Unseen

by Reggie Yates

  According to Sergei, when it comes to Russian mentality, ‘A boy must be a boy.’ To be young and openly gay legally isn’t an issue, but one’s appearance could lead to violence. If looking gay (whatever that meant) could lead to an attack, did that mean to be gay in St Petersburg meant you’d be living a life under constant threat?

  The tiny cab dropped me off at what Sergei called the gay hostel, I thought it was a strange way to define the place I’d lay my head until I noticed the steps painted with rainbow colours. I expressed concern that such an obvious symbol would essentially wave a red flag to any passing homophobic bull, but Sergei reassured me that most Russians didn’t know what the rainbow flag actually meant.

  Once inside my room, the pride levels displayed by the painted staircase at the entrance paled in comparison to the explosion of fabulousness I’d be staying in. The room was electric pink with a giant exploding heart mural filling a wall. The curtains were (yes you guessed it) rainbow coloured and within a few minutes my eyes had started to hurt.

  I’ve stayed in some strange places throughout my career but this one took the cake. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable room I’ve stayed in by any means, but it was straight up strange. Unsurprisingly, my director Sam loved every minute as he knew me well enough to almost predict my reaction. Pissing his pants, Sam’s shots were shaky due to his chuckling. He had the camera right on my face knowing how I’d hate it the minute I walked in.

  With the lights down and those aggressive colours numbed, I jumped online. I was due to start my next day at Queer Fest, the largest LGBTQ festival in Russia. Over the course of ten days, a schedule of cultural and social events all leaning towards the gay and lesbian experience had been scheduled and was advertised on their official site. Albeit under a huge graphic almost as big as the festival’s logo stating the event would be 18+. I thought of the annual celebration of Gay Pride marches that see men, women and children all involved in the event with every attendee encouraged to be vocal.

  With negative attitudes towards homosexuality being a global issue, I was aware of Russia’s bad rep for intolerance but hadn’t realised the extent of what I’d be walking into. The Anti-Gay Propaganda Law introduced by Putin’s party was created to ‘protect’ young people from the ‘moral and public health dangers’ of being homosexual. These laws were very real and strictly enforced. Thinking about this, my fears were instantly based on something I couldn’t change. Should my attitudes and feelings about any gay issue such as gay marriage for instance be overheard publicly, I technically could be thrown in jail.

  It was the first morning of Queer Fest and I returned to the website to get further information on the day ahead. The website detailed everything about the event, but said nothing about where anything actually was. Sergei explained that to be involved with the festival in any way, be that performer or punter, I’d have to call for details, as it would never be advertised publicly.

  I hadn’t considered the level of fear the people attending and putting on the festival actually felt, until I learned that Queer Fest was a free-to-attend public festival that wouldn’t tell you where it was actually being held.

  Homosexuality is disgusting, homophobia is beautiful

  After a few phone calls and some bad Russian from Sam we finally received the address. When we arrived, the venue already had several police vans and officers surrounding the entrance. The police were there to keep the peace, but the minute I noticed just how heavily armed they were, I worried about what they might have known that I didn’t?

  As ever, the power of the camera attracted a few passers-by to stop and try and figure out who we were or show interest in what we were shooting. Across the street stood two noticeably trendy guys watching us and the festival entrance clearly not wanting to be seen. Obviously, I crossed the street making a beeline right for them. They looked uncomfortable and unsure but Sam had the camera on them and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  We got talking and it turned out that they had passed by to check out the event but were worried the minute they saw cameras and the police. They introduced themselves as Vanya and Nasrullah and turned out to be a couple who were unsure about going in. They didn’t see the officers as attending to protect them; they believed the law was there for another reason.

  Without giving me any more, they urged me to go and see what it was like for myself. I noticed that their status as a couple wasn’t obvious considering the distance between them as they interacted and they described just how frustrated they felt not being able to publicly show any level of affection or love. Then Vanya and Nasrullah decided to leave and I made my way inside.

  I was early and the event was still being set up. I met Alfred, one of the organisers, who pulled himself away from hanging lights and artwork to say hello. Tall and slight, Alfred cut a lean shape but was warm in his greeting and seemed pleased to have me and flamboyant scarf-wearing Sam at the event.

  Even though he was expecting homophobic troublemakers and orthodox activists to turn up and try to cause problems, Alfred seemed flippant about what could become serious conflict. He wasn’t fazed, as his attitude was that it was almost inevitable.

  Minutes after talking to Alfred, the entire staff started packing away literally everything that had only just been set up. I found another organiser who explained that they’d been kicked out of the venue and were packing up to move to another location. Bearing in mind this was literally an hour before guests were expected to arrive. The building’s owner claimed there was a safety issue and had to shut it down.

  On the other side of the door stood a pack of undesirables. Shifty and heavyset, the group was led by Vitaly Milonov, the politician behind the anti-gay propaganda law. I had to find a way to engage even if the sweaty man clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

  Approaching Milonov and questioning his attendance initially received zero reaction; he literally refused to acknowledge my existence. After several attempts to start a conversation, he eventually turned and vomited a word salad as to why he was there. His demeanour screamed self-importance while he explained his presence as representing authority. Milonov had taken it upon himself to ensure that no children would be affected by the event and the pro-gay propaganda he believed to be on display.

