In the 19th century, anti-slavery activists created an informal network of safe houses and secret routes to help slaves escape the bonds of slavery. This network, known as the Underground Railroad, moved as many as 100,000 people from slave states to free states and Canada.
The journey from slavery to freedom was dangerous, with slave owners hiring "slave hunters" to find escaped slaves and paying rewards for slaves who were returned. Many former slaves and African-Americans who'd never been slaves were kidnapped and sold into slavery, especially after the government made it easier for slave hunters to operate in the North in 1850. Below is the story of Harriet Tubman, who, after herself escaping slavery, returned on more than 70 occasions to help free other slaves.
The influence of the brave men and women of the Underground Railroad, the runaway slaves and those that guided and protected them (known as "agents" and "conductors" in the code used on the railroad), have inspired not only the Americans who learned about their efforts in school, but activists around the world. Tonight, I am writing about one such organization in Turkey, working to help sexual minorities fleeing persecution in Iran. That organization is known as the Iranian Railroad for Queer Refugees.
LGBT Rights in Iran
How precarious is the situation for sexual minority Iranians? Although Mahmoud Ahmadinejad famously claimed that Iran has no homosexuals, Iranian sexual minorities do exist, and they live under the constant threat of persecution, arrest, and even execution. Under Iranian law, gay male sexual intercourse--with or without anal penetration--is a crime and carries the death penalty for adults. Minors can receive up to 74 lashes. The crime of lavat (sodomy) is proven if someone confesses to a judge four times or if four men claim to have witnessed the act. Mosaheqeh (lesbian sex) is not punishable by the death penalty until the fourth offense. The first three times, the women receive 100 lashes.
In December, Human Rights Watch (HRW) issued a report (link to full report) on the status of the sexual minority community in Iran. It was damning. Based in part on testimony from more than 100 LGBT refugees, the report accused the Iranian government of harassment and violence, of subjecting sexual minority Iranians to invasions of privacy, arbitrary arrest and detention, torture, and denial of due process.
"Members of sexual minorities in Iran are hounded on all sides," said Sarah Leah Whitson, Middle East director at Human Rights Watch. "The laws are stacked against them; the state openly discriminates against them; and they are vulnerable to harassment, abuse, and violence because their perpetrators feel they can target them with impunity."
Iran's security forces, including police and forces of the hard-line paramilitary basij, rely upon discriminatory laws to harass, arrest, and detain individuals whom they suspect of being gay, Human Rights Watch found. The incidents often occur in parks and cafes, but Human Rights Watch also documented cases in which security forces raided homes and monitored internet sites for the purpose of detaining people they suspected of engaging in non-conforming sexual conduct or gender expression.
Source
Iranian Railroad for Queer Refugees
The Iranian Railroad for Queer Refugees (IRQR) is led by gay rights activist Arsham Parsi, a gay man who himself fled Iran for Turkey to escape persecution. Much of the organization's work is based on supporting LGBT Iranians once they have escaped Iran for Turkey. But last fall, the Toronto Star did a story on the organization (IRQR is registered as an NGO in Canada) and told the story of one man whom Parsi helped escape.
Parsi put Shahmoradi in touch with someone who knew how to find a smuggler. For about $1,400 (U.S.), the passer would get him across the border into Turkey. He was 30 years old.
On Oct. 23, 2007, Shahmoradi's father gave him the equivalent of $2,000 in U.S. dollars and Iranian rials, and put him on the train to the northwestern city of Tabriz, fearing he would never see his son again.
Shahmoradi took a bus to Khoy, where he met the first of many smugglers who would guide him through the three-day journey, divided into short trips to avoid detection.
Source.
Video here.
