LONDON. Amid a sea of rainbow flags and roaring chants, East African voices rose today at London Pride—not just in celebration, but in defiance.

For many, this was more than a march; it was a reclaiming of identity, a powerful statement against the silence and persecution faced back home.

In a world where queerness is criminalized across much of East Africa, London became a sanctuary—a place where love was not just seen, but loudly affirmed.

Today, East African LGBTQ+ individuals didn’t just attend Pride; they owned it, transforming the streets into a battleground for visibility, freedom, and unapologetic existence.

London Pride, one of the world’s most prominent LGBTQ+ celebrations, is more than a colorful parade—it’s a symbol of resistance, inclusion, and visibility.

For East African communities like my own Uganda, particularly those from countries where LGBTQ+ identities are criminalized or heavily stigmatized, London Pride offers a rare, powerful space for freedom and affirmation. The event has grown into a vital platform for East African queer voices to be heard, seen, and celebrated.

In many East African nations such as Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania, and Ethiopia, being LGBTQ+ is still taboo, often punishable by law and socially condemned.

Homophobia, religious conservatism, and colonial-era penal codes have created environments where queer individuals face persecution, violence, and isolation. Consequently, many flee these regions and seek asylum in the UK, where they hope to live authentically and safely.

London, home to a vibrant and diverse diaspora, has become a sanctuary for many East African queer refugees and immigrants. London Pride amplifies their stories—stories of resilience, of escape, and of rebuilding lives in a more accepting society.

Organizations like the African Equality Foundation, Out and Proud African LGBTI and UK Black Pride have become cornerstones of support, advocacy, and visibility for queer Africans navigating life in the UK.

“We continue to offer support to all our LGBTQ members,” Edwin Sessange an executive at AEF says.

At today’s London Pride, East African LGBTQ+ individuals marched not just in celebration, but in protest. They carried banners with messages of solidarity for those back home still living in fear.

“Our presence challenges both Western narratives of queer identity and African narratives of exclusion, showing that being East African and LGBTQ+ are not mutually exclusive,” says Gloria Nanyungwe from Uganda.

Draconian Laws

Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act 2023 includes life imprisonment and the death penalty for certain same-sex acts. Kenya’s Penal Code Sections 162–165 criminalize “unnatural offenses,” punishable by up to 14 years in prison.

Tanzania enforces similar laws under Section 154, with sentences up to life imprisonment. In Ethiopia, Article 629 of the Penal Code criminalizes same-sex relations with up to 15 years in prison.

These colonial-era laws, often bolstered by political and religious rhetoric, contribute to violence, discrimination, and the marginalization of LGBTQ individuals across the region.

The essence of London Pride lies in this intersectionality—where race, migration, queerness, and activism meet. It’s a celebration rooted in struggle and resistance, and for East Africans, it offers a chance to reclaim space, culture, and dignity. In a world where they are often forced to hide, London Pride lets them be visible, proud, and free.

London Pride Pictorial

The post Africans Shine Proud at London Pride appeared first on Daily Secrets.

Attorney Ronald Abitegeka says he got at least one client who reported being raped shortly after he was detained under the law. Abitegeka works for ALIGHT Uganda (formerly American Refugee Committee) an NGO in the Isingiro district that operates in six refugee settlements, five transit centers, and border points.

ALIGHT Uganda’s work includes monitoring refugee settlements and inmates. His client wishes to remain anonymous for security reasons.

The Attorney says rape cases are common but rarely reported to the police, victims are denied medical treatments, and accusations are not investigated. Rarely, however, does someone stand up to authorities.

“I was very much surprised at my client’s courage to find justice after he was raped during detention,” says Abitegeka. “Unlike other victims, my client and his close family members were determined to pursue justice, trying to beat all odds.”

Abitegeka explains that despite the overwhelming number of cases of gender-based violence reported, few get resolved in favor of the victims. However, he is optimistic that his client’s case will see light.

Since the adoption of Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act 2023, people continue to be targeted for arrest and abuse. Earlier this year, more than 90 youths were arrested during a march-to-Parliament protest in Kampala and were charged with various offences, including being “idle and disorderly” and being a “common nuisance”, according to the charge sheet produced in court.

Unfounded rumors circulated that the protests were funded by foreign agents upset over the Anti-Homosexuality law, and several protesters detained said they were sexually assaulted as “revenge” while in custody.

When sexual violence occurs in prisons or police cells, it puts additional shame on those arrested, experts say.

Some human rights advocates are starting to speak out too. In a series of posts on X earlier this year, Ugandan activist Jim Spire Ssentongo demanded that police respond to accusations of abuse while in detention. Ssentongo shared screenshots with messages he says were from former inmates who narrated sexual and other abuses at the hands of police officers.

“Uganda Police, come out and talk about these allegations of young boys/suspects being ‘sodomized’ by your officers under police custody. We can’t let this pass just like that,” he wrote on his X handle on July 24.

One accusation of police brutality towards LGBTQ+ prisoners came from Ronald Agaba, a gay activist who was arrested by state operatives on March 14 for protesting against corruption in Parliament Speaker Anita Among’s office.

“I thought I would never smile or be free again,” Agaba wrote on X, with a graphic description of sexual abuses and beatings.

Jimmy Kabiito, an activist working with Human Rights Awareness Promotion and Forum (HRAPF), a local NGO, says sensitization and education are needed so that law enforcement officers understand that such abuses targeting LGBTQ+ people violate basic human rights. HRAPF provides legal services to support minority groups.