  I hadn’t even noticed the main cause of his frustrations as they were doing a great job of not being noticed. Albert and his team had organised security who were guarding the door refusing entry to Milonov and his goons. Becoming increasingly annoyed, he singled out a young gay woman with short hair standing nearby. ‘If you are a woman dressed like man, like this one. Dressed like some faggot, you can enter. If you’re dressed like a normal person you cannot.’

  Milonov described himself and his pack of silent tracksuit-wearing backup as Russians. He saw Albert and his team on the other side of the door as something else. Wondering what it was that made him so against the festival taking place, I asked if he saw Queer Fest as dangerous. Milonov flicked his eyes between me, the gay woman and the floor spitting, ‘A piece of shit is not dangerous, but it is quite unpleasant to see on the street.’

  It was safe to say that Vitaly Milonov was a different kind of politician. This clearly wasn’t a man afraid of being controversial, this was a politician on a mission, openly spouting offensive statements like, ‘Homosexuality is disgusting, homophobia is beautiful.’

  I wondered how difficult this film could become considering this was a man who should be cautious with his messaging. Unapologetic in his views, Milonov represented the hard right of the government. If he was able to speak in such an openly offensive matter, what on earth would his man on the street equivalent be like? Growing up in a country where it’s against the law to discriminate against all minorities, I was shocked by the public nature of such an offensive opinion being spewed. To witness a politician and member of the current ruling party operate in such a disgusting manner publicly, without any fear of reprisal was outrageous.

  Coping with the bigoted atti
tudes I knew I’d continue to encounter started to worry me. I didn’t want my personal feelings to get in the way of the story, but how I felt would give the film the authenticity it required. In the moment, I found a way to silence my disgust and pushed ahead.

  While I was busy in the whirlwind that was Milonov, the Queer Fest organisers had snuck out of the building, moving all of their artwork and equipment to a backup venue ten minutes up the road. Desperate to get to the venue before it was shut down Sam gave me a look that said, ‘You’re not gonna like this but …’ and I knew what we’d have to do.

  Sprinting along a wide and busy pavement, Sam’s camera bounced and smashed against his shoulder repeatedly while I trailed behind desperately trying to catch him up. I had no idea he was so bloody quick, especially with the ridiculous scarf he was wearing at the time. We finally made it to the venue, but somehow Milonov and his goons were there just before us.

  The festival was now at the top of a beautiful old building with no lift. After that ten-minute jog in a heavy wool coat, that wasn’t the news I needed to hear. Climbing flight after flight we eventually made it to the entrance just behind what looked like an even bigger group of Milonov supporters. Held off by security, the men were denied entry. Tempers and voices grew, then the pushing started.

  Milonov shouted and insulted the guards but they held and refused to budge. ‘Do you want these gays to rape our kids?’ he screamed. Shutting the door, security was able to keep the unruly pack outside. Unfortunately, I was stuck with them.

  Frustrated and defeated, the noisy crowd quietened down, all but for one very vocal protester. Chanting alone, he was pasting large stickers bearing statements written in Russian onto the closed door. I asked him to translate the biggest one for me. Looking pleased with himself, he announced loudly, ‘Not Queer Fest, it’s a festival of sodomy.’ He finished pasting his stack of message-heavy stickers and explained his reasoning. This was a man who saw Russia as an orthodox Christian country and saw the lifestyle he believed was being led by the gay community as not acceptable.

  A strange and quiet guy in a blue tracksuit was determined to find a way in. This iPad-wielding man seemed to be orchestrating even though the group didn’t appear to have a leader. He walked hard and with purpose and the pack trailed. I followed closely through a series of corridors, reaching a second entrance where Milonov led a shouting and pushing match with security a second time.

  By the time I’d made it to this second entrance, the man wielding stickers at the other door was now squirting festival attendees with green ink from a syringe. In an instant things became still and something was up. At the doorway, a young woman was desperate to get out of the event. Once the doors opened, she sprinted down the staircase and out, dropping what looked like a small plastic tube that was letting off a strong, eye-watering smell.

  Trying to follow her outside, the smell was so bad I began to gag and the air outside suddenly became what I was chasing, not her. Once in the street, the woman who was responsible for what turned out to be the most pungent of stink bombs headed straight to the homophobe I’d met upstairs with the stickers. They’d come together and between them had caused more disruption and chaos then Milonov or any of his followers. From the same Orthodox Christian organisation, the couple had set out to ruin the event and they just might have.

  Back upstairs, Mr Blue Tracksuit and the rest of the anti-gay protesters were lingering at the venue entrance unable to bypass security. I spoke to Mikhail, one of the more confident protesters, whose fearless and vocal challenge to security instantly made him stand out. He claimed their purpose was to ensure no kids were in attendance as that would be gay propaganda towards children.

  I was pretty confident that the event wasn’t aimed at children (not forgetting the huge 18+ sign on the website) so I wanted to get inside myself and see not just who’d actually made it in, but what all the fuss was about.

