War in Ukraine: LGBT troops fight against Russians and attitudes in their own country

A corner of Kyiv’s iconic central square is now covered with thousands of small blue and yellow flags commemorating fallen Ukrainian soldiers. Earlier this month, a group of activists gathered to add another type of flag to the ever-growing collection. Unicorns were placed in the center to represent every gay soldier killed in the war.

The deaths of LGBT soldiers in Ukraine have exposed an inequality. They do not have the same rights as heterosexual soldiers. Gay marriage is illegal, meaning that if these soldiers are killed, their partners have no right to decide what happens to their bodies, nor are they entitled to state support.

Rodion, a 30-year-old costume designer, had come to plant a flag in honor of his former friend Roman, who had been killed in the first months of the invasion, the day before his 22nd birthday.

Roman and five others from his brigade died in a rocket attack near Kupiansk, near Kharkiv, after a local family gave their position to the Russians.

“All this death, all this blood, it’s the same whether you’re heterosexual or homosexual,” Rodion said, but he was abruptly interrupted by the familiar whir of air raid sirens.

“See?” he continued, pointing to the sky. “Missiles can kill us just like anyone else.” The war has given urgency to the fight for equality. “I have waited 30 years and I cannot wait another 30 years because I cannot guarantee that I will still be alive when this is over,” Rodion said.

Attitudes towards LGBT rights have changed enormously over the past decade as Ukraine has embraced European values, but many people still hold conservative and even homophobic views.

The fact that openly gay people are fighting and dying on the front lines has only reinforced people’s prejudices. But significant changes are harder to see.

Hopes were high when a bill was introduced into parliament last spring to allow same-sex couples to have a civil partnership. But 14 months later, the bill has stalled.

Meanwhile, LGBT soldiers have reported being bullied and harassed in their units.

In 2022, when Mariya Volya nearly lost her life defending her hometown of Mariupol, now under Russian occupation, she decided it was time to come out.

Although the 31-year-old had been serving in the army since 2015, her fear threshold shifted due to the large-scale Russian invasion. She was no longer afraid to reveal her sexuality.

Mariya posted her coming out on a TikTok account for LGBT soldiers. When her commander saw the post, he told her to delete it. She was then showered with hate from anti-LGBT activists online. Mariya changed units and now works in the Donetsk region near the Eastern Front as a radio technician for the 47th Brigade.

But she still faces discriminatory comments. “Why can’t you form your own unit?” some of her comrades ask. She continues to be harassed online and on the streets. Sometimes she even doesn’t feel safe going out in her military uniform for fear of being recognized.

But on June 16, during a break from the front, Mariya put on her khaki camouflage pants to take part in the first Pride march in Kyiv since the invasion began.

Together with her fiancée Diana, Mariya joined the chorus calling for “victory and equality.” “We have two demands. More weapons and civil partnerships,” shouted the organizers.

Legalizing gay marriage is not an option at the moment because it would require amending the constitution, which is not possible as long as martial law is in place in Ukraine.

“I can’t rule out that something bad will happen to me, and I want my fiancée to be taken care of and protected,” Mariya said.

As she spoke, Diana shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “I don’t like it when you talk like that,” she said.

But Diana is aware of the risk. When Mariya calls her from the front, she can hear the explosions in the background. “We stay in touch as often as possible, but I don’t tell her everything I experience,” says Mariya, because that would scare her too much.

Mariya and Diana were accompanied in the pouring rain by about a dozen LGBT soldiers. For some, it was their first Pride march and they had received special permission from their commanders to participate that day. In 2021, that would have been unthinkable.

One couple used the parade to come out to their families and military units. “This is a very emotional day for us,” they told me, without wanting to reveal their names publicly. “We are proud that we were able to show people that there are many of us gay soldiers and that we are on the front lines defending Ukraine.”

The BBC has asked the Ukrainian military about the treatment of LGBT soldiers, but has not yet received a response.

Much of the work to increase the visibility of LGBT soldiers on the front line was done by Viktor Pylypenko, the first openly gay soldier in the Ukrainian army, who made his sexuality public in 2018.

The medic built an online community and encouraged active soldiers to share their experiences on Instagram. He noticed that the people he rescued from small frontline villages were often more tolerant when he told them he was gay.

“People’s attitudes are changing because they have heard our stories. For example, there are many gay soldiers operating the air defense systems in Kyiv and people are so grateful to them,” he said.

Viktor is aware that his community has been supported by Vladimir Putin. Putin is determined to promote traditional family values ​​and has made homophobia part of his ideology. Ukrainians are determined to resist him by any means possible.

“This is a war of values ​​and people understand that if we want to continue our integration in Europe and join the EU or NATO, we should turn to liberal values,” Viktor said.

But resistance to change remains fierce. The Pride event was closely monitored, partly to avoid becoming a target of Russian attacks, but also because of the threat posed by anti-LGBT groups that disrupt the demonstrations every year. Only 500 people were allowed to attend.

The protesters were confined to a small section of sidewalk that was cordoned off and surrounded by police cars. They only managed a few dozen steps before being escorted underground into the subway, while far-right counter-protesters stormed in, chanting brutal, homophobic slurs.

“The group of people who are against us is small, but they are loud and becoming more and more active,” Viktor said before boarding a train. He did not feel safe walking on earth again.

A similar scenario is playing out in parliament, where the civil partnership bill was blocked by a committee of MPs under pressure from church leaders, according to MP Inna Sovsan, who introduced the bill last year. In parts of Ukraine, homophobia is reinforced by religious beliefs.

“Unfortunately, we observe that parliament is more conservative than society. And instead of listening to the public, politicians react to the churches, which do not constitute the majority but are very vocal in their opinions,” says Sovsan.

A member of the Legal Affairs Committee, where the bill is currently on hold, told the BBC that the majority of committee members were against the law and were guided by the concerns of churches and their constituents.

MP Mykola Stefanchuk said supporters of the bill were now trying to win over opponents of the bill.

LGBT soldiers and activists now have to come to terms with the fact that the war may not bring them the change they had hoped for.

The day after the march, Viktor felt ill. He had convinced himself that homophobic protests were a thing of the past. But Mariya and Diana were already disillusioned.

When the bill was first introduced, Mariya wrote letters to MPs full of hope, but when the process dragged on, she gave up.

“I think it will be a long road.”

Additional reporting by Thanyarat Doksone, Hanna Tsyba and Anastasiia Levchenko