'Visiting Uganda underscored for me the stark reality that no person’s suffering or success occurs in a vacuum: we are all connected.'

In February 2014, I traveled to Uganda with American Jewish World Service (AJWS) as part of their Bay Area Global Justice Fellowship. There were 15 fellows and three staff, ranging from 25-70 years old. We would be meeting with NGOs funded by AJWS who advocate for the rights of women, girls and LGBT people. What we didn’t know was just how urgent and desperate the situation was. We had not yet grasped the horrific violence inflicted on these groups, institutionalized through Draconian laws.

Carving my heart in particular were the stories entrusted to us by members of the LGBT community. While sitting in the Chinese restaurant-turned-conference room in our hotel one day in humid Kampala, six gregarious “proud, trans sex-workers” blew through the door. Each was wearing typical male-gendered dress, while their affect was as exquisitely flamboyant as their selected diva namesakes. We had been instructed not to breathe a word that we were meeting with LGBT people, for to do so would incriminate us and the hotel where we were staying, and expose the very people we were seeking to protect. Yet in swished these fabulous folks, kissing our hands and charming the room. For a moment I almost forgot they’d arrived in a secret, unmarked vehicle. Their presence was so total that I distinctly remember wanting to throw a sheet over them and hide these ladies out of sight for dear life.

The mood abruptly changed when a hotel staffer came to fill the water. We switched to a benign, scripted conversation to insulate against the covert nature of what was actually going on. One of our guests, Cleo, told us how their father had abandoned their mother once he learned that his then-son was homosexual. This left the mother without economic viability and was exacerbated when her neighbors burned her home to instigate exile. Even a parent who suspects that their child is homosexual must turn them in to the authorities. This is because concealing such a fact--even to protect one’s child--is seen as “aiding and abetting” a homosexual. In Uganda, a homosexual is synonymous with a pedophile. If the parents do not comply, they will face criminal charges and/or community retaliation, as was the case for Cleo’s mother.

How did things get like this?  It is important to note that like many countries in the global South, Uganda was colonized by the West. The unfortunate legacy of colonization is one of economic exploitation and eradication; religious fundamentalism; and a type of pervasive moralism exercised as a means of social control over indigenous populations. The result is a country rife with instability looking for a scapegoat. In times of religious zealotry and social conservatism, that means those at the bottom of the social hierarchy: women, girls and LGBT people.

Colonialism, however, is not a thing of the past. Many U.S. Christian fundamentalists spread their views to Ugandans and fund legislation such as the anti-homosexuality act President Museveni signed into law during our stay. People like the U.S. Rev. Rick Warren present themselves as experts on homosexuality and speak to Ugandans about its alleged perils and inherent danger to their children. Even in Kampala, Uganda’s capitol, we saw Bible verses painted on taxis, businesses, and private homes.

The fundamentalist belief system gains much traction in Uganda because of the high rate of illiteracy. Schools are inaccessible in much of the country. Many people told us that Uganda is not a reading culture and that its citizens get most news through inflammatory tabloid photos and radio, which is controlled by Christian fundamentalists.

I met an example of such indoctrination in a woman I’ll call Sandy, who had gone to a Catholic school, been regularly visited by missionaries, had never before met a Jew, and had been taught not to question anything. Sandy told me that she had heard on the radio that “when Armageddon comes, people will not be able to use their ATM cards, their houses will burn, the beast will rise with two horns representing homosexuality and capitalism, and that people will have microchips put in their arms and be controlled by an evil government.”  Like many Ugandans, her entire concept of the world was shaped by what she heard on Christian radio and the religious scripture she was given. It was supported by everything she saw around her.

Girls, women, and LGBT people like Cleo are in the eye of a perfect storm in Uganda: an unstable country filled with religious fundamentalism and an understandable rejection of Westernism and what they see as its pro-homosexuality agenda, where almost no differing views are presented. I bring this up neither to portray Ugandans as hateful, ignorant people nor the country as a wretched hell-on-earth -- which it isn’t -- but to explain the complexity of a human rights crisis as I experienced it. Uganda is a country full of people who want a safe healthy life and bright future for their children. As a privileged, white, straight-passing U.S. citizen, it is easy  to look upon a country and say, “We can save them! I have all the answers!” The truth is that such thinking is precisely what put Uganda and many other countries in their current position.

Visiting Uganda underscored for me the stark reality that no person’s suffering or success occurs in a vacuum: we are all connected.  Though Museveni signing the anti-homosexuality bill rightfully outraged many U.S. citizens, the societal sentiment of anti-homosexuality did not materialize out of thin air. Such will be the case for the global human rights movement for women and LGBT people. The belief that one human being’s life is inherently more valuable, moral or worthwhile than another’s has been ingrained in the psyche of human beings for years and should not be perpetuated in a ‘we know better than you’  solution.

I had the privilege and pleasure of meeting some of the strongest, most brilliant, charismatic, caring and fearless people I had ever met or could ever hope to meet. One woman, a known lesbian who presented proudly as such, was asked, “Why don’t you just try to pass?”

She replied, “Life is too short to be someone I’m not. I’ve already suffered so much -- why put myself through hell again?”

That response? It changed me.

Feature image courtesy of AJWS.