“It is very true that Trans people in Uganda are targeted and raped in police cells and prisons and by other homophobic people just to traumatize them and to ‘prove whether they are gay’.

Others are raped because they are believed to have money and that they are funded by the whites,” Kabiito says.

Kabiito says these crimes, rooted in misinformation and myths, should be thoroughly investigated by police and other security organizations.

Instead, Kabiito says law enforcement officials sometimes collaborate with medical doctors to fake medical forms that deny justice for victims by removing all physical evidence of abuse.

Uganda Prisons spokesperson Frank Baine said in a phone interview that most of the abuse claims were baseless.

“Whoever alleges must prove,” Baine said, alleging that most complainants make abuse allegations against police in hopes of court-ordered financial settlements or to claim asylum in Europe or Canada.

Sexual and gender-based violence continues to be one of Uganda’s most pressing human rights challenges, with far-reaching impacts on individuals and communities beyond LGBTQ+ people.

A 2021 report by the Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) revealed that one in three women aged 15 to 49 has experienced physical or sexual violence.

The Uganda Police Force’s 2023 annual crime report further underscores the severity of the situation, documenting over 17,000 cases of domestic violence, many of which involved sexual violence.

“These alarming statistics only scratch the surface, as numerous cases go unreported due to fear of stigma, retribution, or distrust in the justice system,” the report indicates.

The post How Ugandan prisons and police cells pose hazard for LGBTQ+ minorities appeared first on Daily Secrets.

LONDON. For years, I dedicated my work as a journalist to fighting for human rights in Uganda. I never imagined that my passion for justice and equality would lead to threats against my life, forcing me into exile. Yet here I am, in the United Kingdom—a country that has offered me the freedom to speak my truth, but also a place that serves as a constant reminder of what I have left behind and what still needs to be done.

In Uganda, being openly supportive of LGBTQ+ rights is akin to signing your own arrest warrant. When President Yoweri Museveni signed the Anti-Homosexuality Act of 2023 into law, it wasn’t just a political maneuver; it was a state-sanctioned attack on basic human dignity. The law prescribes extreme penalties, including life imprisonment and the death penalty for what the government calls “aggravated homosexuality.” By the stroke of Museveni’s pen, our community was plunged into fear and further isolation.

My advocacy articles, opinion pieces, and speaking engagements continues—because I believed then, as I do now, that the written word is a powerful tool for change. But in Uganda, writing in defense of LGBTQ+ rights is not only an act of courage; it is treated as an act of rebellion.

My most controversial opinion piece that went viral, I had criticized the Ugandan government for perpetuating colonial-era laws and denounced the state’s backwardness in accepting modern concepts of diversity. I argued that embracing every citizen’s identity, regardless of sexual orientation, is not only humane but necessary for our country’s moral and social progress.

Instead of sparking a meaningful debate, my words brought police summons and a cloud of suspicion over my life. The Ugandan Police `force through its local Nakabugo-Bulaga police post even recorded a case against me under the draconian laws that penalize “promoting homosexuality.” Yet, my real crime was daring to stand for those silenced and marginalized. I have been labelled as an outcast and a threat to local culture.

For LGBTQ+ people in Uganda, life is a labyrinth of danger. Our so-called “progressive” refugee policies are a sham, with queer individuals facing intensified discrimination both inside and outside refugee settlements. Those who flee their countries hoping to find safety here are quickly disillusioned. Local leaders and religious influencers frequently incite hatred, making it nearly impossible for LGBTQ+ refugees to integrate into communities. In urban settings, LGBTQ+ individuals working in small businesses are accused of corrupting local morals and are subjected to threats and violence.

My situation escalated when I refused to back down. Articles I wrote advocating for international pressure and speaking against Uganda’s regressive stances put me directly at odds with powerful institutions, including the Buganda Kingdom, one of Africa’s oldest monarchies. My criticism of their corruption practices earned me even more enemies, and soon it became clear that staying in Uganda would mean imprisonment—or worse.

Fleeing to the UK was not just a desperate escape; it was a chance to keep fighting in a different, safer arena. Here, I found what Uganda lacks: a robust system that respects and enforces human rights, a nation where diversity is celebrated, not criminalized. The UK’s emphasis on equality and freedom of expression gives activists like me a platform to continue advocating for those who remain unheard in my homeland.

Yet, living in relative safety is a double-edged sword. I carry the guilt of being one of the fortunate few who managed to get out. I think of LGBTQ+ friends still in hiding, terrified to even whisper their truths. I think of the activists who are working tirelessly but fear that every phone call or knock at the door could mean imprisonment. The situation in Uganda remains dire, with entire communities forced into secrecy to survive.

The international community must not look away. Condemnations and diplomatic statements are not enough. We need actionable pressure, consistent advocacy, and support for grassroots organizations that help protect LGBTQ+ Ugandans. Governments and human rights organizations should amplify the voices of those silenced back home and provide clear pathways to asylum for individuals at risk.

My stay in the UK is a story of survival, but it should not be extraordinary. Everyone deserves to live openly, free from fear. Uganda has taken a dark path, but I believe that change is inevitable. It starts with us—those in exile and those still at home—fighting from every corner of the world to hold our leaders accountable and push our country toward progress.

As I write from a place of relative safety, I am more determined than ever to see a Uganda that respects all of its citizens. We cannot rest until love, in all its forms, is decriminalized. Until then, I will continue to use my voice, both as a journalist and an advocate, to champion this cause.
James Kabengwa is a Uganda journalist currently resident in the United Kingdom.

The post Uganda’s Harsh Reality and My Journey to Safety: A Call for Global Action appeared first on Daily Secrets.