The Anti-Rights Movement is Organised. Are We?

AIDS 2026, the biennial global conference on all things HIV, closed on July 31 after a week of presentations on scientific advances (including twice-yearly lenacapavir and long-acting cabotegravir plus rilpivirine; advances in cure and vaccine research, with reports of sustained remission in the “Kansas City Patient”) and ongoing funding crises and key populations under threat, with anti-LGBTQ legislation in Uganda, Ghana, Senegal, and Côte d’Ivoire.

During the week, I attended more than a dozen sessions. As always, the most important conversations took place not only in formal sessions, but in the Global Village, in corridors, at community events, and over coffee. By the end of the week, I realised they all revolved around the same question: How do we build a movement capable of confronting an increasingly organised anti-rights agenda?

The question first crystallised for me during Wednesday’s session, Law, Power and Access: Overcoming barriers to HIV services. During the discussion I asked how we can overcome what increasingly feels like a successful “divide and rule” strategy. Across the world, the forces seeking to roll back human rights appear remarkably coordinated. They target communities already facing marginalisation—including people living with HIV, LGBTQ+ people, women, migrants, sex workers, and people who use drugs—as they always have. Reproductive rights, civil society, and scientific evidence are under fire as well, not as separate issues, but as part of a broader political project.

Meanwhile, those of us working to defend rights too often continue to organise ourselves in silos.

The same theme emerged again later that day during a conversation between Georgetown University’s Matthew Kavanagh and Mariângela Simão, who begins her role next week as the UN Special Rapporteur on the right to health. Simão spoke of the growing cohesion of anti-rights forces internationally, while Kavanagh posed what may be the defining question for the years ahead: what would it take to build an equally effective pro-rights force?

It struck me that this wasn’t simply another conference discussion; it was the thread connecting so many conversations throughout AIDS 2026.

The HIV movement knows better than most that progress has never come from science alone. Scientific breakthroughs have transformed HIV from a life-threatening diagnosis into a manageable condition and have given us extraordinary tools to prevent transmission. But while HIV itself may no longer be life-threatening for most people with access to treatment, the political environment has become increasingly rights-threatening. Evidence alone has never guaranteed equitable access, ended stigma or repealed punitive laws. Those achievements have always depended on organised communities, strategic advocacy, political leadership, and solidarity.

Throughout AIDS 2026 there were outstanding sessions on criminalisation, gender equality, community leadership, access to medicines, funding, and shrinking civic space. Each highlighted a different piece of the puzzle. Yet we still too often approach these as separate struggles, competing for scarce funding and political attention. Our opponents do not.

Anti-rights alliances reinforce each other

The anti-rights movement has spent decades building alliances across countries and political movements. It understands that attacks on LGBTQ+ rights, sexual and reproductive health and rights, gender equality, migrant rights, civil society, and science reinforce one another. Divide and rule is effective precisely because those defending rights are so often divided.

Another session that stayed with me was No retreat, no surrender: The future of philanthropy in HIV. Richard Borain of the Children’s Investment Fund Foundation (CIFF) argued that philanthropy’s greatest contribution is not simply funding projects but strengthening the “connective tissue” that brings together governments, communities, donors, and civil society around shared goals.

That phrase resonated with me. We have become very good at investing in programs, but less intentional about investing in the relationships, trust, and collaboration that allow organisations and movements to reinforce one another.

I was reminded of this again at the Robert Carr Fund’s celebration of 15 years of supporting global HIV and health movements. At a time when the Fund has faced an uncertain future following the withdrawal of support from both the United States and the Netherlands, there was welcome news: CIFF has joined as a new donor, while ViiV Healthcare announced a further year of support.

For more than a decade, the Robert Carr Fund has demonstrated a different model of philanthropy—trust-based, multi-year, flexible core funding combined with peer learning and movement building. The HIV Justice Global Consortium, which first united regional and global HIV criminalisation networks, was made possible through Robert Carr Fund support, and the HIV Justice Network remains proud to be one of its grantees.

Yet even within the Robert Carr Fund family there is greater potential to work across movements and constituencies. That is not a criticism of the Fund; rather, it reflects how deeply siloed our sector has become. If organisations already committed to rights-based approaches can collaborate more intentionally, imagine what could be achieved with greater investment in those connections.

