Organizing under pressure: Ugandan and Dutch LGBTQ+ activists in conversation
Women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights and human rights are under threat worldwide. In a world where conservative forces are – often successfully – countering the progress that feminists have made, with less and less funding and means, it is important to shed light on those working at the forefront of feminist movements, striving for an equal and just world for all. Lilith Magazine led Dutch choreographer, activist, and organizer Naomie Pieter in conversation with Ugandan organizer and activist Anna (anonymized for safety purposes). They spoke about normalizing LGBTQ+ activism and going against the grain as a minority group, especially in light of the political realities in Uganda and in the Netherlands, with the recent cutbacks of our right winged government on funding for human rights organizations.
Illustration by Nazrina Rodjan
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For Naomie Pieter, activism isn’t a choice – it’s a calling rooted in her own experiences as a queer, Black, non-binary person living in a society that prides itself on tolerance, yet often fails to make room for true equity. Pieter is a dance choreographer, spokesperson for Kick Out Zwarte Piet and co-founder of The Black Queer Archives, Black Queer Trans and Resistance Netherlands and Black Pride NL. She organizes Pon di Pride and other events for the bicultural LGBTQ+ community.
As one of the Netherlands’ most vocal activists at the intersection of LGBTQ+ rights and racial justice, Pieter has spotlighted the ways that progressive societies often overlook their own failures. In recent years, she has used her visibility to call out the cultural complacency that permeates Dutch society, challenging the limits of ‘tolerance’ and advocating for a reimagined community where marginalized identities are not merely accepted but actively included and celebrated.
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There are few people as courageous as those who risk their lives for the simple, radical act of being themselves. Anna is a Ugandan queer person active at an organization dedicated to advocating for the rights and protections of LGBTQ individuals, which for instance collaborates on sexual and reproductive health and rights issues with Hivos. As a queer, Black, non-binary person living under one of the world’s most severe anti-LGBTQ+ legal regimes, their life is marked by a duality: on one side, an urgent need for visibility and representation, and on the other, the constant threat of violence and persecution.
Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act, reintroduced and strengthened over recent years, casts a long shadow over the lives of LGBTQ+ people. Yet, despite the fear that permeates so much of daily life, Anna has become a vital voice within Uganda’s queer underground – a network of whispered connections, coded communications, and secret gatherings. For them, activism is the very act of survival. They are a part of a quietly defiant community that refuses to be erased, even when visibility can mean imprisonment, brutality, or worse.
Did you recognize your activism as such when you started or was it something else?
Anna: ‘The moment that drew me into activism was when I realized how many of us are struggling in silence due to fear, stigma, and discrimination. The toxic tendencies that I faced during my coming out... I realized that every time I am quiet about this, it’s happening to someone else. That is when I realized: I have to create a safe space for myself, my friends, and the people suffering in silence.’
Naomie: ‘I was living in The Hague, and as a young queer kid, I was going to Rotterdam to find my community. And I thought, why do I always have to travel? I missed a place where my community could come together in The Hague. I started organizing these events because I thought: if I need it, other people might need it. And then I suddenly became this young, Black, lesbian activist in The Hague organizing stuff. I never called it activism. Other people started calling it activism. And from there, things grew.’
“Even if I stand up for my neighbor’s rights, that’s activism. I don’t have to show it to the world that I’ve been doing it, you know? I see an injustice, and I find ways of solving it.”
Do you guys feel that the term activism is misused?
Anna: ‘The term activist or activism is misinterpreted. When people hear this term, they associate it with being a drama queen or they think it’s a job or something. And yet, even if I stand up for my neighbor’s rights, that’s activism. I don’t have to show it to the world that I’ve been doing it, you know? I see an injustice, and I find ways of solving that injustice. I find these paths. That is activism.’
Naomie: ‘I see it as a means for people to exclude themselves from action, from doing something because “I am not an activist”. There are so many prejudices behind that statement about what activism is. There is this idea that we are against everything, that what we do isn’t love, isn’t hope, isn’t support. I think activists have also reached a certain level of visibility. People have seen our work and connected to our message. But I’m still a concerned citizen. I’m still your cousin, your sister, your neighbor. I am not just a queer activist.’
Anna, in 2023, Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni approved The Anti-Homosexuality Act (AHA). This law imposes severe penalties and is among the world’s harshest anti-LGBTQ+ laws. Since its passage, there have been numerous documented cases of arrests, evictions, forced examinations, and death penalty charges against individuals accused of being LGBTQ+. The work you are doing now is both essential and dangerous. Can you describe what forms of resistance are possible in Uganda right now, particularly given the political and social environment there?
