The idea for the series was born out
of several discussions I witnessed in LGBTI+ groups on Facebook. I don’t remember
the specific comments but they were familiar to many Bulgarians: “I can’t stand
it here anymore”, “I’m thinking about leaving”, “I’m tired of this country”,
“the only way out is Terminal 1 or Terminal 2 [of Sofia airport]” and so on.
The reasons for these comments are also familiar to everyone: the shamefully
low salaries and pensions, the drained social and healthcare systems, the
ubiquitous corruption, and the many problems with democracy and rule of law.
For people in the LGBTI+ groups, however, there was another, just as important,
reason: the lack of social acceptance and legal protections for LGBTI+ people,
the constant insults hurled at us in the media and public space, the violence
or threats of violence, and the deafening silence by political and social
figures.
I’m interested in the topic of
migration both personally and professionally: I’ve been living abroad for
twelve years and I work in the field of migration and human rights. I’ve
noticed that migration is highly visible and on the minds of many people in
Bulgaria – not only through comments like the ones above. In villages and small
towns, houses that are bigger and prettier than most are often built with money
remitted by migrants; while rundown houses and weeded yards probably belong to
people who live abroad and don’t return anymore. Strangers or distant
acquaintances you meet on the street spontaneously say things lie “there’s
nobody left here” and “everyone went away” or ask you “where do you live now?” and
go on to tell you where and how their children and relatives live. Practically
everyone has stories of migration – their own or of their friends, family
members, or neighbours.
At the same time, migration rarely
features in public discourse – at least to the extent that I follow Bulgarian
media. Occasionally, we hear about “Bulgarians abroad” (the most common way
migrants are referred to) – how we are the largest source of direct foreign
investment and how there should be a strategy to attract us back to the
country. Rarely does anyone ask who we are, why we go abroad, how we live there
and if or why we would return.
Therefore, the aim of Unwanted and Unwelcome was to touch upon
these issues from the perspective of LGBTI+ people. We published a
call for contributions where we invited LGBTI+ Bulgarians who live abroad
to tell us about their new lives. We proposed concrete questions like why they
migrated, how they live there, whether they miss Bulgaria, and whether
homophobia played any part in their decisions and if yes, what, and whether they
consider returning one day.
We wanted to provide a space for
LGBTI+ people to tell their stories. This is important in itself: in the
Bulgarian context, where we are constantly attacked and insulted, there’s a
tendency for us to speak in defence – to explain that we’re not sick or crazy, that
we don’t want to corrupt anyone’s children or destroy their families, that we
need pride and legal protections, and so on. It’s not often that we have the
opportunity to speak about our problems and successes the way we want to –
regardless of whether they are related to our sexuality or gender identity or
not. Besides, I strongly believe that there must be space in public discourse
for the stories, views, and analyses of “regular” people – not just
politicians, celebrities, or social media “influencers”.
A secondary aim of the series was
to see if and to what extent homophobia in Bulgaria contributes to “brain
drain” and prevents LGBTI+ emigrants from returning. And to travel a little –
to get a brief idea of life in other countries from the perspective of fellow
LGBTI+ Bulgarians.
I proposed Unwanted and Unwelcome
as the series title because the phrase is well-known and catchy, and the
eponymous novel by Ivan Vazov tells the story of Bulgarian émigrés. In a more
literal sense, I was thinking how LGBTI+ Bulgarians may feel “unwanted and
unwelcome” in our home village, city or country because of our sexual
orientation or gender identity, and this may be one of the reasons to emigrate.
In a new place, however, and especially in a new country, we may face other
difficulties, like discrimination or suspicion, finding a job or community,
learning a language and, in more extreme (but not rare) cases, isolation and
exploitation. In other words, LGBTI+ Bulgarians may feel “unwanted and
unwelcome” in our home country as LGBTI and abroad – as immigrants.
We published the stories of 19
people. They live in a total of eleven other countries – New Zealand, a country
in East Asia, Thailand, a country in the EU, Germany, Denmark, The Netherlands,
France, Spain, UK, and the US; one person who lives in Bulgaria now after
studying in the Netherlands and Singapore; and one couple of a Bulgarian guy
and a French guy who live in Bulgaria. Eleven contributors were men, six were
women, and two were gender non-conforming. Seven sent us short stories and I
interviewed twelve.
I hope that everyone who can do
so will read all 19 stories. In this article, I won’t detail the main themes that
came out in the stories but just share some of my conclusions. They are not new
or surprising but I think it’s important to highlight them.
Most of the people who shared
their stories love Bulgaria! Boyan said it
explicitly and in other stories it became clear from things people talked
about. Several said that they miss Bulgarian food, nature, the relaxed way of
life, and the way people communicate and relate with each other. For example, Vicky
said that in Bulgaria it’s much easier than in the US to make an appointment with
friends (something I had experienced in the Netherlands). Everyone still has
friends and relatives in Bulgaria, they think about the country, they follow
the news and participate in the social and political life as much as possible. Tzetzo,
Doro, Ivan,
Darina
and I
are engaged with various organisations or projects. Those who have children are
making sure that their children remain connected to Bulgaria: for example, both
of Nick’s
children have Bulgarian names, Vicky
and Darina
talk to their children in Bulgarian, which is also what Lilly
intends to do when she has children someday. Clément
seemed to know more about Bulgarian folklore dances than the average Bulgarian
and together with his partner Nick, they constantly discover new pieces of
Bulgarian nature, language, history, and cuisine.
