I left Bangladesh, the country of my birth, when I was 18. I’m gay, and I don’t plan to live there again. Same-sex sexual activity is criminalized. As recently as 2014, Bangladesh’s Permanent Representative to the UN went on record saying that providing rights for lesbian and gay people went “against our values.” On April 25, 2016, Xulhaz Mannan, a prominent LGBT rights activist, was hacked to death in his apartment by members of a group affiliated with Al-Qaeda.
But that’s not the only side of the story. The few gay Bangladeshis that I know who live in the country never fail to remind me that, though same-sex sexual activity is illegal, this is rarely enforced. As long as you follow the unwritten rules, you can live your life in peace.
On the eve of the one-year anniversary of Xulhaz’s murder, I’m finding out how LGBT Bangladeshis express their sexual identities at home and abroad. How do they live, and how do they love? Each piece in this series will revolve around an interview with a different person.
Interview 1: Trade-offs
When Ahmed Khan* moved back to Dhaka from the United States, he thought he would leave after six months, a year at most. But he’s still there in the capital city of Bangladesh 17 years later. He realized, “I could find a life here. So I decided to stay.”
It was 2000. Social media and other online resources, so critical in allowing gay men to connect secretly with each other in hostile societies, were still inchoate. Even so, if you searched for Ahmed online, you would easily find his comments on a message board for gay South Asians based in North America. This was how his coworkers at his first job in Bangladesh — at a TV channel — discovered his sexual orientation. “No one approached me directly, but I felt that I was not safe.”
Photo of Ahmed taken by Xulhaz at a pool party in 2010
After two years, he moved to an international nonprofit organization. He still works there today. The organization’s commitment to protecting employees regardless of sexual orientation had little to do with why he initially joined, but it plays a large part in why he has stayed this long. His employer was particularly supportive in the wake of Xulhaz Mannan’s murder by Islamist fundamentalists.
In the aftermath of his death, confusion and fear erupted among the Dhaka gay men who had run in Xulhaz’s circles. Almost everyone deactivated their social media profiles and turned off their phones. Ahmed couldn’t get in touch with most of them. There were rumors that Xulhaz was just the first target in a hit list of gay men that the terrorists had created. Three of Ahmed’s friends called him in the middle of the night to say that they were certain he was on this list.
Panicked, Ahmed consulted his boss and the organization’s HR department for advice. They said he shouldn’t dismiss the threats and took measures to protect him. He worked remotely and moved out of his apartment for a few nights. If someone called the office and asked for his personal number since he was not in, the receptionist wouldn’t disclose it.
Pretty soon after Xulhaz’s murder, Ahmed concluded that he was probably not in danger. His dad had passed away in November 2014 and his mom had followed three months later. Since their deaths, he had not felt like attending the raucous gay house parties he used to be a regular fixture at. Because it had been a while since he was prominent in the gay scene, he doubted that his name would have ended up on any gay hit list. In any case, it wasn’t long before it was confirmed to him that there was no such list.
Ahmed thinks that the gay community, ironically, could breathe easy again after the Holi Bakery terrorist attack of July 2016, which resulted in the deaths of 20 hostages. It felt like the gay community was no longer being singled out; everyone was now a target.
But Ahmed has always enjoyed a vibrant dating life in Bangladesh, and the recent attacks haven’t diminished that. He said that to survive as a gay man in Bangladesh, you need to cultivate a strong support system, be adequately discreet, and accept that everyone has slept with everyone.
Ahmed painstakingly invests in his social network. He spoke fondly about his best friend, who is straight, and has been there for Ahmed through all his drama and heartbreak. He also has a solid group of gay friends.
When he spoke about his parents, it was clear that he didn’t think his sexual orientation in any way lessened their love for him. He never officially came out to them, but they knew. His mom likely knew as early as when he was in high school, which was before he had properly come out to even himself. The closest that his dad came to broaching the topic was at Ahmed’s younger brother’s wedding. He turned to Ahmed and said that he wanted to see him settled someday. He conspicuously did not use the words “married” or “woman.” In 2006 one of his partners lived for a month in the apartment that Ahmed shared with his parents. Though it was never stated outright, they knew the man was Ahmed’s partner and had no issues with that. In fact, they “loved him.”
He knows who to hide his sexuality from. This group includes extended family and many of his work-related contacts. His field is public health, and he regularly interfaces with government officials. He has become friends with some of them after years of collaboration, but he withholds this facet of his personal life from them. He doesn’t want to risk jeopardizing his reputation.
The number of gay men in Dhaka who are out and in Ahmed’s socioeconomic circle is small enough that most of them know each other. And, according to Ahmed, most of them have slept with each other. Yes, it’s incestuous, and yes, it can feel claustrophobic, but there are perks too. Not long ago, Ahmed had planned to go on a date with someone. They were supposed to meet at a mutual friend’s house party, but Ahmed got tired so went home before his date showed up. Later, the mutual friend warned him about his date — the man had apparently stolen someone’s camera and another person’s cell phone. So Ahmed steered clear. At least all his potential lovers can be easily vetted this way!
He is currently in an open relationship with a man who is married to a woman. This sort of arrangement isn’t so rare. The pressure on most men to get married to a woman and have a child is tremendous. Few Bangladeshi parents are as progressive as Ahmed’s were. And given that living life openly as a gay man is out of the question, many gay men feel they have no option but to get married. Once they have a child, the burden is lifted and they are more or less free to do as they please behind closed doors. Ahmed’s policy is to assess a married prospect on the merits of his character and not dismiss him purely due to his marital status.
It might be time to leave Bangladesh again. His parents are gone, his best friend is moving to Toronto, and he is restless at his current job. Also, now that Bangladesh has been upgraded to a lower-middle income country, he worries that nonprofit funding will shrink in the next 5-10 years. He has applied to job opportunities in several countries, including the U.S. and Nigeria. He’s particularly interested in a position in Greece that would entail helping refugee children whose parents drowned in the Mediterranean Sea.
He could accept a more meaningful role in a country unaccepting of homosexuality, or he could take a less exciting role in, say, the U.S., to live the life of a white picket fence gay.
At this point, he could go either way.
*Name has been changed.
Hamid is an HR professional by day. When not gossiping with friends, he can be found binge-watching obscure interviews of his favorite writers on YouTube. He is always interested.