Autoethnography. Entry 2 — Being a lesbian in Russia
By: Shaggy Bliss
Tags: Russia, Autoethnography, LGBT, Closeted, Lesbian

When I realised my homosexuality and started to live with a woman in 2012, some things in my life drastically changed. I would like to think of them in detail and try to explain their origin.

I had to learn to be constantly alert. This necessity was rooted in the understanding that I could not tell people about my current family settings. In most cases, I simply avoided the talk about my partner, or, when pressed, I often lied that I was not dating anyone or was dating a man. When I was doing that, I felt a weird mix of shame, anxiety, fear and something else I cannot find a proper name for. This knowledge — that our relationship of same-sex people should not be ‘advertised’, was in the air. It was naturalised. The grass is green, the sky is blue, gay people are supposed to hide. Now when I am thinking of that, it seems strange as I never experienced open aggression, and when I left my husband for a woman, I knew nearly nothing about homophobia. But this subconscious belief about the same-sex relationship as a deviation — it was with me, and this is actually why I was hiding my homosexuality. I changed my status of perceived normality to perceived abnormality and wanted to conceal it. I opened up to very few people who, it seemed, would not be judging me for my peculiarity. Thinking of why it was so, I believe there are several reasons. Firstly, I had no assurance about people’s reaction to this information — that they would not start to ignore or offend or hate me. Secondly, there were no positive examples around, no role models — the lack of LGBT visibility coupled with the condemnatory media and political rhetoric created a feeling that my weirdness was somehow unique and not in a good way. Being unique, by the way, was generally perceived as a bad thing in my social surroundings, which could be a part of the Soviet heritage. The messages from authorities and mass media promoted the idea of LGBT abnormality and clearly lacked any support. So it did make sense to be alert 24/7.

I got a feeling that the life I was living was wrong. I became ashamed of myself. On the surface, of course, I tried to convince myself that this was up to me to decide how to live, but these constant reminders — public, media, and religious condemnation of homosexuality, contempt, rude comments and jokes, references to its immorality, lack of positive examples — still made me believe that I was not normal and it is better to keep my secret to myself. Positive role models — whether publicly known or those living within my social settings — was not on the horizon. I knew nobody to identify with as a good lesbian. Even several pop and rock stars of the late 90s and early 2000s who back then exploited a homosexual image later stated they had nothing to do with homosexuality.

I mastered the art of lie although I hate it with all my heart. I lied about my partner and I being sisters, about my plans for weekends, about many facts in my biography, about having a boyfriend. I was afraid of contempt, hate and becoming an outcast if I tell the truth.

I learned to be invisible in terms of my sexual orientation — both verbally and non-verbally. I tried to wear no accessories, no clothing, no symbols that might be associated with LGBT — these things were almost like a code at some special events where non-heterosexuals and gender non-conforming people could recognise each other from the first glance due to them. ‘Gaydar’ (‘gay radar’) allowed you to do that, as many people in the community joked.

I stopped displaying my feelings for my partner on the streets. It felt unsafe and uneasy. We almost never held hands in public, never hugged or kissed. I also, for some reason, could not bring myself to display feelings for my partner in the presence of my mum and even friends who I came out to. It felt as if I display too much, ‘broadcast’, ‘advertise’ or, even worse, ‘propagandise’.

Speaking of ‘propagandise’, although I tried to deny the existence of this sort of propaganda (as defined in the law that prohibits propaganda of ‘non-traditional relations to minors’), deep down, I was not so sure as I was not about the harm to minors this propaganda can cause. I simply did not know and had no reliable Russian-speaking source to get this sort of information. My English back then was nearly non-existent.

I got used to perceiving ‘gay’, ‘lesbian’, ‘LGBT’ as negative, offensive terms. I tried to avoid the label ‘lesbian’ by any means and just considered myself as a woman who is in a relationship with a woman. No difference? There was a difference for me. I think that by doing it, I tried to detach myself from negative connotations of the term ‘lesbian’, which were in abundance in the public discourse.

I could not and did not stand for myself against those who offended me personally or ‘joked’ about LGBT because I had no idea how to do that. No vocabulary was available to me, no positive messages that could support me in my position, my evidence of me being right on that.

Now I am trying to understand what actual reasons were behind all that. And one interesting thing has come to my mind — when making the fact of my homosexuality open in some way in Russia, I felt as if I got naked in front of the person I was talking to and invited them to my bed. This was happening because the whole concept of homosexuality was reduced to a same-sex physical relationship. It was pretty much only about sex in people’s consciousness, which meant that nearly any mention of the topic made them think of how exactly you make love. Now it looks odd, but back then, even I myself perceived this in the same way, so given that I did not really want to discuss my sexual and intimate life — and you never know how disgusted and offended somebody could be because of the thought of homosexual sex — I generally preferred not to come out at all. Or, with the few people I did come out to, I still did not feel comfortable enough to display my feelings to my partner as this might lead their thoughts in that ‘bed’ direction again. And what made me feel uneasy was not only the fact of ‘perverted’ sexual relations that was instantly thought of after a mention of homosexuality but sexual relations in general. This leads me to realise that the topic of sexuality was socially tabooed in general. I had no sex education whatsoever and was not familiar with my female body parts until well over twenty. My mum never spoke to me about sex or anything related — because she knew very little (the late Soviet Union did very well in terms of desexualising its citizens), and she was extremely shy to mention this topic anyway. So, I was simultaneously ashamed of sex issues and ignorant about them — an awful combination, honestly speaking.