The anti-rights movement invests in networks, long-term relationships, shared strategies, and patient coalition-building. We need to become equally serious about investing in the infrastructure of solidarity. AIDS 2026 made clear: our greatest challenge is no longer simply defending individual rights. It is building a movement capable of defending them together.

Edwin J Bernard is Executive Director of the HIV Justice Network and a global advocate for human rights and HIV justice.

Email:edwin@hivjustice.net

Image: Rogério von Krüger / IAS

The next phase of HIV decriminalisation: closing the translation gap

Last month, I wrote about the limits of relying on “U=U” as the primary message for HIV decriminalisation. In doing so, I also reflected on how “U=U” has transformed the lives of people living with HIV. Grounded in compelling science and amplified through years of advocacy, it has become a powerful message of hope, dignity and self-acceptance. Its success also demonstrates something broader: science changes lives only when it is translated into policy, practice and public understanding.

HIV criminalisation reminds us that translating science into justice remains unfinished. Forty-five years into the HIV epidemic, advances in HIV science have fundamentally transformed our understanding of transmission, treatment and prognosis. Yet people living with HIV continue to be investigated, prosecuted and imprisoned based on outdated assumptions about risk and harm.

This contradiction formed the basis of my presentation yesterday at AIDS 2026, the 26th International AIDS Conference in Rio de Janeiro. The question I posed was simple: Why does HIV criminalisation persist despite contemporary HIV science? The answer, I argued, lies in what I call the translation gap: the persistent failure – or refusal – to translate contemporary HIV science into law, policy and practice.
 
Scientific evidence does not change society on its own. It changes society only when institutions choose to translate it into legal standards, public policy and everyday practice. That process is never purely technical; it is shaped by politics, power and values.
 
The evidence for this is clear. Over the past decade, 50 jurisdictions across 28 countries have moved towards HIV decriminalisation through legislative reform, constitutional and supreme court decisions, and updated prosecutorial guidance. Together, these reforms demonstrate that when contemporary HIV science is effectively translated into law and policy, legal systems do change.
 
But progress has been highly uneven. In some parts of the world, reform has accelerated. In others, it has barely begun. At the same time, the HIV Justice Network’s Global HIV Criminalisation Database continues to document new prosecutions around the world, suggesting that the pace of reform has slowed.
 
The challenge facing the HIV justice movement has therefore evolved. In many countries, the problem is no longer simply HIV-specific criminal laws. Increasingly, criminalisation is sustained through the interaction of criminal law, public health systems, policing, politics, and stigma.
 
Our recent research illustrates this shift. In Uzbekistan, for example, HIV criminalisation often begins long before anyone enters a courtroom. Mandatory registration, public health surveillance, referrals from healthcare providers to law enforcement, and the use of medical records as evidence all demonstrate how healthcare systems themselves can become part of the machinery of criminalisation.
 
Recognising this changes what justice requires. Contemporary HIV science requires greater legal precision. Non-disclosure is not the same as intent. Perceived risk is not the same as actual risk. An allegation of HIV transmission is not proof of who transmitted HIV, and establishing the direction of transmission often requires scientific evidence that courts fail to consider or misinterpret. Even where harm has occurred, criminal punishment is not automatically the appropriate response.
 
But science alone cannot produce these changes. Translation depends on institutions that value evidence, independent courts, governments willing to act and civil society organisations able to advocate for reform. Increasingly, these conditions are being undermined by broader attacks on public health, human rights and democratic institutions.
 
This is where structural violence helps explain why the translation gap persists. Scientific evidence alone is insufficient because law does not operate independently of politics or power. Organised anti-rights movements have become increasingly influential in reshaping the political environments in which legal reform takes place. As civic space shrinks and scientific expertise is challenged, translating contemporary HIV science into law becomes increasingly difficult.
 
Yet communities continue to create pathways to justice. Even where legal reform is blocked, advocates document prosecutions, provide legal literacy and paralegal support, engage international human rights mechanisms, influence global health policy and support those living under punitive laws. Communities do not simply wait for the law to change; they continue creating opportunities for justice despite the obstacles they face.
 
That is why the next phase of HIV decriminalisation is not simply about changing more laws. It is about closing the translation gap. Yesterday we launched the Guidance on Good Practices in HIV Decriminalisation. The Guidance brings together contemporary HIV science, legal expertise and the experience of communities around the world to support countries wherever they are on the journey towards HIV decriminalisation.
 
Closing the translation gap requires more than scientific evidence. It requires practical tools that help governments, courts, advocates and communities translate that evidence into action. The Guidance is designed to be one of those tools.
 
