The Allies We Refuse to See: How Armenian Homophobia Erases the People Who Fought for Us
The Allies We Refuse to See: How Armenian Homophobia Erases the People Who Fought for Us
Armenians cried out for justice during the Artsakh genocide, but when LGBTQ allies stood with us, we turned away. It is time to face the truth
By Vic Gerami
I have reported on war, politics, and injustice, but nothing has exposed the contradictions within our people quite like this: some of the most dedicated defenders of Armenia and Artsakh were LGBTQ individuals, both Armenian and non-Armenian, yet our own community often refuses to acknowledge them.
We raise flags for justice abroad while practicing prejudice at home. We call for compassion from the world, but withhold it from each other. This hypocrisy undermines everything we claim to stand for—truth, unity, and survival.
The Silence That Followed the Bombs
When the 2020 Artsakh genocide began, Armenia’s allies were few. Governments hedged their statements, major networks ignored the massacre, and international institutions looked away.
But amid that silence, I watched something extraordinary happen: LGBTQ journalists, activists, and officials—people from outside our own community—stood up for us when many Armenians in positions of power stayed silent.
They told the truth about what was happening in Artsakh, risked backlash, and used their platforms to push the story into the global conscience. And still, even after all that, Armenians rarely mention them.
The Foreign Voices Who Spoke for Us
One of the loudest and most consistent allies was Russell Pollard, a British journalist, human-rights advocate, and photographer who chronicled the 2020 genocide through Artsakh War Diaries and The Armenian Project. He documented war crimes, exposed Azerbaijan’s disinformation, and challenged Western media silence. Pollard stood by Armenians even as his own activism put him at risk. His commitment to truth and justice made him an ally in every sense that matters.
In Norway, Sven Erik Rise used his platform to educate Scandinavian audiences about Armenia. His books Hayastan – Why I Love Armenia and 44 Days in Artsakh remain among the few non-Armenian works written from deep empathy and firsthand understanding. He gave lectures across Norway, organized cultural programs, and led tours to Armenia to build people-to-people ties. Rise’s advocacy introduced our history and our suffering to audiences our own diplomats could not reach.
Their courage and compassion transcended borders. They proved that humanity has no nationality and conscience has no label.
When Diplomats Did What Our Leaders Wouldn’t
There were also public officials who did not just sympathize—they acted.
In Europe, Luxembourg’s Foreign Minister Xavier Bettel, one of the world’s few openly gay heads of government, raised Artsakh’s humanitarian crisis at the Council of Europe. He pressed for protection of displaced Armenians under European law and emphasized their right to return to their homes.
In the United States, openly gay Congressman David Cicilline stood on the House floor in 2019 and spoke passionately in favor of recognizing the Armenian Genocide, arguing that truth-telling was the only way to prevent future atrocities.
Colorado’s Governor Jared Polis, another openly gay official, declared April as Genocide Awareness Month, ensuring that education about the Armenian Genocide became part of his state’s curriculum.
And in West Hollywood, a city built on diversity and LGBTQ visibility, the City Council made history twice. On January 19, 2021, it unanimously passed a resolution recognizing the Independent Republic of Artsakh. I had drafted that resolution myself and encouraged then–Mayor Pro Tempore Sepi Shyne, who is lesbian, to introduce it. The press release issued after its passage included quotes from both of us and the Mayor at the time, celebrating a city’s stand for truth.
But when Public Radio of Armenia covered the story, they erased my name and my quote entirely. They published it as though I had never been part of it. I confronted them, but the damage was done. That quiet act of omission spoke louder than any insult. It was the Armenian brand of homophobia—polite, subtle, and devastating. Even when an openly gay Armenian advocates for Armenia, our own media sometimes pretends we do not exist.
Two years later, on January 23, 2023, I worked again with Mayor Sepi Shyne, who by then had become West Hollywood’s first LGBTQ Iranian-American mayor. Together we passed another resolution reaffirming the city’s support for the people of Artsakh and urging sanctions and consequences against Azerbaijan.
Sepi’s leadership during and after the genocide was constant. She used her office to speak publicly for Armenians, attended vigils, and stood with the community in moments when few American officials would. She proved that solidarity is not limited by sexuality or ethnicity. She embodied what true moral courage looks like.
When I Turned My Platform Toward the Fire
When the first bombs hit Stepanakert in 2020, I knew I could not continue business as usual. My weekly radio program, The Blunt Post with Vic, had long covered U.S. politics and cultural issues. But as Armenians in Artsakh faced annihilation, I shifted my focus entirely to Armenia coverage.
For months, I used my airtime to broadcast the truth about the genocide, interviewing experts, survivors, and politicians. I reached out to Western outlets that were ignoring the story and challenged them to cover it. I did what I could as a journalist—to amplify what others tried to bury.
That same year, I founded the Truth and Accountability League (TAAL), a nonprofit dedicated to combating disinformation, discrimination, and defamation against Armenians. TAAL became the watchdog our community desperately needed. But instead of support, I often encountered quiet resistance. Some admired the work but dismissed me personally because I am gay. It was as if my orientation somehow disqualified me from defending my people.
