When Kazakhstani Aziyat Agishev came out, he said he was bisexual to appease his parents. But soon he admitted he was gay in a country where the LGBTQ+ community suffers a high degree of stigma and discrimination. Gradually, though, he has learnt to be proud of who he is
As told to Charlotte Manning
RAINBOW WORLD
I was born five years after the decriminalisation of homosexuality in Kazakhstan in 1997. When I was a teenager, I came out to my mum as bisexual first, in an attempt to hide the truth. Her reaction was relatively fine. She said, “Well, OK, at least you’re going to bring us grandchildren, right?” I said, “Sure, I don’t mind having babies.”
Aged 18, I’d mostly got rid of my internalised homophobia, which was holding me to the idea that I was bisexual. It meant I could feel something towards people of my sex but choose women so that my parents would be OK. Around that age, though, I realised I wasn’t attracted to women. I just thought I should be attracted to women. I came out to my mum as gay and then to my whole family — my brothers, my dad and other close relatives.
Coming out was a way to seek approval for my existence, for my feelings and for who I am. I really needed my parents to say to me, “Well, that’s OK, you haven’t changed. It’s just a part of who you are, and it’s always been there.”
[My family] was concerned about my safety, my wellbeing and my life in general. They were worried that I wouldn’t be able to live happily if I was gay. They’d heard that gay people are bad, or gay people are paedophiles or perverts. They worried about me not being able to have a normal life. At first, there was a clash between their idea of what LGBTQ+ people are and me, their little brother, their son. That was hard for them, for sure; that’s why we had lots of conflict.
I am the youngest of four brothers. Two of them don’t care about my identity, but the others sometimes say homophobic things or ask intrusive questions which make me feel attacked. I’m thankful that my dad doesn’t care. He realises I’m gay but doesn’t give it much meaning.
Recently, my mum met my boyfriend when she came to visit Astana [the capital of Kazakhstan]. I’d just graduated from university, and she wanted to celebrate. I said, “Well, OK, I’m gonna come with my boyfriend.” But she pretended that my boyfriend was just my friend. That’s a problem — she is