The success of “U=U” demonstrates what is possible when science is translated into practice. The persistence of HIV criminalisation demonstrates what happens when the translation of science into justice is resisted. Closing that translation gap is now the central challenge for HIV justice. The new Guidance is intended to help meet that challenge by helping ensure that science is translated into justice.

New global Guidance on HIV decriminalisation launched at AIDS 2026

Community-led resource distils more than 30 years of global experience into practical action for advocates, policymakers and justice systems

Download the Guidance here

The HIV Justice Network (HJN), on behalf of HIV JUSTICE WORLDWIDE (HJWW) and the Global Partnership for Action to Eliminate All Forms of HIV-related Stigma and Discrimination, today launched the Guidance on Good Practices in HIV Decriminalisation during a packed Global Village session at the 26th International AIDS Conference (AIDS 2026) in Rio de Janeiro.

Supported by UNAIDS, the Guidance is the first practical global resource to bring together more than three decades of community leadership, human rights standards, contemporary HIV science and real-world experience of advocacy, litigation and law reform into a single framework for action.

Opening the session, HJN Executive Director Edwin J Bernard described the Guidance as “a practical resource that we hope communities, advocates, lawyers, judges, policymakers and public health officials will actually use.”

Rather than presenting the publication chapter by chapter, the session demonstrated how it can support change in diverse legal and political contexts around the world.

Speakers included Janet Butler McPhee (HIV Legal Network), Svitlana Moroz (Eurasian Women’s Network on AIDS), Immaculate Owomugisha Bazare (Centre for Women Justice Uganda) and Sofía Várguez Villanueva (HIV Justice Network), who shared examples of community advocacy, legal reform, strategic litigation, work in restrictive legal environments and practical advocacy tools.

Although more than 80 countries continue to maintain HIV-specific criminal laws and prosecutions also occur under general criminal laws, the Guidance reflects growing evidence that communities can successfully challenge punitive approaches. Around the world, advocates have helped repeal or modernise laws, influenced courts and prosecutors to apply contemporary HIV science, and promoted rights-based public health responses.

“The HIV justice movement has reached an important milestone,” Bernard said. “For the first time, we’ve accumulated enough experience from around the world to identify what good practice actually looks like. This Guidance brings together what communities have learned over decades, so others don’t have to start from scratch.”

Designed for advocates, lawyers, judges, prosecutors, policymakers, public health officials and community organisations, the Guidance recognises that every country starts from a different place and that reform is rarely linear. Rather than prescribing a single model, it offers practical approaches that can be adapted to different legal, political and cultural contexts.

 

Mexico: Campaigners press Baja California to vote on HIV law reform

LGBTQ+ collective seeks progress in reform to eliminate crime that criminalizes people with HIV in Baja California

The group called on the State Congress’s Diversity Committee to put the bill seeking to repeal the offence of “risk of transmission” to a vote.

Mexicali, B.C.–The reform to remove the offence of “risk of transmission” from the Baja California Penal Code has been stalled for almost a year, denounced the Arcoíris Collective, which is calling on the State Congress to put it to a vote, arguing that the current legislation criminalises people living with the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV).

Javier Russell, leader of the Colectivo Arcoíris, explained that the amendment was tabled last year and has already gone through the relevant legislative process; however, he stated that it only remains to be brought before the plenary session for a vote, and therefore called on members of the State Congress to stop keeping it “on ice”.

“It is essentially a request to the Baja California Congress’s Diversity Committee to put the bill repealing the ‘risk of contagion’ provision to a vote; this bill was tabled last year and has already gone through the legislative process; all that remains is for it to be voted on,” said the collective’s leader.

Russell pointed out that Article 160 of the State’s Criminal Code penalises people with infectious diseases, a provision which, he asserted, has been rendered obsolete by scientific advances and constitutes a form of discrimination against those living with HIV.

The group’s leader indicated that treatments are now available that enable a person with HIV to achieve an undetectable viral load, thereby reducing the risk of transmission; he therefore considered that maintaining such regulations contradicts scientific knowledge and human rights.

Similarly, Russell recalled that Mexico has made international commitments under the 2030 Agenda to achieve the 95-95-95 target, which aims for 95 per cent of people living with HIV to know their status, for 95 per cent of them to receive treatment, and for 95 per cent of those on treatment to achieve an undetectable viral load.

