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Memories of an unforgettable past with Xulhaz

Prominent Bangladesh activist was murdered in 2016

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Xulhaz Mannan, gay news, Washington Blade

Xulhaz Mannan, gay news, Washington Blade

Xulhaz Mannan, a prominent Bangladeshi LGBT activist, was hacked to death in his home on April 25, 2016. (Photo courtesy of Facebook)

“How much will it cost on the rickshaw to go to Shia Mosque?” I clearly remember asking my mother. It had only been a few months since I moved back to Dhaka after living in Kuwait for 13 years. I needed the rickshaw to go and meet Xulhaz.

After almost three months back, I had seen him briefly at a Boys of Bangladesh, which is a self-identified gay group in Bangladesh, event and added him on Facebook. I was away in Savar, an area on the outskirts of Dhaka, for a residential university semester. We would talk over the phone and Facebook. I had asked him to meet me near Shia Mosque when I returned home as that was one of the few nearby landmarks I knew. “Super! You won’t believe (it) but I was thinking of proposing Shia Mosque! I am not much into (the) human species, too complicated, I’m more comfortable with nature. Loving the weather now, don’t u? Spring, no matter how lived, still rocks! Dangerous too, for it derails me from my path,” he replied back.

This was back in February 2010. Little could either of us predict that the end of spring 2016 would derail his journey forever! I was 19 back then and totally mesmerized by him. His voice had warmth but at the same time it had authority in it, something which was both comforting and disarming.

We used to talk about a lot of things, and love and relationships were one of them. Talking about relationships, he once mentioned, “Serious relationship . . . ummm . . . I fell in love with five men in my life, no matter how serious they were for me, the first four were unilateral but the relations in other terms were serious, like a serious friendship. The last one, number five, was bilateral, probably, is my only serious relationship that ended at the end of 2004 because he got married. We took about a two hours break, and now we are friends again.” During that time he would confess to being too individualistic to love and be with someone for 24 hours. I was invited to several gatherings at his place. He would refer them as “adda,” which is a gathering of his close friends filled with fun, sometimes music. Unfortunately, I had a curfew from my mother about staying out late and could never attend most of these. Somehow memories of him from the Boys of Bangladesh event betrayed me. Instead I would draw a picture of him from our conversations and how he must be in real life: A big tall man with a bigger personality. I confess that I was a little disappointed when we met. For a person with such a mature voice, he was petite. However, the disappointment was momentary. Within seconds, we were talking in the tone which we did over Facebook and the phone. The memory that I partly cherish and partly detest of him from this period was his ability to make me feel both loved and unwanted in split seconds.

Just in passing conversation, I once mentioned to him that I wish I were born as a woman so that I could be a homemaker. He got pretty irritated by that comment.

“Can’t believe people still see women’s role as a mere home maker,” he said. “You can still be a home maker. Why do you have to be a woman for that?”

He questioned my childish view of the world. When I read the messages we exchanged during those days, there were moments where he would get irritated on small issues, but he was mostly cheerful and happy. I once commented that he is glowing these days in his profile pictures. He said that he was happy and it reflected in them. He preferred things to be organized and in our conversation it was clearly visible.

I had once written to him, “It has been almost four months since the first time we met. If it has lasted four months.” It was only in 2015 when I messaged him back wishing him a happy birthday, 10/11/2015. The conversation did not go anywhere. However, I reached out to him again the same year. There were a lot of bloggers being killed in Bangladesh and I was worried about him. For the next few minutes, I felt that no time had passed between 2010 and 2015. He said, “This is so coincidental. I was just reading your review of our first Issue.” Among other things, Xulhaz was also the co-founder of Roopbaan, the first and only LGBT magazine of Bangladesh and I had written a critical review of it. We discussed about the violent situation in the country. I told him that because of their visibility, they make very easy targets for the extremist groups. He replied casually, “The last thing I’d want to do is live in fear, for not doing anything wrong. If anything happens as such, I’ll see it as an accident, not a punishment.” That one line made me come back to reality that it was 2015 and Xulhaz’s ideas towards LGBT visibility in Bangladesh to some extent might have taken over the cheerful and at times rude Xulhaz of 2010.

During this period, we came across each other at few LGBT advocacy events and we would merely exchange pleasantries. I remember visiting his house for a party and when I was leaving he came across to give me a hug. I did not know how to react to it. It was only in March 2016 when I got to spend a significant amount of time with him. He has proposed the idea of a documentary on the subject of the third Roopbaan rainbow rally and I volunteered to assist in directing it. The documentary required my boyfriend who was directing it and me to repeatedly visit Xulhaz’s house for pre-production leading up to the main shoot. Our interaction during this period was bittersweet and completely different compared to when we first met many moons ago. It must have been a combination of security concerns in the country, the pressure upon him to single handedly put up the rally and to a large extent we both had moved on in life. He was all over the place, putting the volunteers together, helping with the shoot, discussing about security risks and making sure his mother and everyone who gathered in his house had eaten lunch. One could clearly see that he was tired but he could manage everything and yet have time to mop his room, which I must say indicated OCD.

