At home with his partner, Nelson is preparing for the bar exam and making summer plans for their future – both big and small things that once seemed impossible.
“Being yourself in my country was never an option for me,” he said.
Even from a young age, he said he was treated differently while growing up in Venezuela – a reality that grew more dangerous once he embraced his identity as a gay man at a time of great political turmoil in the country. Nelson said that, after a violent encounter with authorities, he decided to flee to safer ground. With few options, he used a tourist visa to fly to the United States, where he applied for asylum.
“I felt that I was leaving so much behind, and people that I loved, but at the same time, I knew and I understood that that was the only option I had if I wanted to continue living,” he said.
The U.S. doesn’t formally track how many asylum seekers identify as LGBTQ, but research organization The Williams Institute estimates at least 11,400 asylum applications were filed by queer people between 2012 and 2017. The institute estimates “98% of those claims based on LGBT status were determined to have credible or reasonable fear of persecution or torture” in the applicant’s home country.
For decades, the United States has recognized the threat against queer people around the world as a reason to be granted asylum.
“For queer people, asylum is an absolute necessity as a safety net,” said Aaron Morris, with the legal services firm Immigration Equality. “There are places in the world where we are hunted, where we are criminalized, where we are sentenced to death for being who we are.”
He’s among those watching now to see if that stance changes as President Donald Trump’s administration enforces an unprecedented crackdown on immigration.
For instance, Morris said he’s concerned about LGBTQ+ migrants who arrive at the border being potentially denied entry, preventing their ability to request asylum inside the U.S.
While his organization hasn’t seen a change in how often their attorneys are winning queer asylum cases for people already in the country, Morris said he’s worried about whether his clients could be deported while they wait for their asylum case to be decided – a process that can take several years.
“In past federal governments, they would allow you to live in the United States until your case was decided. There’s no guarantee here with the Trump administration that that will continue,” he said.
Like Morris, D.C. immigration attorney Sarah Pitney said the rate of how often they’re winning queer asylum cases hasn’t changed, but how safe their clients feel while pursuing asylum has. Pitney said the presence of ICE officers at immigration hearings has had a chilling effect that’s especially difficult for queer people, who experts say face greater risk of abuse in detention.
“It means that queer clients are even more afraid to go to their hearings, so I’ve now got to spend a lot of my time actually talking people into fighting their cases,” Pitney said.
That fear has also impacted the ability for LGBTQ+ migrants to access the social services they need, said Naomi Rennard, whose organization, AsylumWorks, helps newcomers adjust to life in the U.S.
“We had one queer client who said that he felt the same type of anxiety he felt back in his village when he came out because of the rhetoric and rumors that are circulating in the D.C. area right now about targeting newcomers, targeting queer people,” Rennard said, adding: “I think this is a real fear that we didn’t used to see.”
Pitney said the president’s executive order on gender markers has also made it more difficult for trans clients who may have previously won their asylum cases, but who now may be issued green cards with their sex assigned at birth.
“I have one client who has a full beard [and] does not look even remotely female. And I am scared to death that his next refugee travel document is going to say female on it,” Pitney said, adding: “If he travels internationally and he comes back, what if they accuse him of document fraud?”
Asked what they would say if a client questioned whether they’re still welcome in the United States, Pitney paused.
“This is a difficult question for me to answer, because I don’t believe that queer people were ever welcome here. I think that queer peopled carved out space for ourselves as a community. We fought for that space. It was never something that was offered to us,” Pitney said.
Still, Pitney said they still believe queer migrants fleeing violence will have a better chance at freedom in the U.S.
“We still face violence in the United States, but there are places where queer communities are taking care of each other. And that’s something we are always going to do,” they said.
Nelson said finding his community is what helped him survive the seven-year wait before he was granted asylum. While in the U.S., he went to law school and is now working with an immigration firm to help others like him.
“The fact that I’m helping others that were in my position is super rewarding,” he said. “I’m actually giving back what I received.”
This story was reported by Telemundo 44 reporter Maria Renee Barillas and NBC Washington producer Katie Leslie, produced by Katie Leslie, shot by WNBC photographer Ronald Vilca and NBC Washington photographers Jeff Piper and Steve Jones, and edited by Steve Jones.
(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by PostX News and is published from a syndicated feed.)