The activist pointed out that retaining the current laws criminalises people on the basis of their health status and runs counter to these objectives and to the national policies promoted to combat stigma and discrimination.

Finally, Javier Russell reiterated his call to the members of the Diversity Commission to ensure that the bill is debated and put to a vote, given that its approval would bring state legislation into line with scientific advances and the country’s commitments regarding health and human rights.

New data presented at AIDS 2026 reveal renewed rise in HIV criminalisation amid global anti-rights backlash

HIV criminalisation is increasing again after several years of decline, with prosecutions continuing to ignore established scientific evidence and disproportionately targeting already marginalised communities, according to new research presented today at the 26th International AIDS Conference (AIDS 2026).

The analysis examined 115 database entries covering 150 reported HIV criminalisation cases documented between 1 June 2025 and 15 June 2026. We conclude that these findings reflect not only failures to apply contemporary HIV science but also a broader global resurgence of anti-science and anti-rights politics.

The data show a clear upward trend in reported cases since 2022. By mid-June 2026, 93 reported cases had already been documented, exceeding the total annual cases recorded during both 2023 (70) and 2024 (86), although still below pre-COVID-19 pandemic levels.

“Our findings suggest that science, rights and HIV are increasingly being put on trial together,” said Edwin J Bernard, Executive Director of the HIV Justice Network, who presented the findings on behalf of his co-authors, Sylvie Beaumont, Alison Symington and Sofia Varguez. “When courts continue to prosecute people for acts that science tells us pose no possibility of HIV transmission, this is no longer a scientific problem. It is a political and legal one.”

Uzbekistan and Senegal dominate reported cases

Uzbekistan accounted for 60 of the reported cases during the study period – around 40% of all documented cases. Many involved allegations of HIV “exposure” without evidence of transmission, prosecutions involving intimate partners, and cases against women whose partners were aware of their HIV status or who were receiving effective treatment.

We also highlight a major escalation in Senegal, where a broader crackdown on LGBTIQ+ communities led to more than 200 arrests. By mid-June at least 39 people were prosecuted in relation to their HIV status, often alongside charges linked to same-sex conduct. (See this report for the most recent numbers, which increase on a daily basis.)  The poster documents reports of forced HIV testing, public disclosure of HIV status, and the use of condom possession as evidence of criminal conduct.

Other countries with multiple reported cases included the United States (19), the Russian Federation (eight), France (three), the United Kingdom (three), Kazakhstan (two) and Zimbabwe (two).

Courts continue to disregard HIV science

We found that prosecutions continue to involve conduct for which there is either no possibility or only negligible possibility of HIV transmission, despite overwhelming scientific consensus.

Cases involving people with sustained undetectable viral loads continued to be prosecuted, with courts often failing even to consider viral load evidence. Prosecutions for spitting also persisted in both North America and Europe, despite scientific consensus that HIV cannot be transmitted this way.

These prosecutions stand in stark contrast to the 2018 Expert Consensus Statement on the Science of HIV in the Context of Criminal Law, which concluded that effective HIV treatment eliminates the possibility of sexual HIV transmission, condoms are highly effective prevention tools, and acts such as spitting cannot transmit HIV.

Criminalisation increasingly shifts into general criminal law

We also identified an important legal trend: HIV criminalisation increasingly continues through general criminal laws even where HIV-specific criminal statutes have been repealed or modernised.

Our data show that prosecutions increasingly rely on offences such as assault, sexual offences, public health legislation and child protection laws, suggesting that reforming HIV-specific statutes alone is insufficient unless broader criminal law and prosecutorial practices also change.

Structural inequalities reinforced

We argue that HIV criminalisation functions as a mechanism reinforcing wider systems of social control rather than protecting public health.

Women, migrants, sex workers, LGBTIQ+ people and economically marginalised communities continued to experience disproportionate enforcement. Many prosecutions occurred despite evidence of partner awareness, coercive circumstances or negligible possibility of transmission.

We conclude that HIV criminalisation increasingly operates within political environments characterised by hostility towards science, human rights, gender equality and community-led public health responses.

Positive developments offer a roadmap

Despite these concerns, we also identified encouraging developments.

Courts in Canada, France, Italy, Türkiye and the United States increasingly engaged with contemporary HIV science, while acquittals, successful legal challenges and improved judicial reasoning demonstrated that evidence-based approaches remain possible.

