From the seafront to the winding Lanes, rainbow flags fluttered and music pulsed. For many, this was a day of unbridled joy and a chance to celebrate who they were.

To Ugandans, it was a call to their home government to instead of focussing on the fight against LGBTQ, guns should be turned to improving service delivery and the fight against corruption.

Brighton Pride was something more profound. It was a jubilant declaration of freedom. Back home, our lives were in danger. Our very existence was criminalized. We lived in fear, in the shadows, constantly looking over our shoulders.

I remembered my first Pride here. The sheer scale of it, the unapologetic joy, was overwhelming. I saw people holding hands openly, kissing without fear of violence, and dressing in a way that screamed defiance and self-love. It was a stark contrast to the whispered conversations and coded messages of the past.

Brighton Pride had a long history, dating back to the early 1970s. It was born from a protest, a defiant stand against a society that sought to silence and oppress.

Over the decades, it has grown into a massive festival, but its roots as a protest remain- dancing in protest, marching in celebration.

Saturday’s protest was personal. It was a protest against laws that could lead to life imprisonment or even death. It was a protest against societal stigma and violence. It was a protest for the people we had left behind, who could not experience this simple, glorious freedom. We were their voices, and our joy was our armour.

That morning, as the LGBTQ+ Community Parade began, I saw a group of men and women from across the globe. They were singing and dancing, their traditional fabrics a riot of colour against the parade’s bright backdrop. Their faces were a mix of tears and laughter, a testament to the complex emotions of the day.

One of them, a young man from Uganda, told me he had never felt so safe. “Here, I am not a criminal,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I am just a person. I am free.”

This feeling of being “just a person” was a luxury many in our home countries could not afford. The UK, with its protections and acceptance, was a sanctuary.

Pride was a moment to fully inhabit that sanctuary, to be seen and celebrated for who we were. It was a taste of the life we hoped one day everyone, everywhere, could have.

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As the music continued and the street parties raged on, we were not just celebrating. Participants were bearing witness. We were remembering. We were standing tall and proud, showing the world that love and identity could not be legislated out of existence.

Our freedom in Brighton was a loud, joyful promise for a better future, a future where no one had to hide.

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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

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Laid to rest today, I want to pay tribute to Pope Francis, a man who has left an indelible mark on the fight for equality. As a supporter of the LGBTQ+ community, I am deeply grateful for Pope Francis’s unwavering commitment to love, acceptance, and inclusivity.

Pope Francis’ words and actions have been a beacon of hope for many in the LGBTQ+ community. When asked about gay priests, he said in July 2013, “If they accept the Lord and have goodwill, who am I to judge them?” These words resonated deeply with his like-minds, reflecting a recognition that every individual deserves dignity and respect, regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity.

The Pope’s commitment to LGBTQ+ inclusion was evident in his actions. In June 2015, he joined 90 prison inmates for lunch, including 10 from the ward housing those who are gay, transgender, or have HIV/AIDS. This act of kindness and compassion demonstrated his willingness to reach out to marginalized communities and show love and acceptance.

Pope Francis’ words offered a powerful message of support and acceptance to LGBTQ+ individuals and their families. “We have to find a way to help that father or that mother to stand by their [LGBTQ+] son or daughter,” he said in December 2014. These words testify to his understanding of the importance of family support and acceptance in the lives of LGBTQ+ individuals.

As someone who has been persecuted in Uganda for speaking out for the LGBTQ+ community, I am deeply grateful for Pope Francis’ empathy and understanding. “Sometimes it happens that you feel disappointed, discouraged, abandoned by all: but God does not forget his children, he never abandons them!” Francis said in March 2015, resonating deeply with me. Francis leaves a legacy behind that the LGBTQ+ community is not alone, and that there are people who care and want to support them.

Pope Francis’ legacy will continue to inspire us to work towards a more inclusive and compassionate world. His words, “Families today need miracles!” (December 2014), remind us that love and acceptance can bring about miracles and transform lives.

As we remember Pope Francis, we honor his legacy of love and acceptance. I recall his commitment to LGBTQ+ inclusion and his willingness to challenge traditional norms and expectations. May we continue to draw inspiration from his example and strive to create a world that is more loving, more accepting, and more inclusive for all.

In a world that often seeks to divide and exclude, Pope Francis’ message of love and acceptance is more relevant than ever. His legacy serves as a reminder that we are not alone, and that there are people who care and want to support us. As we move forward, let us continue to draw inspiration from his example and work towards a world that is more just, more compassionate, and more inclusive for all.

Pope Francis’ impact on the LGBTQ+ community will be remembered for generations to come. His commitment to love and acceptance has inspired countless individuals around the world, and his legacy will continue to inspire us to work towards a more just and compassionate world.