I think it’s important to
emphasise this because so-called “patriots”, “nationalists” or “keepers of
traditional values” often imply that LGBTI+ people don’t love Bulgaria but only
“the west”. This is not true. We love Bulgaria too but we want our society to
accept us as its own citizens. In most of the stories, I didn’t feel resentment
or hatred of Bulgaria but a mix of sadness and frustration from the lack of
adequate legal protections or support from political parties or public figures,
and the constant hatred and disinformation about us in the media and public
discourse.
Most people had not emigrated
specifically to escape homophobia and the lack of legal protections and social
acceptance in Bulgaria but for several this was a significant reason. A.D., Vladi, Mitko, and
Jasmina
had witnessed or experienced violence and homophobia, Nick had
wanted to avoid them, while Lilly,
Vicky,
and Darina
just wanted to live in a country where their family would be recognised by the
law. The lack of legal protections and social acceptance, however, were among
the reasons why people did not want to return. For S.T.,
Boyan, and
others who have, or hope to have, partners and children, returning to Bulgaria
seemed unlikely.
Another, but related, reason for
going or remaining abroad was the more general feeling that Bulgaria is “small”
– that there is a lack of diversity of people and opinions, and most
Bulgarians are narrow-minded. Peter,
Lilly,
Nick,
and I
noted that we live in multicultural cities or countries where there are people
from all races, ethnicities, cultures, and nationalities and this enriches us
and the countries where we live. This wasn’t just about the size of a country
or city – yes, New York, London, or Bangkok have populations larger than
Bulgaria’s. However, New Zealand and Denmark are smaller but Nick and Maya
appreciated the diversity of people, religions, and views there. Additionally, A.D., Nick and I have
Asian partners and were worried about returning to Bulgaria with them because
our society is conservative towards people from other races. Others, like Stoyan
and Danny,
said that abroad they feel free to wear whatever clothes they like while in
Bulgaria they have to put up with judgmental looks and comments.
I also want to reflect briefly on
the process of preparing the series. Participants shared their stories
with excitement, joy, and enthusiasm. Tzetzo
said that he found the interview therapeutic; others shared stories that they
had not shared before, at least not in front of a large audience. The series
also helped create new connections – some participants discovered that they
live in the same city or state and made plans to meet; others discovered that,
even though on different continents, they share common experiences and
connected to express support; still others found long-lost acquaintances or
made new friends.
I think the series was also
interesting for the LGBTI+ community in Bulgaria. The materials were among the
most read ones on Out.bg. On social media, people commented, raised questions,
and empathised with the stories. I joked that Unwanted and Unwelcome became
like a TV show that some people eagerly await and discuss (we published new
materials every Wednesday and Saturday, which contributed to my sense of it
being like a TV show). But more seriously, my assumption that the community
would be interested in reading the stories of “regular” LGBTI+ Bulgarians proved
correct.
Based on these conclusions, I make
two recommendations. First, this series provided concrete evidence that the
lack of social acceptance and adequate legal protections forces some LGBTI+
Bulgarians to leave the country and stops others from returning. It is
well-known that homophobia has negative
impact on economic growth and this argument can no longer be dismissed as
unrelated to Bulgaria; we now have real people whose stories confirmed this.
The series can serve as a tool for LGBTI+ advocacy groups to use as another
piece of evidence for the need to combat discrimination and homophobia in
Bulgaria. It can also serve as an inspiration for organisations or researchers
to conduct a larger, quantitative study on the reasons why LGBTI+ people leave
the country or how homophobia affects Bulgarian economy and demographics.
And second, LGBTI+ organisations
and media can continue with similar initiatives that provide space to LGBTI+
people to tell their stories. Storytelling is an established method for
empowerment of marginalised groups and can contribute to community-building and
to broader acceptance of LGBTI+ people in society. Stories help us see others
as people just like us and recognise that there is more that unites us than
divides us. As Nigerian feminist author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie said during a lecture in the
University of Cape Town, “How we relate to people who are different from us,
people who we might never get to see, who we might never have a personal
interaction with, is very much shaped by the stories we consume of those
people, how they are portrayed in media, and it seems to me that because we are
unfamiliar with the stories of one another, we are then unfamiliar with one
another.”
Such initiatives can focus on
intersecting identities, for example, people who are LGBTI and Roma, Muslim,
immigrants, or with special needs. This may help foster alliances between
social movements for rights and justice and lead to greater acceptance of LGBTI
people in society. These undertakings should not simply be an invitation to
send an essay because not everyone has a computer or the time and capacity to
write. Interviews are time-consuming but as our series showed, rewarding.
I conclude with two more quotes
from the above-mentioned lecture by Ngozi Adichie: “we need more stories
because they have the power to change the world” and “here’s to a world in
which not only do we tell more human stories but that we’re more open to
hearing – actually hearing those human stories”.
[1]
This is my own loose translation of Немили-недраги (Nemili-nedragi), the title of a nineteenth-century
novel by Ivan Vazov that tells the story of Bulgarian revolutionaries exiled in
Romania.
