supported actions for persecuted LGBT+ activists in Bangladesh, while advocating for compensation for male victims of anti-gay laws.
My approach to challenging the status quo is grounded in solidarity with the oppressed and fighting injustice, but it comes with risks. In India, Peter Tatchell and I were under house arrest in our hotel and questioned by the police for over two hours. When we were allowed to go out, I had my own shadow, a policeman in plain clothes, tailing me. I felt like I was in a Bollywood movie!
Our only ‘crime’ was that we raised awareness about the human rights and rights of LGBT+ people. Despite not holding a protest, we scored a victory when the International Olympic Committee amended the Olympic Charter to strengthen its human rights commitments.
Every milestone we reach– whether it’s taking on injustice in Russia or Balochistan (a region split between Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan) combating homophobia, restoring LGBT+ Pride to its roots, or supporting liberation movements in West Papua, Eelam in Sri Lanka, Ukraine or Palestine – fills me with a profound sense of accomplishment. However, it’s the simple moments that resonate most: receiving an email from a survivor of oppression; assisting an asylum seeker in gaining refugee status; or seeing a young person find the courage to step out of the closet.
When I speak with LGBT+ veterans, including those from the Gay Liberation Front (GLF) and the 1960s Campaign for Homosexual Equality (CHE), they express astonishment at the remarkable progress Britain has made in such a short time. Our actions in the UK offer hope to others worldwide, proving that change isn’t just a pipe dream. No one is really free until everyone is free from persecution based on their sexuality. Call me naïve, but I dream of a world where coming out is no longer necessary, where people can love whomever they choose, without fear or prejudice.
Activism is the rent I pay for living and I firmly believe that change only happens when we join forces in collective action.