I am scared of cats and he had a big, fat one in his house. One time we went for an early morning shoot and we were having breakfast and I was telling his how scared I am of them. With a poker face, he said, “If you are so scared, why are you not reacting since she (his cat) was right behind you?” I screamed and moved to another place. He went to comment that I was overreacting, a comment I still feel was uncalled for considering it was about someone’s phobia. Between running around with cameras and helping to set the lights, there were moments when I could see the Xulhaz of 2010. I was looking for a rare white variety of aporajita (Asian pigeon wings) and I found the plant in his terrace garden. He promised that when the seeds will dry, he will keep some for me. The dream of having a white ajorajita remains unfulfilled.

The last time we ever met was on April 14, 2016. The police had denied permission for the LGBT community to participate in the rally. However, we went to Dhaka University to walk as Bangladeshis at the Pohela Boishakh (Bengali New Year) rally. When I reached, I saw that he was standing and talking to few people from the community. The disappointment of weeks of hard work being cancelled was visible on his face. However, when he saw me, he walked up to me and lightly touched my tummy for one second. That one moment of genuine concern from both of us was beyond any communication we ever had.

Xulhaz and his friend Tonoy were brutally murdered by a group of extremists who broke into their house on April 25, 2016.

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Stand with displaced queer people living with HIV

Dec. 1 is World AIDS Day

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(Bigstock photo)

Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.

For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.

Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.

To every displaced person living with HIV:

• Your strength inspires us.

• Your story matters.

• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.

• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.

Let today be a reminder that:

• HIV is not a crime.

• Queer identity is not a crime.

• Seeking safety is not a crime.

• Stigma has no place in our communities.

• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.

As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.

Hope is stronger when we build it together.

Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.

Today we remember.

Today we stand together.

Today we renew hope.

Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.

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Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength

Rebuilding life and business after profound struggles

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(Photo by Orhan/Bigstock)

I grew up an overweight, gay Black boy in West Baltimore, so I know what it feels like not to fit into a world that was not really made for you. When I was 18, my mother passed from congestive heart failure, and fitness became a sanctuary for my mental health rather than just a place to build my body. That is the line I open most speeches with when people ask who I am and why I started SWEAT DC.

The truth is that little boy never really left me.

Even now, at 42 years old, standing 6 feet 3 inches and 225 pounds as a fitness business owner, I still carry the fears, judgments, and insecurities of that broken kid. Many of us do. We grow into new seasons of life, but the messages we absorbed when we were young linger and shape the stories we tell ourselves. My lack of confidence growing up pushed me to chase perfection as I aged. So, of course, I ended up in Washington, D.C., which I lovingly call the most perfection obsessed city in the world.

Chances are that if you are reading this, you feel some of that too.

D.C. is a place where your resume walks through the door before you do, where degrees, salaries, and the perfect body feel like unspoken expectations. In the age of social media, the pressure is even louder. We are all scrolling through each other’s highlight reels, comparing our behind the scenes to someone else’s curated moment. And I am not above it. I have posted the perfect photo with the inspirational “God did it again” caption when I am feeling great and then gone completely quiet when life feels heavy. I am guilty of loving being the strong friend while hating to admit that sometimes I am the friend who needs support.

We are all caught in a system that teaches us perfection or nothing at all. But what I know for sure now is this: Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength.

When I first stepped into leadership, trying to be the perfect CEO, I found Brené Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly” and immediately grabbed onto the idea that vulnerability is strength. I wanted to create a community at SWEAT where people felt safe enough to be real. Staff, members, partners, everyone. “Welcome Home” became our motto for a reason. Our mission is to create a world where everyone feels confident in their skin.

But in my effort to build that world for others, I forgot to build it for myself.

Since launching SWEAT as a pop up fundraiser in 2015, opening our first brick and mortar in 2017, surviving COVID, reemerging and scaling, and now preparing to open our fifth location in Shaw in February 2026, life has been full. Along the way, I went from having a tight trainer six pack to gaining nearly 50 pounds as a stressed out entrepreneur. I lost my father. I underwent hip replacement surgery. I left a relationship that looked fine on paper but was not right. I took on extra jobs to keep the business alive. I battled alcoholism. I faced depression and loneliness. There are more stories than I can fit in one piece.

But the hardest battle was the one in my head. I judged myself for not having the body I once had. I asked myself how I could lead a fitness company if I was not in perfect shape. I asked myself how I could be a gay man in this city and not look the way I used to.

Then came the healing.

A fraternity brother said to me on the phone, “G, you have to forgive yourself.” It stopped me in my tracks. I had never considered forgiving myself. I only knew how to push harder, chase more, and hide the cracks. When we hung up, I cried. That moment opened something in me. I realized I had not neglected my body. I had held my life and my business together the best way I knew how through unimaginable seasons.

