I was forced to answer intrusive questions to prove my gayness

‘Apart from your family, who else noticed you were behaving femininely?’

‘Were you in a gay relationship in Burma?’ 

I had to wait 16 months for an asylum interview in the UK, because my life was at risk if I returned home, only to be asked these intrusive questions.

It felt like a slap in the face. 

Luckily, I had photos and messages showing that I have been intimate with men to ‘prove’ my sexuality. If I hadn’t, I can’t safely say that I’d be alive.

Growing up as a queer person in Burma was difficult. 

My society discriminates against LGBTQ+ people – deeming us as public nuisances, and the police regularly target us with sexual and physical violence. Sexual activity between men is criminalised – as is being trans.

After the 2021 Myanmar military coup of the elected government, the police ramped up their attacks on LGBTQ+ people – protesting, detaining, abusing, and sentencing us. 

I had to hide my sexuality to avoid being caught by the police, who would sexually assault me in the worst possible ways. Right now, I have queer friends who are being abused in prisons, and that is a horrifying thought. 

I came to the UK in October 2021, living as a student. It felt freeing as people in London are so accepting and celebratory – not to mention the laws and policies protecting LGBTQ+ people.

However, my circumstances quickly changed. 

I was directly persecuted by the Burmese military, who caught hold of my political activities and sexuality and threatened my family so they would cut contact with me or send me to the military if I were to ever return to Burma.

I claimed asylum, knowing that I would never be able to return home, or reunite with my family anytime soon. I hoped that I’d be protected, with the process taking around six months. This wasn’t the case. 

The day I went to the asylum centre for my screening interview, I was in utter shock at how they treated vulnerable people.

They yelled at a disabled girl for sitting on a bench. Told an Albanian asylum seeker that he was treating this as a ‘joke’ because he said he lost his passport when trying to get here.

I had to wait six hours in the waiting room to be told that the screening interview was not happening and that I would be called tomorrow instead.

After the initial screening interview, I was left to wait over a year for my asylum interview, despite emailing MPs and the Home Office for a timeline on the interview.

Shockingly, I was even asked if there was a secret location in Burma where gay men met for solicitation

I was having constant anxiety and panic attacks about whether I would get my refugee status. If not, I would have to return to my home country – facing prison or even death. I worried about whether the Home Office had forgotten about my case, or if I’d misplaced any of their letters.

And, when the interview invitation letter came, I was given as little as four days to prepare.

The interviewer was hostile, facially expressing disbelief in the things I said. I had to supply physical evidence of my ex-partner and I, along with text messages and proof that we lived together. 

Essentially, I was being questioned about the validity of my sexuality in case I was playing the system.

I was asked how long we’d been together for, for his passport and bills to prove our relationship – as well as why my sexuality was important to me. If we’d planned on getting married.

Shockingly, I was even asked if there was a secret location in Burma where gay men met for solicitation.

I answered every question calmly, and with details, knowing that the interviewer was looking for reasons to reject my claim. 

It was a completely dehumanising experience, stripping down my sexuality to my relationship and sexual nature. I laughed when the question about marriage was asked, as I found it bizarre to ask this question to someone in their mid-twenties. The interviewer shut it down, stating that if my relationship was real, I would’ve had plans. 

Humiliated, I felt that, if my sexuality wasn’t believed, I would be classified as someone gaming the system. That if I didn’t have enough, or the right evidence, I could be rejected and deported back to an unsafe country that wished me harm.

I had several panic attacks and constant stress during the period of waiting for my asylum approval. Had I answered in the right way? Given enough evidence? Had I proved I was ‘gay enough’? 

I was so worn down by the waiting that, by the end, I couldn’t eat or sleep properly. 

Finally, the asylum decision letter came after a month of waiting, and I got my refugee status. I felt incredibly relieved, joyful, and finally relaxed.

I could start a new chapter in this country by finding happiness, rest, and hopefully love. 

While I do feel happier, the hostile asylum process in this country deeply traumatised me, leaving me with intense PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), anxiety attacks, and constant fatigue. I am currently in therapy to recover from the damages that the Home Office inflicted. 

The Home Office needs to understand that LGBTQ+ people seeking asylum must be treated with dignity and respect. That means having caseworkers who are educated on LGBTQ+ issues, not asking intrusive questions, and providing physical, financial, and emotional support to people seeking safety. 

The Home Office must believe queer people are seeking safety even if they have never been in a relationship – or are in the closet. 

There are no right ways to be gay or to express your gender identity, and to put that level of proof on us is discriminatory, not evidence-based, and cruel. 

Today, the government can start building a welcoming, and efficient asylum system that protects those seeking safety over punishing them.

For me, the whole asylum process was dehumanising and degrading. I am a human being deserving of basic dignity and respect – the government would do well to remember that.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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