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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.

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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.

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MBARARA: Gender and sexual minorities, including lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people (LGBTQ+) have a higher relative risk of acquiring HIV than the general population yet face significant barriers to accessing prevention, care, and treatment services due to stigma and criminalization, sources have revealed.

This discrepancy has only worsened in Uganda since lawmakers enacted the Anti-Homosexuality Act in May 2023.

Annita Matsika, a senior health journalist based in Mbarara, notes that in Greater Western Uganda, a region with over 20 million people, there are only two drop-in health clinics known to offer LGBTQ+ people safe and inclusive treatment.

Some providers may not be knowledgeable about LGBTQ+ health issues or may hold biases that can impact the quality of care, according to Matsika. 

This lack of understanding can make individuals hesitant to seek medical assistance, Matsika says, adding that awareness and education are essential. 

“Healthcare providers need to undergo refresher trainings by the Ministry of Health and non-government organizations to increase their competency and understanding of LGBTQ+ health issues to create safe spaces where individuals feel comfortable discussing their health concerns,” she says.

Several health organizations in Uganda are now ramping up efforts to attend to LGBTQ+ people’s health needs by providing resources, capacity building and networking to help individuals find affirming healthcare providers. 

Justus Ampire, the executive director of St. Augustine Community Health Centre in Mbarara City, notes that since the passing of the Anti-Homosexuality Act, LGBTQ+ people are increasingly being harassed and their rights violated by denying them treatment and medication, especially in government facilities.

“We [at St. Augustine] are inclusive, and everyone has a right to receive medical care regardless of their sexual orientation, [but still] our work has been compromised. Patients no longer come like before the Act, or if they are coming, we may not easily identify them because of fear of their safety,” he says.

Ampire is worried LGBTQ+ people are silently suffering and dying of the same diseases for which straight and cisgender people receive free treatment. 

“We are in a dilemma because it was under the watch of the Ministry of Health that the law was passed. To compromise health services is a violation of the [universal] right to access health care in Uganda. Providing health services in Uganda [to LGBTQ+ people] is now a risk. 

“You are not sure whether this person seeking a service is genuinely gay or is a straight person trying to disguise as gay in order to either get you arrested or put you in a trap for your operating license to be revoked or actually to be prosecuted in courts of law because the enforcement officers are looking to show their bosses that they are working,” he says.

Ampire adds that health workers at St. Augustine have put extra measures in place to protect themselves from being criminalized for doing their work because they are operating in a high-risk environment. 

Center management has trained health workers to serve and love everyone regardless of their sexual orientation and implemented community outreaches to serve everyone in their localities.

“The biggest challenge so far since the passing of the AHA is that people are shunning service provision and resorting to bad practices that endanger their lives even more than the law, practices like using liquid soaps and cooking oils instead of lubricants for sex,” he says, adding that lubricants could be available in some pharmacies but extremely expensive. 

”Previously, government has been having lubricants at referral hospital levels and giving to accredited private health facilities to distribute for free which stopped and now people are fearing to go to government facilities because it could be a trap noting that there is a challenge of the interpretation of the law for example distributing lubricants is taken to be as promotion of homosexuality yet its a service,” he says.

Ampire says the Ministry of Health should re-activate key population departments, reassure health workers of their safety, and ensure that everyone gets services regardless of their sexuality. With challenges to the Anti-Homosexuality Act now before Uganda’s Constitutional Court, he hopes it will be overturned.

Eric (not his real name) is a Trans man and community coordinator for the International Community of Women living with HIV/AIDS (ICWEA), the only international network run for and by HIV-positive women in Uganda. Eric says life in Uganda as a trans person is a living Hell. He says that living with HIV and being a trans man is like adding salt to a bad wound.

As an activist, he says he is overwhelmed by the number of gay and trans people who come to him for medical assistance. It is very insecure for LGBTQI+ people to openly and freely discuss with health workers about their health issues due to fear of criminalization, discrimination and persecution, he said. Ever since the [Anti-Homosexuality Act] was passed, some facilities, especially the government ones, have stopped offering services to LGBTQ+ people, and this limits access to quality health care services for them.”

He notes that before the Act, LGBTQ+ people could more easily reach out to health providers for services, but now he does not trust most providers. 

“I have disguised myself in order to get any kind of help. It is hard to disclose my sexuality anymore,” he said. 

Eric says he has tried to reach out to as many LGBTQ+ people about ICWEAs services as he can but that too little is being done to help them.

“I reach so many communities and come across cases that are not in my job description, but as a single person, what can I do to help all these people? Even if I refer them to trusted clinics, many of them do not reach out due to fear. Who is going to help us?” he asks.

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