I stopped shaming myself for not looking like my past. I started honoring the new ways I had proven I was strong.

So here is what I want to offer anyone who is in that dark space now. Give yourself the same grace you give everyone else. Love yourself through every phase, not just the shiny ones. Recognize growth even when growth simply means you are still here.

When I created SWEAT, I hoped to build a home where people felt worthy just as they are, mostly because I needed that home too. My mission now is to carry that message beyond our walls and into the city I love. To build a STRONGER DC.

Because strength is not perfection. Strength is learning to love an imperfect you.

With love and gratitude, Coach G.


Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is a D.C.-based fitness entrepreneur.

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Elusive safety: what new global data reveals about gender, violence, and erasure

Movements against gender equality, lack of human rights data contributing factors.

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Activists who participated in a 2024 Pride march in San Salvador, El Salvador, carry a banner that calls for a country where “being a woman is not a danger.” (Photo courtesy of Colectivo Alejandría)

“My identity could be revealed, people can say whatever they want [online] without consequences. [Hormone replacement therapy] is illegal here so I’m just waiting to find a way to get out of here.”

-Anonymous respondent to the 2024 F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index from Iraq, self-identified as a transgender woman and lesbian

As the campaign for 16 Days Against Gender-Based Violence begins, it is a reminder that gender-based violence (GBV) — both on– and offline — not only impacts women and girls but everyone who has been harmed or abused because of their gender or perceived gender. New research from the Franklin & Marshall (F&M) Global Barometers and its report A Growing Backlash: Quantifying the Experiences of LGBTQI+ People, 2022-2024 starkly show trends of declining safety among LGBTQI+ persons around the world.

This erosion of safety is accelerated by movements against gender equality and the disappearance of credible human rights data and reporting. The fight against GBV means understanding all people’s lived realities, including those of LGBTQI+ people, alongside the rights we continue to fight for.

We partnered together while at USAID and Franklin & Marshall College to expand the research and evidence base to better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons through the F&M Global Barometers. The collection of barometers tracks the legal rights and lived experiences of LGBTQI+ persons from 204 countries and territories from 2011 to the present. With more than a decade of data, it allows us to see how rights have progressed and receded as well as the gaps between legal protections and lived experiences of discrimination and violence. 

This year’s data reveals alarming trends that highlight how fear and violence are, at its root, gendered phenomena that affect anyone who transgresses traditional gender norms.

LGBTQI+ people feel less safe

Nearly two-thirds of countries experienced a decline in their score on the F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index (GBPI) from 2022-2024. This represents a five percent drop in global safety scores in just two years. With almost 70 percent of countries receiving an “F” grade on the GBPI, this suggests a global crisis in actual human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. 

Backsliding on LGBTQI+ human rights is happening everywhere, even in politically stable, established democracies with human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. Countries in Western Europe and the Americas experienced the greatest negative GBPI score changes globally, 74 and 67 percent, respectively. Transgender people globally reported the highest likelihood of violence, while trans women and intersex people reported the highest levels of feeling very unsafe or unsafe simply because of who they are. 

Taboo of gender equality

Before this current administration dismantled USAID, I helped create an LGBTQI+ inclusive whole-of-government strategy to prevent and respond to GBV that highlighted the unique forms of GBV against LGBTQI+ persons. This included so-called ‘corrective’ rape related to actual or perceived sexual orientation, gender identity, or expression” and so-called ‘conversion’ therapy practices that seek to change or suppress a person’s gender identity or expression, sexual orientation, or sex characteristics. These efforts helped connect the dots in understanding that LGBTQI+ violence is rooted in the same systems of inequality and power imbalances as the broader spectrum of GBV against women and girls. 

Losing data and accountability

Data that helps better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons is also disappearing. Again, the dismantling of USAID meant a treasure trove of research and reports on LGBTQI+ rights have been lost. Earlier this year, the US Department of State removed LGBTQI+ reporting from its annual Human Rights Reports. These played a critical role in providing credible sources for civil society, researchers, and policymakers to track abuses and advocate for change. 

If violence isn’t documented, it’s easier for governments to deny it even exists and harder for us to hold governments accountable. Yet when systems of accountability work, governments and civil society can utilize data in international forums like the UN Universal Periodic Review, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, and the Sustainable Development Goals to assess progress and compliance and call for governments to improve protections. 

All may not be lost if other countries and donors fill the void by supporting independent data collection and reporting efforts like the F&M Global Barometers and other academic and civil society monitoring. Such efforts are essential to the fight against GBV: The data helps show that the path toward safety, equality, and justice is within our reach if we’re unafraid of truth and visibility of those most marginalized and impacted.

Jay Gilliam (he/him/his) was the Senior LGBTQI+ Coordinator at USAID and is a member of the Global Outreach Advisory Council of the F&M Global Barometers.

Susan Dicklitch-Nelson (she/her/hers) is the founder of the F&M Global Barometers and Professor of Government at Franklin & Marshall College.

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