© Daria Yemtsova
We proved that we, as queer people, can also be excellent journalists, editors, photographers, translators, and content creators.
My collaboration with n-ost started through its partner organization MAKEOUT in a queer feminist project based in Belarus. The heart of MAKEOUT was its website of the same name, where queer people could tell their stories. Belarusian journalism back then – and in many ways still today – was journalism by and for the heterosexual majority. Most media outlets viewed queer people through a normative lens, portraying them either as victims of discrimination or as people having wild sex, as if no other realities existed. Through our work, my colleagues and I helped change this. We proved that we, as queer people, can also be excellent journalists, editors, photographers, translators, and content creators. The year 2020 changed everything: the pandemic, funding shortages, protests in Belarus, and the subsequent repression brought the project to a halt. Part of the MAKEOUT website – makeout.space – remains accessible today as an archive.
Like many Belarusians, I had to flee the country or risk ending up in prison again – this time not for 15 days, but for several years. Unfortunately, not everyone was able or willing to leave: Nasta Loika of our partner organization Human Constanta, for example, was sentenced to seven years in prison for her human rights activism.
Through our project, I can examine global phenomena like the persecution of queer people and the corresponding media narratives not only through the lens of today’s grim reality but also from a historical perspective. Understanding the history of queer persecution under the Nazi regime 80 years ago helps explain what’s happening today in Belarus and Ukraine.
By engaging with queer histories from the Nazi era, exploring different approaches to (queer) memory culture, and examining the impact that journalists and media have on processes like these, we aim to help actively shape public narratives. We want to empower journalists and activists to continue educating themselves and to raise their voices.
Our project follows two thematic threads: first, workshops involving visits to memorial sites, dialogue with experts on the historical background, and practical exercises addressing the current challenges faced by queer people in our focus regions. Second, we provide funding for small-scale, joint transnational journalistic projects following the workshops.
Our guiding principle when we were putting the project team together was “nothing about us without us.” Assembling a team with diverse perspectives was just as important as drafting a compelling project proposal. After all, in both journalism and project management, it is crucial to incorporate different contexts and lived experiences.
Our team includes:
Members of our partner organization Human Constanta contributed personal experiences as refugees and made it possible to create a safe space during a workshop focused on displacement.
And how do the participants reflect on their experiences? Eastern Queerope, a collective of three non-binary activists and journalists from Belarus and Poland, shares its perspective. The project aims to uncover and explore the often fragmented queer history of Eastern Europe. It focuses on regions that are usually left out of mainstream LGBTIQ narratives, including Belarus, Poland, Ukraine, and Hungary.
© Jona Wendel
Is there a story or a fate that touched you personally?
Emanuela: Every story I dive into becomes my new hyperfocus. I discover queer stories that are invisible in Western narratives that center things like Christopher Street Day and Stonewall. These stories really move me. One person who deeply affected me was Agnieszka Kuśnierczanka, a person we know very little about. According to court records from a small Polish town, she was convicted in 1642: she was banished from the town for wearing typical men’s clothing and flirting with women in local taverns in that audacious suit. She would get drunk and end up fighting with men.
I don’t want to only document the queer stories that we already have access to and that often involve more privileged people, but also the ones that are still invisible.
Ula: For me, it was the biography of Lieutenant Alexei Petrenko. He was an officer in the Soviet intelligence agency KGB and became a wanted man after beating his wife. He hid in Zaporizhzhia, Ukraine, and came up with a plan to clear himself of the domestic violence charges. His idea was to fabricate a case against gay men in Zaporizhzhia and turn them in to the authorities. To do that, he had to enter into sexual relationships with as many men in the region as possible. This story stands out because there are so few documented cases that tell the stories of gay men in the Soviet Union. Unfortunately, we only know these details because the main figure was an informant for the KGB. And while he’s far from likable, his story yields valuable insights into male same-sex practices in the Ukrainian Soviet Republic during the 1960s.
Dascha: I worked with letters written by the famous Polish-Belarusian writers Adam Mickiewicz and Jan Czeczot. I know and admire their work – the only book I brought back from Belarus a few years ago was by Jan Czeczot. The letters between these two poets reveal a lot about deep emotional bonds, inclinations, and intimacy. They reveal a profound connection expressed in language that could be described as romantic or passionate. Mickiewicz even believed there should be a separate gender for friends, which is an idea I also find really fascinating. It’s incredible to read texts that are more than 200 years old that don’t use modern LGBTIQ vocabulary, but express the same feelings and thoughts.
What is the situation like for queer people in your home countries at the moment?
Ula: I ’m currently working o n a s tudy a bout q ueer p rotests in Belarus and Ukraine in the 2000s. It’s remarkable that Belarus was the first post-Soviet country to host a public Pride event. Somewhere between 300 and 1,000 people took part, according to estimates. They marched peacefully through Minsk in colorful costumes carrying Pride flags. The last Pride parade took place in 2012: activists held it on a tram because they were afraid they’d be prosecuted if they used public space.
Under current law, public displays of queer relationships or any form of non-heteronormativity in Belarus can be classified as pornography and punished accordingly. At least 30 people have been arrested since the summer of 2024 – the largest wave of repression against queer individuals in modern Belarusian history.
Dascha: Unfortunately, human rights in Belarus are in a state of total crisis today. Since 2020, repression hasn’t just continued, it has intensified. The Belarusian regime first targeted political activists, then civil society activists and organizations, and now everyone is in the crosshairs. Anyone can become a target.
Emanuela: Until 2024, Poland ranked last among all EU countries for five years in a row on ILGA Europe’s Rainbow Index. That was mainly due to the rise of so-called “LGBTIQ-free zones,” which at one point covered more than a third of the country, and the complete lack of legal protections for the community.
Transgender people still don’t have legal recognition. Until recently they could only change their legal gender marker by suing their own parents, a legal workaround that existed due to a loophole. That requirement was overturned by the Supreme Court in 2025, but there’s still no workable administrative procedure, and nonbinary identities are still not recognized.
Over the past decade, we’ve experienced hateful political campaigns, police violence, and systematic discrimination. At the same time, a strong queer protest movement has emerged. We’ve demonstrated a lot and held more and more parades. In 2015, there were Pride parades in six cities; by 2024, they were in over 40.
We now have a new government that has promised change, but it hasn’t delivered much so far. So the struggle continues – only the tone has become more moderate.
The last “LGBTIQ-free zone” was declared invalid by the courts in April 2025 after a six-year legal battle. The new Ministry of Equality is currently working on a draft bill for civil partnerships, but the process is already politically contentious and has stalled, despite the efforts of activists and ministry staff.
We’re making progress, but it’s slow, and it comes at a high cost. Our gains remain fragile and depend on the political climate.
See here for all the journalistic outcomes of the project.
Follow Eastern Queerope on Instagram @eastern_queerope
The written interview was conducted by Sophie Ziegler, EVZ Foundation.
