For gay Palestinians fleeing persecution at home, Israel is no safe haven

Israel, which bills itself as the only democracy in the Middle East, has long claimed that status makes it a sanctuary for LGBTQ+ people fleeing persecution elsewhere in the region.

In his speech before Congress in 2024, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu mocked protesters holding “Gays for Gaza” signs outside, saying they “might as well hold up signs saying ‘Chickens for KFC.’”

But reporting by The Intercept reveals that for gay Palestinians seeking asylum in Israel, the so-called LGBTQ+ haven for LGBTQ+ people is anything but safe.

Interviews with multiple advocates and lawyers for Palestinian asylum seekers describe how Israeli authorities issue sudden permit revocations and other bureaucratic hurdles in the service of coercing Palestinians into sharing information with Israel’s intelligence apparatus.

Kareem (not his real name) was one victim exploited because of his sexual identity.

Born and raised in the West Bank near Ramallah, the 22-year-old is the child of a politically prominent Palestinian family. His father works for the Palestinian Authority; his grandfather was a member of the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO).

Two years ago, Kareem joined a low-key LGBTQ+ group in Ramallah, which met weekly to socialize, knit, or share holidays together. Word got out to his family. Kareem’s father was furious over the rumors.

“My dad aimed his gun towards me,” Kareem recalled, “and said that if he ever finds out that I’m gay, he would ‘rest a bullet between my eyes.’”

After enduring years of sexual and physical abuse from cousins who taunted him for his feminine presentation, Kareem was now watching his father send those same family members “to stalk my friends and me.”

Kareem decided to flee. His family would likely find him anywhere in the West Bank, so he made his way to an Israeli checkpoint. His asylum claim was immediately exploited by Israeli authorities.

At a processing facility at Sha’ar Ephraim, a crossing point in the northern West Bank, officers repeatedly pressed Kareem for information on friends and family still living in the West Bank. The implication was a quid pro quo, his lawyer said: intelligence in exchange for an easier permit approval process.

“When you are in such a fragile situation, you cannot be in the territories, and you don’t have status in Israel, the security bodies like the police use this weakness, and they try to get information or get someone’s cooperation from those people,” Kareem’s lawyer, Tamir Blank, told The Intercept. “They promise them that they will not deport them or put them in jail.”

Kareem didn’t have any useful information for the Israelis, as is the case for many LGBTQ+ refugees who are shut out or shunned by family or organizations in which security services are interested. But just by showing up at the checkpoint, Kareem had crossed a Rubicon: he now carried the stigma of collaboration, true or not.

He had nowhere else to go.

Kareem was eventually granted a welfare permit allowing him to stay in Israel temporarily, and he spent months sleeping on benches and couch surfing before finding housing at an emergency LGBTQ+ youth shelter in Tel Aviv called The Pink Roof.

But soon after, Kareem woke to a phone alert that his six-month permit had been invalidated. His lawyers told him to leave the government-sponsored shelter immediately: He was at risk of deportation.

“I was so confused. They had just given me the permit, so why would they take it away?” Kareem recounted.

The reason for the permit revocation made the prospect of being sent back to the West Bank even more dire: Kareem’s family had engineered it.

According to Kareem’s lawyers, his family filed a report with Israeli social services claiming Kareem was a Hamas member planning to attack civilians.

“I had a security block on my application,” Kareem said. “There was no way to get it back without petitioning the military commander for reconsideration.”

“Everything became much more difficult after October 7,” said Nimrod Avigal, another advocate who has worked on Kareem’s case.

Kareem’s family also began posting notices in Facebook groups offering a cash reward for any information leading to Kareem’s whereabouts, and they hired men in Ramallah to track Kareem down on the other side of the separation wall.

“They said that they were hired by my family to look for me and bring me back ‘after I tarnished the family’s reputation,’” Kareem recalled, “and that they need to ‘wash their honor as soon as possible.’”

Kareem’s attorney said that translated to ensuring Kareem “does not remain alive.”

But Israel contended in Kareem’s case that gay Palestinians like him were motivated not by genuine fear but a desire to “enjoy the more liberal lifestyle in Israel, rather than facing an actual threat.” It’s a standard response in similar cases, according to his lawyers, and at odds with Israel’s “safe haven” descriptions advertised to the world.

Rather than being welcomed in Israel, they say gay Palestinians are subject to blackmail and pressured to provide intelligence in exchange for protection. Willing cooperation or coercion is likely in the search for a coveted humanitarian stay permit.

The authorities “use every weakness they can,” Kareem’s lawyer said.

Because he was born in the West Bank and holds Palestinian Authority-issued identification, Kareem will never obtain residency or citizenship in Israel under current law. That would set a precedent for a broader right of return for Palestinians displaced in the 1948 Arab–Israeli War.

For now, Kareem is living permit to permit in a safe haven he’ll never call home.

Subscribe to the LGBTQ Nation newsletter and be the first to know about the latest headlines shaping LGBTQ+ communities worldwide.

View Original Source Here