They are young, ambitious emigrants - but their country’s leaders don’t seem to want them back. Following Lithuania’s decision to ban information on homosexuality in schools, CATHERINE REILLY meets gay Lithuanians in Dublin who’ve suffered the homophobia that’s rampant in their native land
STUNNINGLY beautiful and with a self-assuredness uncommon for a 21-year-old, Alisa Isajeva has that ‘X factor’. But the aspiring lawyer is effectively exiled from her homeland – because she’s gay.
“In Lithuania, if you are gay, you are ‘sick’,” says Dublin-based Alisa starkly. “I miss home, but that’s the one reason why I wouldn’t be going home.”
Growing up in Klaipeda, Lithuania’s third largest city, she always knew something was “different” about her. And teenage experimentation confirmed to Alisa what this difference was.
“I kissed a girl and I liked it,” she quips, referencing the Katy Perry song.
“It was difficult to accept it,” she continues, “and what people are going to think of you, what people are going to say.”
But despite being the brunt of insults at school, Alisa felt this was better than covering things up, as she had often done with her first girlfriend. “I felt loads of pressure, you couldn’t just be yourself, you had to be someone else and not you.”
This pressure was somewhat relieved when her own pals responded well: “My friends asked me if I’m gay, I said yes, and they said it’s fine.”
But at home the revelation was far from fine. “My mum found out about me when I was 15, she read my diary,” says Alisa. “She wouldn’t believe that I could be gay as there are ‘no’ gay people around.”
Alisa says her mum believes being gay is a sickness of the mind, and six years later, hopes her daughter in Ireland will “change”.
“Being gay is never talked about,” continues Alisa. “I told my brother that I was gay and he knows, but we never talk about it. I really wish it would change.
“I’d say for me as a girl it’s a little easier, maybe two girls kissing is maybe seen as ‘fashion’. But I could never hold hands in a city centre [in Lithuania]. Vilnius is probably easier because it’s the capital, but I would be thinking that something bad could happen.”
ANDRIUS is handsome, warm and witty. The 29-year-old Lithuanian, who asked for his full name to be withheld, works in high-end fashion retail in Dublin and hopes to carve out a big future in the area.
But such ambitions will be pursued outside his birthland. “I’m almost sure I wouldn’t be able to go back to Lithuania, and the main reason is because I am gay,” he says. “I wouldn’t be able to hide again. It’s not about salaries or money – it’s my freedom.”
He came out to friends at 21, having struggled with his sexuality through his teenage years.
“In our culture, people are embarrassed by it – there’s ‘something’s wrong’ with me,” he explains. “In classes, I knew something was ‘wrong’ with me, but I was hiding it. I always thought maybe I’m bisexual – but I’m gay.”
Andrius had his first boyfriend while at university. “We met at a gay club in Klaipeda,” he remembers, “it’s hidden in an industrial area in the suburbs and has ‘closed private parties’.”
This club still exists, explains Andrius, and there is no mainstream gay bar in central Klaipeda because, he says, no-one would be seen dead going into it.
Elaborate cover-ups were employed by Andrius so that his sexuality wouldn’t be discovered. Spending three years as a captain’s mate at sea with around 20 other men, he was compelled to concoct a “story of a girlfriend”, and his boyfriend’s name came on up on his phone as a girl’s.
His parents now know about his sexuality. “I broke up with my boyfriend and he left to go to Ireland. I was devastated and had an emotional breakdown. My mum was asking ‘What’s wrong with you? Is it about a girl?’ I said ‘Yes it is, but not a girl.’
“Is she accepting it? I’m making her accepting it. She pretends she does, hoping that something will change.”
With his dad, Andrius shares a special bond – having both been seamen – but his sexuality is never spoken about.
As for his close male friends, most reacted well, with one exception. “They all said they accept me but one didn’t,” recounts Andrius. “He told me he’d be ashamed to be seen with me, and he was a best friend since childhood.”
Extremely hard-line attitudes exist in Lithuania, with some adopting a stance of “kill the gay race” and labelling gay people as “paedophiles”, he explains.