  Passing security and rushed through the doors, the unbearable stench of the stink bomb was instant. It had forced everyone in the venue to huddle around open windows for fresh air. The smell was foul and for those not able to get close to the windows, they were covering their noses and mouths with T-shirts and scarves.

  Once I’d got used to the smell, I was finally able to take in the room. It was busy, there were men and women of all ages chatting and enjoying framed artworks and stalls selling T-shirts. This wasn’t the edgy temple of gayness I’d been sold. There were free cookies and soft drinks, and stalls selling vintage dresses. The event wasn’t even selling alcohol. Defiant and vocal, the organisers announced on the mic that they weren’t going anywhere to rapturous applause.

  Being gay in Russia isn’t illegal so long as you’re over sixteen. Many gay people, understandably in the circumstances, choose to keep a low profile for an easier life. Meeting people online has become one of the easiest ways to connect with someone new, but going that route was also riddled with dangers.

  I reconnected with Vanya and Nasrullah who I met outside Queer Fest. They met the old-fashioned way, face to face not because they were particularly traditional, but because they both didn’t trust online dating. Vanya spoke of many cases where use of gay dating apps like Grindr would lead to robbery, beatings or even public humiliation. To meet someone via one of the apps was to risk being set up.

  Staying safe was their priority and Vanya had gone so far as to have a fake girlfriend appear in pictures throughout his Facebook account. However, this situation had become even more complicated as she now had a boyfriend who refused to even shake hands with Vanya and Nasrullah as he had strong homophobic views. What’s worse, was her new boyfriend worked as a prosecutor for the police.

  Unsure of what could happen, the couple decided to leave their future to fate and, with the laws being what they were, I didn’t blame them. Being in a same-sex relationship in Russia apparently wasn’t only down to the two people involved. Here, the law had a say.

  Those people are God’s enemies

  Banned in Soviet times, the Russian Orthodox Church had seen a massive resurgence. When we were filming in Russia, three out of four Russians claimed to follow its teachings. One such follower was Dmitry, who I’d met when he was pasting stickers across the doors into Queer Fest. He’d brought with him his friend Mila, who’d dropped the stink bomb in the venue.

  Both in their early twenties, their youth clashed with a palpable intensity. When Dmitry spoke, Mila was silent and stared. To begin with, her piercing glare was almost comical, but the longer it went on the weirder it felt. Heading up a religious pressure group known as God’s Will, Dmitry was firm and clear. He had a natural leader’s air about him and at moments during our conversation his sense of strength would boil over into something much darker.

  God’s Will took it upon themselves to educate their followers against accepting anything remotely in support of the LGBTQ community. I attempted to share with the staunch and humourless pair just how liberal British attitudes are towards homosexuality, but they quickly made it clear they found my culture as alien as I found theirs. In asking Dmitry’s opinion on my family members who happen to be gay, he didn’t flinch in informing me ‘Those people are God’s enemies.’

  Dmitry described openly gay people as both disgusting and sick, causing me a silent battle to retain my professionalism. This man was now speaking directly about members of my family and some of my closest friends. These were people I loved.

  Regardless, I pushed on. They laughed in describing the stink bomb they left behind at the Queer Fest opening night and saw it as an important thing to do, as in Dmitry’s words ‘sin stinks’. Seeing as how they were pleased that some of the attendees were so repulsed that they were being sick out of the window, I knew that I wasn’t dealing with people who had any empathy. Their cause could have been anything, they seemed more content in feeling superior rather than right.

  Another member of God’s Will joined us; she spoke better English and was suspicious of me and the cam
era from the jump. Her name was Leila and her energy was noticeably off with an unwarranted aggression I didn’t even feel from the coarse and clipped Dmitry. Describing their actions at Queer Fest as non-violent, Leila explained that should the law have allowed her to throw Molotov cocktails instead of ink, she most certainly would have done.

  At this point, I suspected an unhealthy level of hate bubbling just beneath the surface but I wanted to be wrong. I handed Leila the opportunity by asking what Dmitry would have done at Queer Fest should the law have allowed him to? Leila smiled and, with the most monotone delivery, said, ‘If the law allowed it, he would kill those people.’

  Wandering off behind me and pulling from the grass a rock that filled his right hand, Dmitry announced that he’d kill them all by stoning, just like in the Bible. At that point, the conversation was over for me. I wasn’t even angry; I was just disgusted and wanted out.

  Couples like Vanya and Nasrullah, who only want to lead normal lives, were living in an environment where people they’d never met wanted them jailed or dead. With groups like God’s Will taking it upon themselves to police activities of the LGBTQ community, it became clear just how much the organisers of Queer Fest were battling.

  It was only the second day of Queer Fest and I’d had no word about the whereabouts of the next event. I called Albert only to find out they’d lost their venue due to homophobic and Orthodox protesters.

  Amnesty International reported that President Putin had introduced thirty new repressive laws to silence opposition; gay or otherwise. This was in the tiny gap of a three-year period.

  Some laws had been changed to discourage protesters, and seemed to increasingly enforce the ideals of a bygone era. Challenging authority was not being tolerated. If caught protesting twice in a six-month period, offenders would go to prison.