Introduction

On April 22, 2009, the president of Burundi, Pierre Nkurunziza, signed into law a new criminal code that contains a provision making sexual relations between people of the same sex illegal for the first time in the country’s history.

The law was a fierce blow to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) people in Burundi, who only in recent years, and in very small numbers, had begun to come out, organize, and demand that their rights be respected. The Association for Respect and Rights for Homosexuals (Association pour le Respect et les Droits des Homosexuels, ARDHO), was founded in the capital, Bujumbura, in 2003, initially as a support group for LGBT people. Inspired by what they saw as a global wave in favor of LGBT rights, members began traveling to gay rights conferences in other African countries; educating themselves and others about HIV/AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases; and speaking out on Burundian radio stations about discrimination they faced in their daily lives.

While some “came out” to their families and friends as gay or lesbian,[1] most remained “closeted” outside of the safe space provided by ARDHO, afraid of rejection or even disownment. Still, they saw positive signs: as Théophile, age 26, told us, “I thought that we were in a wave of change–I had discussed my homosexuality with my friends and neighbors, and they were tolerant. When people take the time to try to understand, they become a bit more open-minded.”

Burundian LGBT people were devastated when in November 2008, the National Assembly voted in favor of adding an article to the proposed new Criminal Code that would penalize same-sex relations between consenting adults. Burundian lawyers and politicians, along with international experts, had spent two years revising the old criminal code, which dated to 1981, but the National Assembly’s human rights commission added the anti- homosexuality provision at the last minute.

The commission was apparently under pressure from President Nkurunziza, who made statements on television condemning homosexuality as a “curse,” and whose offices telephoned lawmakers seeking to influence their votes. Even before the law went into effect, it had an impact on LGBT people, undermining their trust in state authorities. Several days after the Assembly vote, Nick, a young gay man in Bujumbura, told us, “Today I saw a policeman in the supermarket and he started talking to me. I suddenly looked at his uniform and remembered the new law and I was afraid. I realized he wasn’t trying to arrest me, but it made me uncomfortable in any case.”

ARDHO joined forces with international organizations dedicated to LGBT equality, AIDS  activism, and human rights (including Human Rights Watch), as well as with Burundian civil society organizations, to lobby the Burundian Senate to reject the discriminatory provision. In February 2009, the Senate did so in an overwhelming 36-7 vote. But in March, the ruling party, the National Council for the Defense of Democracy-Forces for the Defense of Democracy (Conseil National pour la Défense de la Démocratie-Forces pour la Défense de la Démocratie, CNDD-FDD), organized a mass march against homosexuality in Bujumbura. The party bussed in thousands of students and residents of rural areas to protest.

Against this backdrop, the National Assembly, to whom the Senate version was returned for approval, refused to accept the Senate’s removal of the provision against homosexual conduct. Despite appeals from figures ranging from Nobel Peace Prize-winner Archbishop Desmond Tutu to then French Minister for Human Rights Rama Yade, on April 22 President Nkurunziza promulgated the criminal code, with the provision in place.

Two days later, Human Rights Watch and 62 other Burundian and international human rights organizations issued a joint statement calling for the provision–article 567 of the new Criminal Code–to be removed. The article provides for up to two years in prison for “whoever engages in sexual relations with a person of the same sex.” The organizations stated that the law violates the rights to privacy and to non-discrimination enshrined in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. They also expressed concern that the law would hamper Burundi’s efforts to fight AIDS.

From November 2008, when the National Assembly first passed the discriminatory law, through May 2009, shortly after the criminal code was promulgated, Human Rights Watch carried out in-depth interviews with 16 members of Burundi’s LGBT community, all of them young people between 17 and 37. We spoke to them about their childhoods, about when and how they first realized they were gay or lesbian, and about how this identity affected their lives. They told us heartbreaking stories of being beaten by parents, chased out of their family homes, threatened by police officers, silenced in school, and subjected to sexual violence. The abuses and discrimination they endured, for which they felt they had no protection from the state, made them second-class citizens in Burundi long before the passage of article 567.

But their narratives also contained kernels of hope. Mike, who dreams of going into politics one day, participated in a school debate on homosexuality; as he looked around the classroom, one student after another gradually raised their hands to say they supported gay rights. Anneyoncé fought depression by writing songs. Cynthia, briefly kicked out by her father for speaking out on the radio about gay rights, was first taken in by an understanding boss and then accepted back home after other relatives convinced her father to accept her.

Pascal, a biology student, found his calling in teaching workshops on protection against HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases for men who have sex with men. Yves, after learning he was HIV positive, drew strength from other members of the LGBT association, who didn’t judge him for his HIV status.

Human Rights Watch teamed up with photographer Martina Bacigalupo to create portraits of ten of these young people, many of whom feel that their very identities have been rendered criminal by Burundi’s new law. In these pages, we allow them to speak for themselves. We hope that others will draw lessons from these narratives and will work to restore the rights of people like Mike, Anneyoncé, Cynthia, Pascal, and Yves.