So three-and-a-half years ago, after reuniting with his ex-boyfriend, he joined him in Ireland. The pair broke up after two months, but Andrius was “too proud” to return to Lithuania so soon. For pure peace of mind, staying was the right decision.
“Here, I’ve opened my eyes to who I really am,” he says. “I’m proud of myself and have started working in fashion over here. When I go home, I stand out a lot, but that’s who I am.
“In Ireland I can see that there is a bit of intolerance,” he adds, “but in general I’d say no. I personally haven’t had a problem being gay over here.”
Twice a year he visits his native land, and discovers that gay friends are “still hiding” but “not as much as before”. Some are “clearly gay” but there is “no conversation about it”.
More information through the media could help combat this, suggests Andrius.
A more open-minded generation is growing up – broadening horizons through travel – but Andrius does not foresee a major mindset shift in Lithuania for at least 20 years.
Like Andrius, Alisa Isajeva had packed her bags for Ireland when hiding became too much. At the tender age of 18, she emigrated here with her then girlfriend.
“It was really depressing in the beginning, maybe because I was young, and in a very different country obviously,” she remembers. “But I think Irish people are really good with gay people.
“Anywhere you go, people don’t have a problem with it. I was really surprised when I met Irish gay people and their parents know about it. They are free, and can talk about it.
She continues: “In Lithuania people just don’t know about it much, people are not given so much information about it. People are hiding. The Government should do something about it.” She suggests more depictions of normal gay people on TV.
In Ireland, Alisa does not mind telling people she’s gay, but is reluctant to let fellow Lithuanians know.
“If I meet Lithuanian straight people here, I wouldn’t be able to tell them I’m gay. It depends on the person as well, and how they might think about it. I used to work with a Lithuanian girl, and I couldn’t tell her.”
She also plans to have children – which she feels would be improbable in Lithuania, bringing unwanted attention on them – and she would be “embarrassed” for an Irish girlfriend to witness and experience Lithuania’s homophobia.
When all is said and done, says Alisa, the biggest irony is that Lithuanian parents are not necessarily as bothered at the notion of their children being gay as they are about their neighbours’ opinions.
But if her own parents ignored the neighbours and accepted her as gay, Alisa says she would sleep the best sleep she’s ever slept.
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LITHUANIA HAS consistently made the global news wires for regular incidences of homophobia.
The latest occurred in July, when the country’s parliament backed a bill that censors information on homosexuality from reaching minors, including teenagers in secondary schools – a time when some typically struggle with their sexuality.
Parliamentarians – who overturned a presidential veto of the law – now stand accused of institutionalising homophobia in the predominantly Catholic country. Eighty-seven of 141 parliamentarians supported the bill, with just six standing against.
Petras Gražulis, a right-wing parliamentarian who co-sponsored the bill, is also seeking an outright ban of homosexuality in the ex-Soviet country which joined with EU in 2004.
“We have finally taken a step which will help Lithuania raise healthy and mentally sound generations unaffected by the rotten culture that is now overwhelming them,” he said.
Human rights campaigners in Lithuania and internationally say the law breaches fundamental freedoms, and could be used to prohibit legitimate discussion of homosexuality, while further stigmatising gay people.
The country’s new president Dalia Grybauskaite – who herself has been the subject of speculation over her sexuality – has vowed to propose amendments later this year. “I’m very much upset that such kind of laws in Lithuania are possible,” she said.
Many campaigners believe Lithuania’s move violates the spirit of EU principles on equality, but those advocating the law contend that it only bans the “promotion” of homosexuality, and not homosexual relationships. Some fear that the law will further heap insurmountable stigma on young gay Lithuanians.
According to Michael Barron of Dublin-based BelongTo, an organisation for young gays in Ireland: “It’s clear that it’s really important for young gay, lesbian and transgender young people to learn from a young age that their identity is valid.”
Citing recent research involving over 1,000 respondents in Ireland, he said there is a “clear scientific correlation” between mental health difficulties and having been “homophobically harassed”.
