My name is Joel Mordi, and I am an LGBTQ+ activist who was forced to flee Nigeria after organising the first Pride event in my home country. Nigeria, with its strict anti-LGBTQ+ laws, is not a place where one can live openly as gay, lesbian, or transgender. Our Pride event was a beacon of hope, a bold statement of our existence and demand for rights. However, it was also a trigger for violence and persecution. Facing imminent danger, I sought refuge in the UK, expecting to find a haven and a supportive community. Little did I know that my ordeal was far from over.

Upon arrival in the UK, I was met not with the warmth and safety I had hoped for, but with the cold, harsh reality of immigration detention. The shock of being placed in detention was immense. I had escaped from a country where my life was at risk, only to be confined in a place that felt no less oppressive. The immigration detention centre was a prison in all but name, and the trauma of my experiences in Nigeria was compounded by the harsh conditions I faced inside.

Detention centres are designed to be temporary holding facilities. The rony, however, is that a detainee could be held indefinitely, and for me, it felt like a prison: well, my prison was “Harmondsworth IRC” (the Wild West). The environment was grim, with high fences, locked doors, and constant surveillance. The physical conditions were bad enough, but the mental strain was even worse. Power imbalances were rife amongst fellow detainees. As an LGBTQ+ person, the threats and dangers inside were ever-present. Homophobic bullying and harassment were common, especially from fellow detainees and even worse, stories of mysterious detainee deaths were told, like that of Mr Oscar Okwurime (of blessed memory). It felt like there was no escape from the prejudice and violence that had driven me from my home in the first place.

Inside, I had to be constantly vigilant, often trying to conceal my identity to avoid becoming a target. This concealment was a painful reminder of the life I had hoped to leave behind. The lack of support from the staff made everything worse. Mental health services were inadequate, and many of us were left to cope with our trauma alone. The isolation, fear, and uncertainty took a severe toll on my mental health. Nightmares and panic attacks became part of my daily routine, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

The lasting effects of this experience have been profound. Even after my release, the scars of detention remain. I struggle with anxiety and depression, and the memories of my time in the detention centre haunt me. It has taken a considerable amount of effort and support from the LGBTQ+ community here in the UK to begin healing. Yet the shadow of my experience lingers, a constant reminder of the cruelty faced by those seeking asylum.

Today, my life is slowly regaining a sense of normalcy. I am an active participant in Pride events, and I continue to advocate for the rights of LGBTQ+ individuals. However, my experience in detention has underscored a critical issue that must be addressed: the inhumane treatment of LGBTQ+ people in immigration detention. Detention is a traumatic and dehumanising experience that damages the physical and mental health of detainees. For LGBTQ+ individuals, this experience is exacerbated by the additional layer of homophobic bullying, harassment, and abuse. Many are forced to hide their identities, perpetuating the cycle of fear and repression.

“It has taken a considerable amount of effort and support from the LGBTQ+ community here in the UK to begin healing. Yet, the shadow of my experience lingers, a constant reminder of the cruelty faced by those seeking asylum”

Supporting LGBTQ+ asylum seekers within the community, rather than detaining them, would significantly improve their mental health and well-being. Community-based support systems can provide the safety and stability needed to navigate the asylum process without the added trauma of detention.

As we look towards the future, we must demand change. The next government must commit to ending the detention of LGBTQ+ people. Detention centres are not safe for anyone, but they are particularly dangerous for those who are already vulnerable due to their sexual orientation or gender identity, especially from historically intolerant countries. We must come together as a community to advocate for humane treatment and ensure that those who seek refuge from persecution are met with compassion and support, not further suffering.

In conclusion, my journey from Nigeria to the UK has been fraught with challenges, but it has also reinforced the importance of solidarity and activism. By sharing our stories and demanding change, we can work towards a future where no one must endure the horrors of detention. Let us stand together and call for an end to the inhumane treatment of LGBTQ+ asylum seekers, and for a system that respects and protects the dignity of all individuals.

The next UK government must end LGBTQI+ detention. Email your candidates today to let them know why.