As Good as You?

Recent violent attacks against gay and lesbian couples in Brussels city centre have prompted the homosexual community here to speak out

Tourists wander about the cobblestoned streets in Brussels’ city centre. They’ve come to gaze at the Grand’Place and take photos of one of the capital’s most famous residents, the Manneken Pis. Some of them may be unaware that the network of narrow streets nearby is the heartland of the capital’s thriving gay scene. Many same-sex couples have taken up residence in this area in an attempt to live in peace and relative security. But a spate of extremely violent attacks against homosexuals in recent months has unnerved the community. The rainbow-coloured flags that drape the storefronts and the bars that cater to a homosexual clientele cannot conceal the fact that a large part of Brussels society has yet to truly accept its queer community.

Much blood has been spilt on these cobblestones: a young gay couple were beaten senseless in June, and a lesbian couple suffered a violent attack in late August. And that’s not to mention the vast majority of victims who still don’t report physical violence to the police. Indeed, only four cases of violent homophobia were officially reported in 2010. In 2009, there were 56.

“To be homosexual in Brussels is to be confronted with violence constantly,” wrote Brussels Secretary of State for Equality Bruno De Lille on his website earlier this year. De Lille is openly gay and in a relationship, yet he cannot hold his partner’s hand in public without attracting insults, looks of disgust and, at times, even physical violence. In the face of such abuse, nearly one-third of all victims suffer psychological traumas, according to the Brussels-based Centre pour l’égalité des chances et la lutte contre le racisme, a public and independent organisation that promotes equality and fights discrimination.

But homophobia has taken yet another ugly twist. When three young men of non-European descent attacked a gay couple in June, politicians like the openly gay Flemish Minister of Education Pascal Smet peddled a rhetoric that stigmatised a diaspora community who already endure deep-rooted discrimination. Following the assault on the gay couple, Smet told De Standaard that Belgians of North African descent are the cause behind much of the insecurity and homophobia in Brussels. Violence in Brussels, he claims, stems directly from 500 or so young men of ethnic backgrounds.

“Homophobia existed in Belgium before immigrants arrived,” says Said, a young gay Belgian-Moroccan who directs Belgium’s intercultural queer organisation, Merhaba.  Merhaba was launched in 2002 and reaches out to homosexuals with roots predominantly in Muslim countries. The organisation has no political or religious affiliation. Instead, Merhaba attempts to educate and create inter-communal dialogue. But the barriers are numerous. Not only do queers from ethnic cultural backgrounds face discrimination over their sexuality, they may also suffer from racism, Islamophobia and paternalism – from within their own communities as well as from within more traditional queer communities.  
“You can’t fight homophobia with Islamophobia. You fight it through education and raising awareness. You also need to fight against gender stereotypes and sexism, heterosexism and heteronormativity that form the basis of homophobia,” says Said. Following the recent cases of physical violence against homosexuals, Said concedes that there are problems with attitudes towards homosexuality within migrant communities. At the same time, he finds it unjust to systematically single out immigrants and those of ethnic backgrounds as the only authors of homophobic behaviour, especially if no effort is made to situate this behaviour in a broader socio-economic context.
Homophobia, in Said’s view, penetrates all of Belgian society and is most commonly expressed within ‘macho’ environments. The younger generation does not fully accept homosexuality either. A study carried out in 2009 by the universities of Antwerp and Hasselt among 4,000 students, for instance, found that nearly 10 percent of Flemish youth think that sex between people of the same sex is wrong and 20 percent wouldn’t want to be seen with a gay person.
Nobody knows how large the homosexual community is in Brussels. Belgium does not gather statistics on sexual preferences, says Radouane Bouhlal, director of the Movement Against Racism, Anti-Semitism and Xenophobia (MRAX). Moreover, it is impossible to know how many homosexuals hide their sexuality. Bouhlal estimates that anywhere between 10 and 18 percent of the city’s population is gay. Prior to joining MRAX, Bouhlal was an activist fighting for gay rights. He was also instrumental in getting Belgium to legalise gay marriage in 2003.

“Belgium’s laws are advanced but its society is not,” he says, adding that the country is structurally racist. He then draws a pyramid. At the pinnacle are the white Belgians; followed by Europeans, and so on until at the very bottom are the scattered remnants of a disillusioned North African community. “Fighting homophobia requires supporting community and anti-racist associations that create inter-communal dialogue. It also requires education and speaking to children about homosexuality,” he says. His basic idea is to collapse the pyramid and give everyone an equal chance in life, while breaking down prejudices about homosexuality. Within that mix, the gay community has to stamp out long-running misconceptions. The American Psychiatric Association, for instance, declared that homosexuality was not a mental illness in 1973. The United Nations World Health Organisation came to the same conclusion 20 years later – in 1993.

A few metres away from La Bourse, where the gay couple were attacked in June, 36-year-old Adel Kassem speaks about the growing Arab gay community in Brussels. Adel is originally from Egypt. He is a practising Sunni Muslim and has been living in Belgium since he was 20. “I’m not afraid anymore,” he says in fluent English. Adel works at FEDASIL, Belgium’s asylum-seeker reception agency. This outspoken and articulate individual has found an inner peace and the courage to live his life openly. Adel is Arab. He is gay. He is Muslim. And yet he’s a found a home in a country where discrimination and stigma are never too distant. Still, he cannot imagine hiding his true identity from the people he loves, regardless of the injurious epithets.

“Coming out enriched me. It gave me self-confidence. I am a Muslim. I am proud to be a Muslim,” he says. A University of Leuven economics graduate, Adel often discusses his homosexuality with other Muslim men who are sometimes hostile to the idea. In Egypt, he attempted to deny his sexuality but found himself sitting alone in the dark, afraid that people would hate him. Afraid that his parents would reject him.

He contemplated a double life, with a wife and children. But he couldn’t do it and left for Belgium where he found comfort in its nascent Arab gay community. “My parents have been incredibly supportive,” he says. He regularly attends a mosque in Brussels. Some of them know he is gay. His close friends, he says, were shocked but they accepted him. The boundaries are nonetheless visible. Outside the confined space of Brussels’ gay quarter, the streets can be menacing. “Leaving the neighbourhood and walking across the canal is viewed as an act of provocation by some,” he says. “We cannot deny that there is a huge lack of education in the ethnic and immigrant community in Brussels. But who is trying to improve their lives?”