The Lesson of Hrant Dink
We Armenians are not the only victims of this selective blindness. When Armenian journalist Hrant Dink was assassinated in Istanbul in 2007, tens of thousands of Turks marched through the streets carrying signs that read “We are all Hrant Dink.” Among them were hundreds of LGBTQ Turkish activists who risked arrest and violence to protest his murder. They stood for an Armenian, knowing what it could cost them.
That image should haunt us: queer Turks marching for a murdered Armenian journalist while many Armenians today still reject queer Armenians in their own community. Their courage was moral, not political. They did not need to share Dink’s nationality to understand the value of truth.
The Hidden Cost of Homophobia
Homophobia is not a difference of opinion. It is a moral failure. It fractures our families, poisons our institutions, and weakens our cause. It drives countless LGBTQ Armenians into exile or silence.
I have seen it firsthand. Young people thrown out of their homes for coming out. Parents disowning their children in the name of religion. Professionals hiding who they are to keep jobs or clients. Even funerals denied to same-sex couples. Each of those stories is a wound in our national body.
In my essay The Hidden Cost of Homophobia in the Armenian Community, I wrote that you cannot demand justice for Armenians while denying it to Armenians. You cannot cry for human rights while practicing exclusion. The hypocrisy rots us from the inside.
Homophobia has been weaponized under the guise of “tradition.” But our traditions are built on survival, generosity, and faith—not on fear. The Bible’s message is simple: love thy neighbor. Yet too many Armenians use Scripture as a shield for hate they barely understand. Jesus never condemned love between people. He condemned hypocrisy.
Erasure as Violence
The worst part of prejudice is not always overt hatred. Sometimes it is the quiet erasure—the decision to leave your name out of the story you helped write. When Public Radio of Armenia cut me out of their coverage of the West Hollywood resolution, it was not a mistake. It was a message: “You can serve your people, but we will not let you represent them.”
That is what homophobia does. It turns gratitude into suspicion and solidarity into silence. It denies us the right to be both Armenian and ourselves.
A Mirror We Refuse to Face
Many Armenians claim we are “not ready” for LGBTQ acceptance. That is a lie we tell ourselves to avoid confronting prejudice. We have had more than three decades of independence and centuries of Christian teaching about compassion. We are not unready; we are unwilling.
Every time we ignore the contributions of LGBTQ Armenians or allies, we repeat the mistakes of those who ignored us during genocide. We alienate potential friends, we weaken our alliances, and we damage our credibility abroad. In a world where soft power matters, intolerance is self-sabotage.
Our community demands empathy from others while refusing to extend it. That contradiction undermines every appeal we make for justice.
The Courage We Overlook
Look at who actually showed up for us. Russell Pollard in Britain, Sven Erik Rise in Norway, Xavier Bettel in Luxembourg, David Cicilline and Jared Polis in the United States, and Sepi Shyne in West Hollywood—all of them LGBTQ. They used their voices, platforms, and offices to defend a people most of the world ignored.
They did not do it for applause. They did it because conscience demanded it. And yet many Armenians cannot even say their names without discomfort. That is not strength. It is cowardice disguised as morality.
Choosing Love Over Fear
We Armenians have survived centuries of persecution because we believed in something greater than fear. That belief must extend to every member of our community. Unity that excludes is not unity—it is denial.
Our strength lies in our diversity, our resilience, and our ability to transform pain into purpose. But we cannot claim to honor the martyrs of 1915 while erasing the Armenians and allies who continue their work today.
When we push away LGBTQ Armenians, we are not protecting tradition. We are rejecting truth. And when we ignore those who stood for us—whether in Norway, Luxembourg, or West Hollywood—we betray the very ideals we say define us.
If we are serious about survival, then we must start by telling the whole truth: that some of the bravest voices for Armenia and Artsakh were queer. That they fought for us when others would not. And that they deserve not only our gratitude, but our respect.
Sources and Documentation
- Pollard, Russell. Artsakh War Diaries and The Armenian Project, 2020–2025
- Rise, Sven Erik. Hayastan – Why I Love Armenia; 44 Days in Artsakh, 2021
- Luxembourg Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Council of Europe Proceedings, 2021–2022
- U.S. Congressional Record, H.Res.296 and S.Res.150, 2019
- Colorado General Assembly, Genocide Education Act HB20-1336, 2020
- City of West Hollywood Resolutions on Artsakh, Jan. 19, 2021 and Jan. 23, 2023
- UN Human Rights Office, “Independent Expert Report on Foreign Combatants in the Nagorno-Karabakh Conflict,” 2021
- Gerami, Vic. The Hidden Cost of Homophobia in the Armenian Community, TAAL, 2024
- Public Radio of Armenia coverage archive, Jan. 2021
- CivilNet archives on Hrant Dink protests, 2007