ALLA GORIK
“I always ask her how her new girlfriend is, and aren’t I better?”
Alla Gorik, 27, has short blonde hair, a constant wry smile on her face, and a-matter-of-fact way of speaking. We met at a happy hour in New York organized by Rusa LGBT, a network of Russians and Russian speakers who meet up regularly for socializing—or to demonstrate in front of the Russian consulate, depending on the circumstances. It was Alla’s first time joining one of these gatherings, and she marveled at how many Russian gays and lesbians there were in New York, her new home.
I moved to New York in May of 2012, though I’d visited once before, in 2009. I’m from Khabarovsk, a city in the Far East. I was bored. I’d been living there so long. Where I’m from you’re considered an old maid if you’re 25 and aren’t married and don’t have children. I was living with my girlfriend, Ira, when I decided it was time to leave, but she didn’t want to go. We kept applying for visas to come to the U.S.; I kept getting approved but she didn’t. This happened three times. Now that I’m here and she’s there, Ira’s still trying to convince me to come back, but that’s not happening.
We were together for two years; I’m not quite sure what we are now. We’re together but we’re open, and I keep telling her to come over here but she won’t do it. At least now she finally got a passport so maybe we’re getting closer. But I think Ira would only come if I went back and got her. She’s like that; she needs to be pushed along.
We met at a birthday party. Back then I was the quiet one. I didn’t go out much, stayed at home on the computer. At the party Ira came up to me. She was very arrogant, like a warrior. She put her legs on my lap, and made me stay the night. But then things changed. After we moved in together it started being me who made all the decisions.
We bought two cats together. Hairless cats. They were like Ira’s kids. We had our own place back then, but now Ira lives with my mom and the cats. My mom is cool, though. Her attitude is, “If you’re not crying, we’re good.” When I was 23, my mom called and asked me if I was a lesbian. The way I answered was a few days later I brought Ira home. My mom would joke sometimes that we must have met in jail, especially after I got my tattoo. I’ve never been in jail, by the way. I’m really lucky with my mom. I had two colleagues back home who were fired after word got around that they were gay. One of them was disowned by her mother after that.
Here in New York, I work in technical support for a web company. It’s owned by Russians. I’ve been there for a little over a year now. Even though I work with a bunch of Russians, none of them knows I’m gay. They all came here during the Soviet Union times so they still have that mentality. Sometimes, I want to tell them just to scandalize them.
I had another girlfriend here but it didn’t last too long. Three months. But I still talk to Ira basically every day, so let me tell you about her. She’s thin, that’s the most important part. She likes computer games; she’s a real maniac about them. And she loves cars. She redesigns them. Classic cars. She just bought her second one. And she’s a hairstylist: she cuts guys’ hair. She’s also a total gym nut. She’s always sending me photos of her six pack. I tell her it’s too much, women shouldn’t have so many muscles.
She was married at one point, quite young, at 17. She lived in a small village, and the guy she married, she told him she was a lesbian but he said he didn’t care. When they were married, Ira was always with other girls, and he was always yelling about it. But he was warned. He knew the conditions in advance. He can’t really complain.
I always ask her how her new girlfriend is, and aren’t I better? She doesn’t say anything though. Just moves on. At the end of every sentence I ask her: “Why are you over there? Come over here to be with me!” She tells me to stop it, that she’s still thinking it over, but she’s had almost two years to think it over! When I left she cried and asked me to stay and wait for her to apply one more time. I told her I’m already 26, how much longer could I wait?
I applied for asylum, but my hearing isn’t scheduled for almost another two years, because there’s such a long waiting list in New York. So if I get asylum that’s when I’ll go back and try to convince Ira to come here, though I’ll probably have to go to Ukraine so she can meet me there, since I won’t be able to enter Russia. My lawyer told me it’s best to apply now, since things are so bad in Russia. He says they could get better soon. I disagree. I don’t think things will be getting better anytime soon.
Back home I have some good friends, a couple, two women with a young son. They’re worried the government will take him away, so they’re not sending him to preschool. They don’t want him telling the teachers he has two moms. A lot of my friends who can are moving to St. Petersburg. At least there it’s a little more cultured. A big city.
Another friend, a guy you can tell is gay—he gets beaten up all the time. When I left he had stitches in his face. He worked at a telecom company and when he was up for a promotion there was another co-worker angling for the same promotion. So he told the boss my friend was gay. Instead of getting a promotion he was asked to resign.
I asked him why doesn’t he leave, why not apply for asylum in Europe? He told me he doesn’t want to learn a new language. It’s a Russian character trait, to complain and complain but not do anything about it. Not me; I got out of there.
GLEB LATNIK
“I dream one day I’ll have a little apartment, someone I love, and people who come over and see us.”
Gleb Latnik, 30, moved to Moscow last summer. He was invited by fellow LGBT activist Alexei Davydov because life was no longer safe for him in his hometown. Soon after Gleb moved, Alexei died suddenly. Several days before this conversation, Gleb had returned from a three-day trip to the United States for Russian LGBT activists organized by the State Department. Despite his friends’ encouragement, he didn’t even consider staying in America. The first thing I noted when we met was a small scar on his childlike face. It was a mark left by the hooligans who had beaten him up. A small rainbow flag was pinned to the worn strap of his bag. He smells like alcohol and unwashed clothes. This is the odor of a hard life, full of one-man pickets, being chased, hospitals, and during temporary breaks, finding the resources to survive.
I’m from Pervouralsk. It’s a small town, with a population of 125,000, near Ekaterinburg. That’s where I became an LGBT activist. On June 11, when the Duma passed the law on gay propaganda, I went out in the main square with a sign that said “I’m against the second law of the scoundrels” [The first “law of the scoundrels” is the prohibition on American citizens adopting Russian orphans]. It had a rainbow sun on it. They refused to print my sign at the print shop. They told me it was extremist, so I ended up making it myself. I came out into the square and stood there for an hour. I got the most attention from journalists who even got in the way of my talking to people. About five passersby stopped and asked me questions. The rest stayed away from me.
I was the only one out in Pervouralsk, but no one even went out into the street in Ekaterinburg. I ended up rousing the local LGBT activists, asking them what the point was in sitting around together talking about our problems. We did a series of one-man pickets, although the press paid no attention to us. I saw that we needed a more controversial space to protest. We found it: it was the Inoprom Expo, an international industrial show. We prepared a shocking, bloody performance to do in front of the entrance. I wrote about it on my personal web outlets and social networking sites. Then a man showed up to my house. My mother let him in. I wasn’t home. He said he was police, but he didn’t show any documents and started asking where I was and when I am usually around. For several days, there was a car parked outside our house, and I stopped coming home or discussing any specific meeting points with anyone on the phone because I knew they could be listening.