Pride and Exile: We Choose to Stand

In June, as Pride and Refugee Awareness Month converge, we are reminded that for many in the LGBTQIA+ community—especially trans people—identity can be the reason for exile. Sometimes it’s not war or disaster that drives someone to flee, but the threat—and often, state-sanctioned violence—that comes from simply existing.

That is what we mean by identity violence: being targeted, silenced, or forced to flee because of who you are—because of the intertwined aspects of your identity, including gender, race, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, or other core truths. Identity violence refers to the harm, threat, or persecution someone faces simply for existing—for being seen as wrong, dangerous, or disposable.

At Footage, this intersection is not symbolic. It is where we live and work every day—at the edges where queerness, migration, survival, and the urgent need for radical imagination meet.

Across the globe, we are witnessing not just the erosion of rights—but an intentional dismantling of them. What was once unthinkable is now policy. Anti-gender and anti-rights movements are bulldozing our foundations and reshaping public life, law, and safety. What’s more, devastating cuts to humanitarian aid are compounding the crisis. Even the UNHCR has warned that its “capacity to ensure the safety and well-being of those threatened by violence and persecution, including LGBTIQ+ people” is now under threat.

These are enraging and heartbreaking times. Like so many of you, we work every moment to resist despair and disconnection. Our compass remains fixed: we keep those on the frontlines of violence and displacement at the center of everything we do. This is how we resist. This is how we remember what is possible.

Few communities face greater danger and erasure than LGBTQIA+ people—and especially those who are trans. In times of war and displacement, these dangers intensify.

At Footage, this is not a seasonal commitment. We work year-round to center those most impacted, challenge the policies and ideologies that sanction violence, and build with those navigating violence, flight, and survival.

Our feminist research interventions continue to make visible the brutal realities of a world where identity itself becomes a risk factor—for persecution and exile.

We recently spoke to Anne Elizabeth, a trans woman from Ukraine now living in France, who shared her story, her hopes, and her dreams with us:

What does home mean to you right now?
“Home is no longer the apartment where I used to hide under the blanket, clutching my phone in tears.
Now, home is me.
My body, in which it is no longer frightening to live.
My skin, which I have chosen.
Paris has become my roof, but my home is my own heart.”

Can you describe a moment when you felt invisible in your journey?
"When they called me by a name that wasn’t mine.
When I said “I am a woman,” and the answer was silence.
“Everyone in the room could see, but no one looked—because it was easier not to notice a trans woman than to ask, ‘how are you?’”

What keeps you going, even when it’s difficult?
There’s a little girl inside me—she once dreamed of being free.
I live for her. And for all those who are still unseen.
Also—when one of the Arab guys says to me “anti helwa” and really means it, I know—I’ve made it.”

If you could speak to your younger self, what would you say?
“You’re not broken. Not too much. Not complicated.
You are a flower that blooms through the snow.
One day, they’ll call you the name you wore in your dreams—the one you chose for yourself. 💔”

What do you wish others understood about LGBTQIA+ people in exile?
“Trans people don’t flee because we want attention.
We flee because sometimes it’s our only chance to survive.
Sometimes our exile isn’t an escape—it’s an act of self-love.
Even if the whole country says we are a sin.”

What is a sound, smell, or taste that reminds you of home?
“The taste of black tea with lemon.
The scent of the perfume I wore the day I submitted my gender change documents.
And when it rains in Paris—I hear music from the street that reminds me of my childhood in Ukraine.”

What is something you’ve lost, and something you’ve found?
“I lost connections, relatives, my old name.
But I found my voice.
And when I said, “Je suis une femme,” I felt alive.”

What is your dream for the future?
“A small house outside the city, where it smells of coffee and the wool of my sheep.
Where I’m just a woman.
Not trans, not an exile.
Just Anne, weaving happiness from grass, love, and silence.”

This kind of storytelling—intimate, vulnerable, and still universal—has shaped our work for over 16 years. And in a time of shrinking civic space, it’s also part of why some of our diplomacy efforts were lost: because we stood with communities in exile, doing quiet, principled work rooted in compassion, dignity, and care.

At Footage, compassion is not a concept—it is a strategy. From our earliest ethnographic work with unhoused LGBTQIA+ youth 15 years ago in New York City to our current programming across crisis zones and exile contexts, our approach remains grounded in trust, co-creation, and human dignity.

We co-create safe spaces. We build networks of care. This June, as ever, we invite you to stand with us:

• Donate: We know these are uncertain, exhausting times. But even $5 a month sustains us. Private donations are the lifeblood of Footage—they keep the messages going, the research moving, and the community held. We are profoundly indebted.

• Advocate: Share this message, speak up, push back against hate. Use your voice to protect those on the move—and remind your networks that LGBTQIA+ exile is a human rights crisis.

• March with us: This year, Footage will march in NYC Pride—even without a budget, even in this moment of heightened danger. We will show up, because visibility is essential right now, and we believe presence is resistance.

• Wear your compassion: Visit the Footage store to pick up a Compassion in Action cap—and wear your values with pride! 

In a world that too often turns away, we choose to stand—with compassion, persistence, and deep connection.

As bell hooks wrote:
“Those of us who have already chosen to embrace a love ethic, allowing it to govern and inform how we think and act, know that when we let our light shine, we draw to us and are drawn to other bearers of light. We are not alone.”

Thank you for standing with us. For being bearers of light. For reminding us what is still possible.

With untold love, deep gratitude, and unwavering resolve—

We are yours, as ever,
Dr. Kristen Ali Eglinton & The Footage Team