These examples are reflected in the newly launched Guidance on Good Practices in HIV Decriminalisation, developed by the HIV Justice Network with support from UNAIDS, which recommends:

  • recognising contemporary HIV science in criminal proceedings;
  • limiting prosecutorial discretion and overcharging;
  • requiring proof of actual intent and significant harm;
  • prohibiting criminalisation related to pregnancy, infant feeding and vertical transmission; and
  • strengthening community-led monitoring, legal support and accountability.

“The evidence increasingly shows what works,” Bernard said. “Where legal systems engage with science, require evidence of genuine harm and respect human rights, prosecutions decline and justice improves. But sustainable change also requires confronting the stigma and political narratives that continue to portray people living with HIV as dangerous.”

Download E J Bernard et al. WEPEF620, Science, rights, and HIV on trial: Is rising HIV criminalisation part of a global anti-science / anti-rights resurgence?

US: Pennsylvania approves bill to end HIV sentencing enhancement

Pennsylvania House unanimously passes bill ending HIV-specific criminal penalty enhancement

The Pennsylvania House voted unanimously to approve Senate Bill 45 on July 12, sending legislation that would remove an HIV-specific criminal sentencing enhancement from state law to Governor Josh Shapiro’s desk.

The bill eliminates a provision that allows people living with HIV to face more severe criminal penalties based solely on their HIV status, a policy that LGBTQ+ advocates and public health experts have long argued is outdated and unsupported by modern medical science.

Following the vote, the Pennsylvania LGBTQ+ Equality Caucus praised the legislation, calling it “an important step toward ending the criminalization of HIV status in Pennsylvania.”

The caucus also thanked Rep. Ben Waxman, who sponsored companion legislation in the House to advance the reform.

Under current Pennsylvania law, a person living with HIV can receive enhanced criminal penalties in certain cases regardless of whether HIV transmission was possible. One frequently cited example involves prostitution offenses, which are generally misdemeanors but can be elevated to felonies for someone living with HIV, even in situations involving no physical contact or conduct incapable of transmitting the virus.

Supporters of Senate Bill 45 argue those provisions reflect outdated understandings of HIV rather than current medical evidence.

Advances in HIV treatment have transformed the virus from a fatal diagnosis into a manageable chronic condition for most people with access to care. Antiretroviral therapy allows many people living with HIV to achieve an undetectable viral load, preventing sexual transmission of the virus while enabling them to live long, healthy lives.

The Equality Caucus said removing HIV-specific sentencing enhancements better aligns Pennsylvania law with contemporary science while helping reduce stigma surrounding people living with HIV.

“Senate Bill 45 brings Pennsylvania law into closer alignment with current science, reduces stigma, and creates a legal framework that can continue to evolve alongside future advances in HIV research and care,” the caucus said in a statement.

With final legislative approval complete, Senate Bill 45 now awaits Governor Josh Shapiro’s signature. If signed into law, Pennsylvania would join a growing number of states that have modernized or repealed HIV-specific criminal statutes in response to advances in HIV prevention, treatment, and scientific understanding.

 

US: Louisiana reform offers blueprint for ending HIV Criminalisation

Decriminalizing HIV: 3 moves that helped ETAF secure progress in Louisiana

More than 30 U.S.states still criminalize HIV under laws written decades ago, when far less was understood about how the virus is transmitted. These outdated statutes can mean prosecution or imprisonment for people living with HIV, despite scientific advances that have transformed both treatment and transmission risk. 

Louisiana just took a significant step toward changing that. On May 15, 2026, Governor Jeff Landry signed House Bill 808 into law, narrowing the state’s HIV exposure statute to conduct that poses a substantial likelihood of transmission and creating new protections for people living with HIV who disclose their status and maintain an undetectable viral load. HB808 passed both chambers unanimously, a first for an HIV criminalization reform measure in the South. 

The new law, which goes into effect August 1, reflects nearly a decade of work by advocates, people living with HIV, and partners across Louisiana supported in part by FCAA member Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation (ETAF). The organization recognizes that criminalizing HIV impacts people’s ability to live a free and just life, find employment or housing, and stay healthy and undetectable — particularly for women, LGBTQ+ people, and the Black community. Through its HIV Is Not a Crimecampaign, ETAF is working to overturn these laws to support the freedoms of people living with HIV across the U.S. 

ETAF’s Jake Arman recently shared three strategies from their work that other funders can apply to their own efforts. 