But getting out of Iran doesn't necessarily guarantee their safety, as Mehdi Kazemi learned in 2006. While studying in the London, Kazemi learned that his boyfriend in Iran had been arrested and executed for sodomy. He also discovered that his boyfriend revealed their relationship to interrogators before his execution. Fearing for his safety, Kazemi applied for asylum, but his petition was denied by the British government. He then fled to the Netherlands as LGBT activists led an international outcry against the actions of the British government. Finally, in 2008, his asylum was granted.
Once in Turkey, the Iranian refugees are still in danger. The refugees are first interviewed by the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), which decides if their case for asylum is valid. If approved, the UNHCR works to place refugees in a new country.
Having arrived in Turkey traumatized and penniless, they stay in limbo, for 3-4 years as the UNHCR works to validate their status and place them in a new country. Meanwhile, they remain in Turkey, described by the IRQR as "a homophobic and transphobic society" where "queer people are not physically safe". Here, the IRQR steps in to provide the refugees with counseling and financial support and legal services. The IRQR also advocates to the UNHCR and foreign governments on behalf of the refugees.
Most of Iranian queer asylum seekers have no source of income, no parental support, no work rights and no access to health resources and medication.
They often live in crowded houses in traditional satellite cities in countries such as Turkey, Malaysia and European countries. Their houses often have no heat and sanitary facilities.
Many of them are young educated individuals who have fled Iran due to a well-founded fear of threatened or ongoing violence or persecution on grounds of sexual orientation.
They are often traumatized, tired, and destitute and in need of support, be it food, medical care, counseling or accessing the right legal advice.
Source
From the refugees, in their own words:
“I don’t have work permit. I have tried to work illegally in restaurants and other places, but I am not often given a job! In the rare case that I find a temporary job, I have to risk facing verbal, emotional and even sexual abuse.”
“Our power was cut off because we were not able to pay the bills. One of the tenants in the building told us that we could cook in his place if we were willing to offer him our “services”. This is the image they have got of gays!”
“I have diabetes but cannot pay for my medication and the UNHCR does not help me.”
Source
The IRQR also collects the stories of the men and women who escape Iran, and uses them to educate the world about the trauma Iranian sexual minorities face.
I Did Not Kill My Dad
When my father died, I went only to the first day of the funeral. It was not that I didn’t grieve. No matter how difficult our relationship had been, no matter how many times he yelled at or slapped me, no matter how much I disappointed him because I would never be the son he wanted, he was still my father. I wanted to be there to show my respect, but I could only stomach the dirty looks of my relatives for so long. They didn’t want me to be there. I had known this since the day my father died, discovered laying face down on our living room floor. The day passed by like a blur and I can only remember bits and pieces; my mother trying to wake him; my sister and I calming her down enough to drive to the hospital; the doctor’s cold, direct diagnosis of heart-attack. And I remember when my uncle arrived at our house. “You killed your father,” he muttered to me. “Murderer.”
I am Roya, A Transwoman
Although Bahram was the name given to me at birth, the name my family and friends called me for the majority of my life, it only ever referred to one part of my mind. When I would play games with the boys in my neighbourhood (I always liked playing with the boys more than the girls!), when I played rough-house, when my father gave me ‘manly’ tasks around the house, I was Bahram. But there was always someone else in there as well. This person was still me, only female. Some days when I woke up, she woke up too. I felt like her when I was doing domestic chores, like washing the dishes or rearranging the furniture in my room. She was this womanly presence that existed sometimes beside, sometimes on top, of my everyday life.
You can also read about the status of some of the people they are working with, including the four refugees who were granted asylum in the United States just this month.
Like the "agents" and "conductors" who guided runaway slaves to freedom 150 years ago, the men and women of the Iranian Railroad for Queer Refugees (IRQR) are working to protect some of the world's most vulnerable citizens, sexual minorities residing in the most homophobic nation on the planet. If you are interested, you can find details about how to contribute to the work of the IRQR here.
I must thank InAntayla, a Kossack who resides in Turkey and told me about this group's important work. For excellent coverage of Turkey and the Middle East, I would encourage you to follow InAntayla.
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