Ibrahim is 29 years old and gay. In November 2015, he fled from his home in Beirut to Cologne. But instead of the long-awaited new freedom, the queer activist initially faced a homophobic environment in the refugee centre and sometimes racist resentment in the gay community. One crucial question kept cropping up: Was the life-threatening escape worth it?
"My place in half an hour?" - "Yes, see you soon!" It all started with a Grindr date. Around two years ago, still in Lebanon, Ibrahim arranged to have sex via the app. But when he went to the supposed chat partner's flat, it turned out that the guy he had just been chatting to didn't actually exist. Instead, he had fallen into the trap of a homophobic hate criminal who invites gay people to his home via a fake account in order to brutally beat them up. Ibrahim managed to save himself on the balcony and screamed for help. But before he could draw attention to his plight, the perpetrator came after him, grabbed him and threw Ibrahim off the balcony parapet on the 3rd floor. It was a very long time before Ibrahim was able to lead a halfway normal life again: "I was in bed for over eight months to recover from my injuries," he says. The now 29-year-old was lucky: if he hadn't hit a car, he probably wouldn't have survived the attack - according to the doctor treating him. The perpetrator spent a few weeks in prison, but because homosexuality is punished in the country, which is considered relatively moderate, despite all the liberalisation efforts on the part of the LGBTI community, Ibrahim was threatened with a corresponding lawsuit after his recovery.
"My parents were happy that I was flüchte"
The idea of leaving his home country therefore slowly matured in Ibrahim's mind. His destination was Holland: "During my internet research, I read that Holland is particularly liberal in its treatment of gays, including from a social perspective. That's why it was clear to me: I want to live in this country." Late last summer, Ibrahim finally said goodbye to his friends and also to his family, who knew about their son's sexual orientation, but were still able to see something positive in their child's escape: "My parents were always worried that my three sisters wouldn't find husbands, for fear that their future children would have a gay uncle. That's probably why my mum didn't put up much resistance when I told her about my plans to escape. I think she was even a little pleased."
And so a short time later, Ibrahim set off for the Netherlands, as he still believed at the time. After crossing the border into Turkey, he travelled by boat to Greece and then via the life-threatening Balkan route to Germany, where he was put on a bus to Cologne in Passau, Bavaria. Once he arrived in North Rhine-Westphalia, Ibrahim suffered from a severe fever, which is why he was unable to continue his journey to Amsterdam and received emergency treatment in hospital. It was a doctor who finally convinced him to stay in the cathedral city: "She told me that Cologne is the most important rainbow city in Germany alongside Berlin and that I can move freely and safely here as a gay man."
Attempted rape in the asylum centre
Unfortunately, after being discharged from hospital, Ibrahim was sent to an asylum centre in Königswinter, around 40 minutes by train from Cologne. There, however, the freedom he had hoped for was a long time coming: every day he was discriminated against by other residents because of his sexual orientation - until the situation escalated completely, as Ibrahim recounts: "One night I woke up to a resident lying on top of me and trying to rape me. Fortunately, I was able to free myself."
The escape from Lebanon, the life-threatening route to Germany - should he have taken all this upon himself just to live even more dangerously here than in his home country? Ibrahim decided to fight. The first thing he did was contact the social worker in charge, but she was rather helpless. He then searched the internet until he came across the Cologne branch of the Refugee Council organisation. The very next evening, the group organised a meeting. And although this was actually aimed at volunteers, Ibrahim spontaneously decided to go anyway. It was a decision that marked a turning point in his escape story. After he described his predicament there, he was helped to move into private, sheltered accommodation as quickly as possible. That was in January 2016 - and a lot has happened since then: Ibrahim has started a German course financed by private donations and is also committed to helping other LGBTI refugees: "When I realised that there was no one specifically looking after our needs, I asked the Meeting place Sofrawhich means dining table in Arabic. We meet up, talk about our worries and problems - and also have a lot of fun together." Guests are also regularly invited, for example from the city council or the employment agency, who answer questions ranging from accommodation to work permits.
Racism in the gay community
Ibrahim sees himself not only as an activist, but also as a gay young man who wants to enjoy his new life in Germany. And he does. He quickly realised that homosexuality is completely normal for most people in Cologne. Nevertheless, he could hardly believe his eyes when he saw a gay couple kissing in the underground or watched boys cuddling and flirting at parties. All of this was almost unthinkable in his home country of Lebanon. "I suddenly felt very free. However, the sexual assaults on New Year's Eve also had an impact on the LGBTI community," says Ibrahim.
Since then, he has often been turned away by bouncers because of his origin. "I've also been blocked immediately on Grindr when I said that I came to Cologne as a refugee".
In addition to the racism that Ibrahim sometimes experiences in the community, there is another hurdle that makes it much more difficult to participate in scene life: money is simply too tight. "That's why we really enjoy it when we occasionally have a drink at someone's house and then go to a gay party," says Ibrahim and smiles. These are the moments when he simply knows that the escape was worth it - despite everything.