  1. Provide flexible, long-term funding.

ETAF has restructured its grantmaking to “empower states to plan strategically for the long term, beyond just the immediate year or shifting political climates,” Arman says. In an environment where meaningful change can take years or even decades, that long-range perspective is key. ETAF’s funding approach allows coalitions to wait for the right legislative moment and invest in proactive education in the meantime.

  1. Invest in bipartisan relationship-building.

The campaign’s wins “are rooted in sustained trust-building efforts and internal strategies, enabling the community to work across political aisles to garner the support needed to change HIV laws,” Arman says. Louisiana’s unanimous vote shows what that kind of relational groundwork can produce, even on issues where consensus seems unlikely. 

  1. Celebrate incremental wins.

Big legislative wins are rare in this work. Yet even smaller legal successes can make a real difference for people living with HIV, which is why ETAF treats even smaller changes as cause for celebration. “Community input has helped us focus on deepening our impact, rather than chasing grand metrics,” Arman says.  “The incremental law changes of HIV Is Not A Crime have been vital for sustaining morale and purpose, and attracting new supporters of HIV-related issues, especially at the local level.”

WHAT’S NEXT FOR THE CAMPAIGN

With outdated criminalization laws still on the books in more than 30 states, ETAF’s work is far from over. As shifting political tides create new risks for people living with HIV, ETAF sees these efforts as more urgent than ever — working toward a day where no person is subjected to unjust HIV laws.

Mexico: National HIV agency backs repeal of HIV criminalisation offence

Censida welcomes the repeal of the offence of “risk of transmission” to strengthen the strategy against HIV

Translated with Deepl. Scroll. down for article in Spanish.

The organisation argues that criminalising the disease discourages voluntary testing.

The National Centre for the Prevention and Control of HIV/AIDS and Hepatitis (CENSIDA) supported the repeal of the offence known as “risk of transmission”, considering it a step forward in terms of public health and human rights, as it removes a provision which, according to scientific evidence, fostered stigma and hindered timely access to HIV prevention, diagnosis and treatment.

The agency maintained that criminalising a health condition “does not reduce new infections or strengthen prevention strategies”.

On the contrary, it warned that the fear of legal consequences, combined with stigma and discrimination, can discourage people from undergoing voluntary diagnostic testing, limit access to preventive measures and delay people’s engagement with health services.

Recalls the work of institutions

In the statement, CENSIDA recalled that national and international bodies, including the National Council for the Prevention of Discrimination (Conapred), the National Human Rights Commission (CNDH), the UNAM Institute for Legal Research, UNAIDS, the World Health Organisation (WHO) and the Pan American Health Organisation (PAHO), have warned that the criminalisation associated with certain health conditions has adverse effects on prevention and epidemiological control strategies, by reinforcing stigma, discouraging testing and limiting access to medical care.

It also emphasised that the national HIV response policy is based on universal access to prevention, timely diagnosis and comprehensive treatment, whilst respecting people’s rights.

The agency highlighted that “the scientific evidence is conclusive: a person living with HIV who is receiving antiretroviral treatment and consistently maintains an undetectable viral load does not transmit the virus through sexual contact”, a principle recognised internationally as ‘Undetectable, Untransmittable’.

Call to provide prevention tools

The Ministry of Health stated that legal frameworks must be updated in line with scientific knowledge and not based on stigma. It added that decriminalisation will help strengthen a public health model based on shared responsibility, comprehensive sexual health education and access to prevention tools such as condoms, pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP), post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP), screening tests and timely treatment.

The agency, which reports to the Ministry of Health, indicated that this measure will also help more people to know their HIV status and access health services without fear of being stigmatised or criminalised, which will support the achievement of national and international targets to end HIV as a public health problem.

The agency reiterated that the response to HIV must place people at the centre of public policy, strengthen combined prevention strategies and reduce inequalities in access to health services free from discrimination.

“The protection of public health is strengthened through access to information, prevention, diagnosis, treatment and the unrestricted respect for human rights; not through the criminalisation of people on the basis of their health status.”

Censida reconoce derogación del delito de “peligro de contagio” para consolidar estrategia contra el VIH

La institución argumenta que criminalizar la enfermedad frena las pruebas voluntarias.

