Why marching at Pride means so much to me as a survivor of torture

At Pride month, I find myself reflecting on how much has changed in my own life and yet how much uncertainty remains in the world.

This Saturday (4 July), I will be taking part in the London Pride march. As a former client of Freedom from Torture, it is particularly meaningful to me that the charity will be taking part for the first time as well. There was a period in my life when I could not imagine being able to take part in something like this.

The participation of Freedom from Torture in this march means so much to me. I received tremendous support from them. They showed empathy and understanding, but perhaps most importantly, they were never judgemental. When hope seemed to have disappeared, they came to my rescue and gave me a reason for living and a renewed appreciation of humanity.

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I am a young woman from a country in Asia where LGBTQ+ people continue to face persecution. As with so many others, I experienced trauma and abuse that eventually forced me to flee my home in search of safety and a future.

As a survivor of torture, a refugee, and someone who has faced many challenges in rebuilding my life, there were times when I could not imagine a future at all, let alone one where I would be able to stand openly among thousands of people celebrating identity, community and hope.  

In the days and weeks leading up to Pride, I have found myself reflecting on these experiences through a painting I recently completed called Hands of Hope and Love. 

At the centre of the painting is a heart representing the world, held by a pair of hands. From my point of view, the hands do not have any religious meaning. Rather, they represent the people who continue to give, support and sacrifice in the name of love, kindness and understanding. 

There are so many people who have helped me that it would be impossible to name them all. I would not wish to miss anyone. Not only have the outstanding charities Freedom from Torture, Crisis and Rainbow Migration supported me, but so have NHS doctors, chaplains, members of the legal profession and people working within local authorities. Together they helped me find a way forward when I could not always see one myself. 

The world inside the heart in my painting appears fractured. This reflects how I often see the world today. Wars continue. People are displaced. Communities are divided. Many people seem anxious about the future.

As a survivor and a refugee, perhaps I see these things differently. Perhaps when you have experienced upheaval yourself, you become more aware of it in others.

A fractured world to me is a world where nothing seems to make logical sense. It is a world where caring and sharing appear to have vanished in many places, while chaos, conflict and poverty continue to rear their heads. It seems that the loudest voices often reign, whilst quieter and more thoughtful voices are ignored. Around the painting are birds flying in different directions.

Some are flying away from trouble. Some are hovering, hoping for things to improve. Some do not seem to know where to go. To me, these birds represent the many people searching for safety and belonging. 

The birds remind me of a time when I was fleeing torture. I arrived in a country that felt safe, but I was still hovering like the birds in my painting, unsure of where I belonged and struggling with dark thoughts. Eventually, people came into my life who shone a light into that darkness and helped me find my way again.

Hope springs eternal, as the saying goes. It is perhaps an over-used phrase, but it remains important to me. Without hope, I would not be where I am today.

Pride means different things to different people. For some people it is celebration. For others it is protest. For me, perhaps it is all of these things. Most of all, it is about belonging.

There was a time when I could not have imagined openly joining a Pride march. But this year, I will be doing exactly that. 

When I look at Hands of Hope and Love, I do not only see a fractured world. I see people trying to protect it. I see compassion. I see resilience. I see the possibility of understanding. Most importantly, I see the people and organisations who helped me through my own difficult and challenging times and gave me hope for the future.

As I prepare to march at London Pride this year, perhaps that is the message I wish to leave with people. The world may be uncertain. The future may be unclear. But there are still hands of hope and love holding it together.

Do you have a story to tell or opinions to share about this? Get in touch and tell us more. 

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