“This law affects every part of life – hospitals deny us care, landlords evict us, and allies who previously supported us now distance themselves.”
Anna: ‘The AHA is one of the most pressing forms of repression we face today. This law criminalizes same-sex love and severely impacts LGBTQ individuals, including those I work with. This very act of supporting LGBTQ people is, in itself, a form of resistance. We face open hostility from religious and political leaders who publicly condemn us, deny our existence, or label us as immoral. The AHA has intensified our challenges; misunderstandings and misinformation around the AHA create a dangerous atmosphere. People misinterpret the law, which fuels discrimination and violence. It affects every part of life – hospitals deny us care, landlords evict us, and allies who previously supported us now distance themselves. My organization has lost vital donor support, further straining our ability to help those in need.’
Can you already see a clear before and after the AHA?
Anna: ‘Before the Act, there was already widespread misinformation, but now, it has given people almost unchecked power. If someone accuses a person of being gay, this alone could justify violence in the eyes of many, including law enforcement. All the perpetrator had to say to the police was: “No, I was dealing with somebody who is gay.” And they would be let go. It’s not even considered murder, simply because you are queer. After the first re-appeal, the law has become somewhat clearer: we now have access to hospitals, which was previously restricted. However, the fear of seeking healthcare remains, whether for HIV treatment or mental health support. Ignorance and prejudice persist among healthcare providers, so accessing essential services is still fraught with risk.’
‘Landlords, initially threatened with life imprisonment for housing LGBTQ people, are now less restricted, but housing still depends heavily on individuals’ beliefs. Many landlords remain fearful, as the stigma associated with being queer persists.’
‘Activism, too, is dangerous; the government views any vocal opposition as “promotion” or “recruitment”. For advocates, even speaking out comes with severe risks, including imprisonment or worse. Under the AHA, repeat offenders face life sentences and, in some cases, the death penalty. The fear is constant for those of us in advocacy – our work, while crucial, could cost us our lives.’
How do you build trust in a community that has to stay invisible and doesn’t know who to trust and who not to trust?
“We meet up with other organizations and movements, like the feminist movement and the sex workers movement. They can advocate for our rights, and then we can push forward the agenda.”
Anna: ‘We organize discreet gatherings, so we can discuss strategies and support each other while avoiding detection from the anti-gay movement. We meet up with other organizations and movements, like the feminist movement and the sex workers movement. They can advocate for our rights, and then we can push forward the agenda. We utilize encrypted communication platforms. There are peer support groups. Peer-to-peer communication is a huge way of reaching many people – creating trust and safe spaces for individuals to exchange experiences, coping mechanisms, and activism strategies. And we engage in low-key advocacy efforts to challenge the stigma and promote rights, through outreach. We still work with the allies we have left. We organize training and workshops on safety, self-defense, and mental health. We provide mental health support and empower community members to fight for their rights. We search for stakeholders in the districts, so we have voices all over the country. It’s continuous engagement. It’s not easy, but at least we found ways to collaborate.’
How do you balance between protecting yourself and advocating for others, especially when your safety is on the line?
Anna: ‘I always tell people that safety starts with yourself. You need to know when to pull out. We have come up with different strategies. The biggest fear is being attacked. You need to study the environment before you go to that environment, you need to know the kind of people you are going to meet. You need to know that if you detect just a little uneasiness or a little fear, please retreat. Because by the time we come in, or by the time the legal people come in, by the time the police come in, you might already be dead. So, as soon as you find something that is beyond your control, retreat.’
Naomie, I see you’re nodding. Do you recognize anything Anna is saying here?
“As a queer person, this is a balance you must find existing in the world: at what moments can I be myself and at what moments do I have to hide these parts?”
Naomie: ‘It saddens and humbles me. Even though my context is completely different from Anna’s, I recognize the feeling. I can relate in the sense that being a queer woman – and being a Black woman – in different spaces around the world comes with a certain unsafety. Also in Amsterdam. If I walk around there, I choose safety over showing myself, at the end of the day. I would like to keep showing myself for the coming 80 years. And not just for this act. As a queer person, this is a balance you must find existing in the world: at what moments can I be myself and at what moments do I have to hide these parts? It’s painful, to constantly have to do this dance of safety, you know?’
Naomie, the Netherlands is often seen as this beacon of LGBTQ+ progress. But you have been very vocal in your work about the difference between tolerance
and true equality. How do you approach activism in a country that considers itself progressive, or “done”, but still has significant shortcomings?
