Intersections of Vulnerability or Power?: Individual Efforts to Shelter LGBTIQ+ Displaced People in Beirut

November 14, 2024

“Safety is the most important thing ever,” shared Nayla (pseudonym), as the intimidating drone sounds echoed across the sky of Beirut during our meeting at a café near Tayyouneh roundabout.

Hosting seven displaced trans, lesbian and gay Syrians and Lebanese in their modest home in the Achrafieh neighbourhood, the concept of safety is especially significant for her as a trans woman and her partner, as it extends far beyond having a roof to sleep under or a toilet to use without facing intimidation and the need to negotiate their identities. Their hope for safety and freedom is not simply a new response to the recent Israeli attacks on Lebanon, which have displaced 1.2 million people across the country, but an ongoing dream they nurture daily through their intersectional, border-crossing experiences.

When it comes to LGBTIQ+ rights, the government, as well as civil rights movements’ response, falls woefully short. Alienated by archaic, colonial-era laws that target the community under vague pretexts and impose intrusive control over their bodies, queer individuals are forced to navigate their intersecting identities while confronting current challenges. Despite being integral to society’s fabric—through their history of shaping the arts, advocating for mental and sexual health awareness, and adding an intersectional and inclusive perspective in broader social justice movements, as seen during the October 17 Revolution—they remain systematically excluded from major crisis management efforts.

Nayla was certain that, without a helping hand, their guests would be left with no option but the streets. While public schools across Lebanon have been transformed into collective shelters for the displaced, they have largely been reserved for Lebanese citizens. This exclusionary experience mirrors the plight of Syrian refugees and migrant domestic workers, many of whom were abandoned by their employers when their homes were destroyed, leaving them with no place to resettle. Displaced LGBTIQ+ individuals, whether Lebanese or not, are left wandering through a sheltering city that offers no space for queer people. They are often seen as outcasts with un-Lebanese values, resulting in their exclusion from the very shelters meant to provide refuge. The notion that heteronormative gender identity and sexual orientation could be considered part of a nation’s cultural heritage is a topic for another article; however, it is essential to study the agency of people under circumstances of war and displacement, and their ability to support others amidst their personal hardship, as is the case with Nayla. 

Navigating the City Through Intersectionalities

The first thing Nayla mentioned when I asked about her current situation at home was the sleeping ritual: mattresses laid out on the floor in a “feet to head, head to feet” pattern to fit everyone into the cramped living room, but that is just part of the challenge. With nine people now sharing the space, the gas bottle runs out in less than ten days, limiting their ability to cook daily. Despite the scarcity, she cooks not only for those she is hosting but also for LGBTIQ+ people sheltering in Dahye and other red zones under constant bombardment. “Safety is the most important thing ever,” Nayla would often repeat. Nonetheless, beyond the lack of space and dwindling privacy, her neighbours pose a long-standing threat to her safety, with so many people now staying under one roof.

In Nayla’s home, alongside her and her partner, three undocumented Syrian trans women, two undocumented Syrian gay men, and two lesbians coexist. Their intersecting identities—sexuality, gender, nationality, and legal status—are further complicated by their shared profession as sex workers, an occupation that operates in a semi-official capacity in the country but remains heavily stigmatized. Aware that her neighbours have noticed the comings and goings of different people in her home, Nayla has devised a careful strategy: entering and leaving the building “one by one” to avoid drawing attention, gossip, or confrontations that could lead to a police raid. It is not just the building that poses a threat but the entire neighbourhood. Just a few blocks away is the office of Jnoud el Rab, a self-proclaimed Christian militia known for unlawfully targeting LGBTIQ+ individuals. Although it might be expected that, amidst the severe war, displacement, and instability in Lebanon, groups like Jnoud el Rab would shift focus to the unfolding humanitarian crisis, Nayla still feels unsafe. While she believes the immediate threats have lessened, the constant fear remains deeply embedded in her body, which has endured hate speech and crackdowns over the past couple of years.

LGBTIQ+ and Syrian Crackdowns

On 24 June 2022, Lebanon’s Caretaker Interior Minister Bassam Mawlawi issued a directive to the Internal and General Security directorates, instructing them to prevent gatherings perceived as “promoting sexual perversion” across the country. This crackdown was bolstered by late Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah’s hateful speeches against the LGBTIQ+ community, fuelling a wave of impunity for attacks on queer individuals nationwide. One of the most violent incidents occurred when Jnoud el Rab attacked Om Barroom in Mar Mikhael, targeting the venue where an artistic drag queen performance was taking place. This surge in anti-LGBTIQ+ propaganda coincided with an escalating crackdown on Syrian refugees, who were increasingly scapegoated for Lebanon’s economic collapse and political failures. Across the country, undocumented Syrians experienced a wave of mass deportations and faced extortion and exploitation at the hands of their own neighbours. The dual targeting of both LGBTIQ+ and Syrian communities created an atmosphere of fear and hostility, deepening the sense of marginalisation for those already on society’s fringes.

LGBTIQ+ Syrian individuals, like Nayla’s partner and their guests, have been forced to live underground, with many conforming to “pass” as non-queer, heteronormative, and cisgender for survival. This fear runs deep, rendering strategies like leaving the house one by one insignificant compared to the greater struggle to stay alive. Nayla’s partner recalls their friend Jessica, who was extorted, run over by members of Jnoud el Rab, and ultimately disappeared after trying to report the attacks. “[After that], we understood that no one was safe. We were calling each other all the time to check if everyone was alive,” Nayla shared. This fear has driven their family of nine to rely on nepotism and networking to navigate the violent threats against their identities, in both times of war and peace. Bribery, securing connections with their clients at the club where they work, and forming partnerships with civil society organisations like Helem have helped them survive day by day. Yet, as Nayla admits, the road ahead remains long and uncertain.

Conclusive Remarks

As the war continues, strategies remain focused on emergency response, with no clear long-term plan in sight. While mental health studies are emerging as large portions of the country lie in ruins, the future of displaced people remains uncertain. Despite the work of organisations like Helem and MOSAIC, as well as individual efforts by people like Nayla, the emergency response has largely followed a heteronormative, nationalistic framework. This approach has left thousands—if not millions—without access to essential needs, such as shelter, food, hygiene products, and medicines. The exclusion of vulnerable populations from these basic resources highlights the deep flaws in the current crisis management.

Once the bombs stop raining from the sky and people begin to return to their homes, a far greater level of support will be required, as the reality of the exclusion faced by marginalised communities becomes more widespread and documented. However, for this recovery to truly accommodate everyone, it must be approached through SOGIESC (Sexual Orientation, Gender Identity and Expression, and Sexual Characteristics) and transnational perspectives. The question remains: will the government and civil rights organisations listen and take the necessary steps to ensure a more inclusive and effective response?