The first time I encountered DeLovie Kwagala (Papa De) was on social media in May. The Ugandan non-binary queer photographer, human rights activist, somatic practitioner, and founder of the HashtagWhatNext campaign, had tears streaming down their face as they spoke from South Africa about being in exile in the wake of Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality bill. Fear peppered the moment – that of leaving their trans child behind in Joburg in order to return to Uganda to secure a visa, and for their community in Uganda now facing the realities of the new legislation known colloquially as the ‘kill the gays law’. “I have let survivor’s guilt trick me into thinking I don’t need help since I’m in a ‘safety net’ in South Africa while my queer siblings are going through the most in Uganda,” read the accompanying caption.

The list of punishable offences that were brought into law on 29th May 2023 by Ugandan president Yoweri Museveni would be comical, were it not so damning to people’s safety. Aggravated homosexuality is punishable by death. Attempted homosexuality results in a ten-year prison sentence. A property owner can be sentenced to seven years for knowingly renting out their space to homosexuals. Failing to report homosexuality can lead to a five-year imprisonment or fine. The most extreme: children of any age can be found guilty of attempted homosexuality and be forced to spend three years in jail. And the list of such egregious violations against human rights goes on. The draconian law has been condemned by governments and human rights organisations around the globe.

Beyond legal prosecutions, the grim reality is that criminalisation of homosexuality leads to people losing jobs, becoming homeless and experiencing grinding mental health challenges. It also resets the strides countries like Uganda have made towards lowering HIV/AIDS infection rates due to the wrong belief, in spite of decades of communication stating otherwise, that the disease only affects the LGBTQIA+ community.

Add to that the fact that laws such as this – another one is currently being tabled in Kenya – are an attempt to distract the public about the realities of our colonisation, which include rampant corruption and a breakdown of trust between the government and its citizens. As the Ghanaian musician Wanlov shared on X (formerly Twitter): "Ghana will keep suffering as a nation till we share the same love we have for corrupt politicians with our queer neighbours or until we share the same hate we have for our queer neighbours with wicked politicians."

Despite this life-threatening situation, Kwagala’s resolve to speak about their and their chosen family's ordeals has never withered. Forced to flee, they have no choice but to use their voice and talents to continue to fight. The second time we meet is in Joburg in July, after they have safely returned from their trip to Uganda. I start by asking Kwagala about the rampant religious fundamentalism that has led to this bill, which was first tabled back in 2009. “We have seen religion stand up so quickly to support the persecution and causing harm to people. They have been out there preaching hate and genocide onto us for the longest time. But this time around, in this wave, it feels like something is at stake. And ironically, if you look at the statistics, it’s actually the church – the religious people, the Sheikhs, that are abusing kids. I feel like they are trying to throw out that reputation that they’ve had for years.”

For Kwagala, one of the widest concerns is that queer people are being scapegoated as the root cause of society’s ills. This leads to rising vigilantism, mob justice and corrective rapes, forcing queer and trans people into hiding. “Our queerness is not denouncing religion. We are simply being ourselves, being authentic. It doesn’t mean that we are gonna let God slide if we are believers. But it’s like they are not giving us a choice; queerness is not anti-Christ, it’s not anti-religion. We can co-exist,” they say.

In addition to their active campaigning through the #Hashtagwhatnext platform to raise funds and share resources, and generally sharing messages of love, acceptance and support, Kwagala has been engaged in a photographic project to document queer people facing the scourge of this bill. This award-winning artist is using their subject-centred photographic style to develop a portrait series highlighting the humanity of those people the state has elected to criminalise. Indeed, it counters that if identifying as queer is anti-religion, then religion is anti-love, understanding, acceptance, and all the tenets our very African ancestors established thriving kingdoms around. Anti-queerness is also anti-Ubuntu, and therefore anti-African.

Each portrait is accompanied by quotes from these brave collaborators. In addition to granting their consent for the images to be made, these individuals also got to decide which costumes they wanted to be clothed in. This was Kwagala's attempt to centre them in the conversation; to let them know that they're loved, that they matter. This is a reassurance that Kwagala has never been afforded by Ugandan society. “I was filled with rage from a young age because I lived in a space that constantly reminded me that my kind is not accepted. My kind is taboo, my kind is a sin. So, I did not get a chance to experience real childhood. I was bullied for how I looked, for not putting on make-up like every other girl. All of this without any representation whatsoever – that shit breaks you,” they say.

Today, Kwagala is in a better state than they were three months back having secured a research visa for South Africa, reunited with their child and begun a year-long artist residency in Berlin. Meanwhile the advocacy work continues. “We have new developments with the law. The first victim has been charged with aggravated homosexuality, so we are waiting to see what really comes of that,” they say. “I am planning some collaborative efforts with different organisations here in Europe to make sure that we create sustainable pathways to safety, rather than the not-so-feasible choice of asylum. I want to be able to provide queer artists from my background, and also those who’ve become refugees in their own countries, with temporary residencies at artistic institutions in Europe.”

Here, we share some of Kwagala’s project and its voices who so desperately need to be heard.

“My name is Zee I’m trans. Currently the LGBTIQIA+ community is living in fear. From where we stay, to the streets, in schools, in hospitals, everywhere. I can’t go to the market to buy anything to eat. I can't go to church. I can't use public transportation. I have been HIV positive since birth and I can't even access my medicine. I call upon the government of Uganda to consider us as fellow human beings. We need education and employment just like anyone else. But right not, they’re just arresting us and beating us up. We are not safe anywhere, at all.”

“My name is Remi and I’m trans. It began with my family; they were staunch Muslims so they decided to take me to the village and stone me to death. I was beaten and I ran off. I had a friend who introduced me to LGBTQIA+ organisations and I fled. It is hard but at least I can be alone or with a few people that accept me for who I am. The real fact is no one is going to employ you when you’re trans. I do not have an ID card. So, I must turn to sex work but with the current situation, we are hunted from all directions so that is not an option anymore.”

“My name is Winnie and I’m trans. The streets and markets in Kampala are not safe for me and my friends. There’s always something bad that can happen to us. I used to go to church but the preacher used harsh words on me so I decided to start praying from home. Because of our sexuality, we have failed to secure opportunities that would sustain us to make lives for ourselves. All this wouldn't have happened if we had freedom and justice in our country. We just want the same rights. We are human too after all. Is that too much to ask?”

“My name is Angella and I'm proud to be queer. It is in me so I cannot be forced by someone to be anything else. We have people that come out and claim they were induced into this community which is not true. There is no child who is forced into homosexuality. It is you. It is in you. So, if you have a child and you notice that they are queer, don’t chase them, you should rather embrace them and accept them because it is even harsher out in the world.”

“My name is Alex and I’m non-binary. In 2019, people called the police on me and two other friends while at a local restaurant because ‘we were acting gay’. We were arrested and paraded through the town. I had been living in a hostel near campus. The next day I was evicted. I went to church and an usher screamed ‘Gay’ in my face. I ran out of church and never looked back. I lost my side hustle business and I ended up quitting school because the bullying became a lot. It traumatised me and messed up my family ‘cause my mother was so devastated. Our relationship has never been the same. In Uganda there is no hope any more. It becomes clear every single day.”