Naomie: ‘I think this country might indeed feel “done”. It feels that it’s put up a fight, and won. But, thank God that a lot of people, and I think especially lesbians and trans people have been vocal about its shortcomings. I feel that cis gay men feel the emancipation is done. They have arrived. But what about queer women, lesbian women, trans people, elderly people? Their emancipation is not done. So I’m happy that their work continues, that these groups are still organizing.’
‘When it comes to Black queer reality, the intersection of racism and queerness, that’s something that has been a hard fight in the Netherlands. There is this sense that we don’t have to talk about racism because that’s not part of our identity. And if you look within the LGBT organizations, we have to fight for the right to be ourselves fully. Because the notion is that you can be gay. I can only say it’s been interesting vocalizing that. For me, it’s about fighting for my existence within the Black community, but it is also fighting for my existence within this white, queer community. I am Black, I am queer, I exist.’
How do you feel your activism is portrayed in both local and international media? Are there specific narratives you feel are missing or misrepresented?
Naomie: ‘I’ve become the anti-Christ of Pride, or, I don’t know, “white queer emancipation”. It’s funny that when Black people organize themselves or do something for themselves, then it’s against white people, it’s against the other. Well, it is not. It is love. It’s an act of radical self-love. People thought Black Pride in the Netherlands would be impossible. Organizing it, centering Blackness, that already felt like pushing the limit. But I have this feeling people are catching up. People come to me now and say: “I finally understand what you do. It took me some time, but I get it, I support it.” Black Pride has been here for almost five years and hopefully for the coming five years, ten years, twenty years. I hope to create a legacy that we can pass on to other queer kids that also need it, as we needed it.’
“The Netherlands is going to send back the refugees who fled Uganda because of the AHA. These things make us feel like the international community isn’t hearing us.”
Anna, the Western media often highlights the violence and the persecution of LGBTQ+ people in Uganda. Do you think this portrayal captures the full picture of your activism and community, or does it leave important stuff out?
Anna: ‘I believe the media leaves out the most important things. The media shows up when somebody has been killed and states: “Oh, because of the AHA, somebody in Uganda was killed.” They broadcast it and then when and when it’s done, they are done with us. I mean, this is a continuous cycle. For instance, the AHA had just happened. Oh my God, we saw resilience. We saw the support from international organizations and governments. They were moving with us. We were saying to each other: there is going to be a change. The AHA is going to be removed. It’s not going to be signed. Guess what? It was signed. And now we are in this. We are living it. We deal with it every day. We need support now, and we needed support before it was even signed. As soon as it was signed, the people who were supporting us all backed out. And then the most unheartening part of it all, even the places we want to run to, show no mercy. A few weeks ago, the news broke that the Netherlands is going to send back the refugees who fled Uganda because of the AHA. These things make us feel like the international community isn’t hearing us. If we have the support from the international spaces, if they can show the realities of what is happening here, I believe that maybe when it comes down to the public perception and attitudes towards us, there will be some change. But what they do is talk about the moment. When the moment is done, everyone moves on.’
Naomie: ‘So, how do you love? How do you find each other in that sense?’
Anna: ‘One way or the other, one queer person knows another queer person. So that’s how we get, you know, meet and interact and, you know, talk, but also, love. And there are opportunities for conferences. The thing with queer communities, when we love, we really love hard. By the nature of my work, I am blessed to meet many people. That helps.’
I want to talk to you a little bit Naomie, about creating these spaces of joy because you set up Black Pride Netherlands, but you also organized Pon di Pride. How does this public celebration challenge normative ideas about race, gender and sexuality in the Netherlands?
Naomie: ‘It is not about challenging. It is about celebrating. For a very long time, I’ve asked people – Black people, Black queer people – to come and join me to fight. To be vocal, to be visible, to fight for rights. So I felt like instead of asking people to come and fight, I wanted to ask people to come and dance and just celebrate themselves. I just wanted to create a safer space where we could go and whine for our freedom, and dance for our freedom. That’s it. And if this is still something that will be seen as disruptive, or as something that challenges normative ideas, that is not on us. Because the necessity of this space is already explaining why. If the world wasn’t a fucking racist, exclusive, violent, anti-queer space, we didn’t have to organize. It’s very simple.’
Anna, in an underground movement where visibility is dangerous, are there secret spaces for this kind of cultural expression or celebration?
“One thing I know about queer folks, despite the hurt, despite the violence, despite the oppressiveness, we always find a space where we can come together and celebrate each other.”
Anna: ‘Well, one thing I know about queer folks, despite the hurt, despite the violence, despite the oppressiveness, we always find a space where we can come together and celebrate each other. If we can go through the night without any issues. Trust me, that’s a win for us. So yes, we do always find spaces where we can come together and celebrate. Of course, we call it other things. Because if you say queer party, most definitely you’re going to be raided, I know that.”
How do you maintain your mental and emotional well-being while being engaged in such intense, and at times dangerous, work?
Anna: ‘I prioritize self-care, by doing things that make me happy, the things that bring me joy. Because I know every day is a struggle. Every day it’s a fight, and it’s not going to stop. So you will find me at places like music venues and art spaces, spending time with my friends or supportive family. I practice mindfulness and know when it’s time to stop, rest, and then continue the work.’
“When it comes to my mental health, it’s been a journey, realizing that if you’re not good, you cannot be good for the whole group.”
Naomie: ‘I can learn from that. I’ve been learning. There’s this energy in the Netherlands right now. I’m very happy because when I started organizing and demonstrating, this energy wasn’t there. Right now, people are constantly going to the streets. But when it comes to my mental health, it’s been a journey of trying to practice what Anna is saying, you know, realizing that if you’re not good, you cannot be good for the whole group. When I came to Curaçao three years ago, I finally had the chance to calm my nervous system. I had the chance to take my armor down, to just exist without this fear of constantly having to fight. And that’s the moment that I could finally breathe and start practicing rest.’
Do you think you could have found that rest when you would have stayed in the Netherlands?
Naomie: ‘I don’t think so. There’s something about being in a place where people look like you, where you don’t have to explain your humanity constantly. A place where people are not questioning your citizenship based on the color of your skin, or tell me to go back to my own country, even though I was born in the Netherlands. It’s exhausting to be questioned all the time, to feel like you don’t belong. I found rest on this island, literally being welcomed in a country that I’d never lived in. This rest is now an act of resistance, to take care of myself, to rest, to eat, to smile, to enjoy. That’s my activism now. My activism is not about over-explaining my humanity anymore or trying to disrupt something. No, I just try to be. I’m just existing, trying to be beautiful, trying to heal, trying to drink champagne or something. I want mimosas.’
Talking about mimosas... When are you able to lie somewhere on a beach, and drink them because your work is done here?
Anna: ‘Success in this work isn’t about a definitive endpoint but rather ongoing progress. It’s a continuous journey where each win, no matter how small, is celebrated, and we keep pushing forward to pave the way for future generations. Our work is about creating clear paths for young people to continue improving things as they come along. It-s not a 9-to-5 or a Monday-to-Friday job; it’s constant, as we’re always advocating and representing others, often fighting for lives and voices. What brings fulfillment is knowing I’m part of the process, seeing progress, and being able to reflect with pride on what we’ve achieved.’
“What brings fulfillment is knowing I’m part of the process, seeing progress, and being able to reflect with pride on what we’ve achieved.”
Naomie, do you want to add anything?
Naomie: ‘Like Anna mentioned, people join and leave this journey, and our role is to do what we can while we’re here. My work will never be done as long as issues like anti-Black racism exist. I hope to grow old as a supportive, loving member of my community, participating in whatever capacity I can while embracing the changes life brings. Ultimately, even as priorities shift, the work goes on, and existing as a Black queer person, especially as an elder, is an act of resilience.
What kind of legacy do you hope to leave behind through your activism?
Naomie: ‘The legacy I want to leave is one of possibility and self-reliance, demonstrating that anything is achievable, even when others say it’s not. I am focused on bringing younger people into activism, ensuring the doors I’ve opened remain open for future generations. My work has been about challenging the belief that Black or POC communities cannot organize themselves without external saviors, proving instead that we have the strength and intelligence to manage and empower ourselves. Ultimately, I hope my legacy inspires others to question limitations, organize themselves, and believe in their power to transform the impossible into reality.’
Anna: ‘I hope to leave a legacy of resilience and empowerment. I want to see this future generation feel safe and proud of their identities. They don’t have to continuously hide it. I want them to look back and say, “Anna taught me this. Anna helped me understand this better. Now I can fight my fight. I don’t need somebody else to fight for me.” So I aspire to inspire others to continue the fight for equality, to build the movement, to stay united in their diversity, in their gender orientations, in their whatever. The important thing is, we want to pursue justice. We need these injustices gone.’
This series of interviews about feminism in today’s polarized world and inspiring examples of grassroots activism is made possible by Hivos’ Walking the Talk program