El Centro Nacional para la Prevención y Control del VIH/Sida y Hepatitis (CENSIDA) respaldó la derogación del delito denominado “Del peligro de contagio”, al considerar que representa un avance en materia de salud pública y derechos humanos, al eliminar una disposición que, de acuerdo con la evidencia científica, favorecía el estigma y dificultaba el acceso oportuno a la prevención, el diagnóstico y el tratamiento del VIH.

La dependencia sostuvo que penalizar una condición de salud “no reduce las nuevas infecciones ni fortalece las estrategias de prevención”.

Por el contrario, advirtió que el temor a consecuencias legales, sumado al estigma y la discriminación, puede desalentar la realización voluntaria de pruebas diagnósticas, limitar el acceso a herramientas preventivas y retrasar la vinculación de las personas con los servicios de salud.

Recuerda labor de instituciones

En el comunicado, CENSIDA recordó que organismos nacionales e internacionales, entre ellos el Consejo Nacional para Prevenir la Discriminación (Conapred), la Comisión Nacional de los Derechos Humanos (CNDH), el Instituto de Investigaciones Jurídicas de la UNAM, ONUSIDA, la Organización Mundial de la Salud (OMS) y la Organización Panamericana de la Salud (OPS), han advertido que la criminalización asociada a determinadas condiciones de salud genera efectos adversos sobre las estrategias de prevención y control epidemiológico, al reforzar el estigma, desalentar la realización de pruebas y limitar el acceso a la atención médica.

Asimismo, enfatizó que la política nacional de respuesta al VIH se basa en el acceso universal a la prevención, el diagnóstico oportuno y el tratamiento integral con respeto a los derechos de las personas.

La dependencia destacó que “la evidencia científica es concluyente: una persona que vive con VIH, recibe tratamiento antirretroviral y mantiene de forma sostenida una carga viral indetectable no transmite el virus por vía sexual”, principio reconocido internacionalmente como Indetectable e Intransmisible.

Llaman a facilitar herramientas de prevención

La Secretaría de Salud señaló que los marcos jurídicos deben actualizarse conforme al conocimiento científico y no con base en el estigma. Agregó que la derogación del delito permitirá fortalecer un modelo de salud pública sustentado en la corresponsabilidad, la educación integral en salud sexual y el acceso a herramientas de prevención como el condón, la profilaxis preexposición (PrEP), la profilaxis postexposición (PEP), las pruebas de detección y el tratamiento oportuno.

El organismo, dependiente de la Secretaría de Salud, indicó que esta medida también contribuirá a que más personas conozcan su estado serológico y accedan a los servicios de salud sin temor a ser estigmatizadas o criminalizadas, lo que favorecerá el cumplimiento de las metas nacionales e internacionales para poner fin al VIH como problema de salud pública.

La dependencia reiteró que la respuesta frente al VIH debe colocar a las personas en el centro de las políticas públicas, fortalecer la prevención combinada y reducir las desigualdades en el acceso a servicios de salud libres de discriminación.

“La protección de la salud pública se fortalece mediante el acceso a la información, la prevención, el diagnóstico, el tratamiento y el respeto irrestricto de los derechos humanos; no mediante la criminalización de las personas por su condición de salud”.

Senegal: Anti-LGBT offensive leaves communities living in fear and undermines HIV response

Translated with Deepl. Scroll down for original text in French.

“If I’m caught, it’s the end for me”: in Senegal, the daily fear faced by gay people under a crackdown

Following a law passed in March that toughened the penalties for same-sex relations, LGBT+ people in Senegal are living in fear. Speaking on condition of anonymity, several of them describe a life of great uncertainty, marked by the dread of arrest.

“I don’t know if you’ll find me free. The police are closing in on me. You can’t escape your fate”, writes Latyr (name changed), on the eve of our scheduled interview in Dakar – the details of which, like those of our other meetings, will remain confidential for security reasons. In the days leading up to this, the man in his thirties had grown accustomed to sharing his concerns about the unprecedented crackdown on LGBT+ people in Senegal.

From our very first contact via the encrypted messaging app Signal – facilitated by a Senegalese man living in exile in Europe – Latyr wanted to bear witness to his “ordeal”, so that the world “ knows ”. Speaking out – anonymously – was also a way of leaving a record “just in case” his freedom were to be taken away. Since the tightening of the law against homosexuality passed in March, same-sex relationships are punishable by five to ten years’ imprisonment in Senegal, where they are considered “acts against nature” – compared with one to five years previously.

Latyr feels his “turn has come” following the arrest of one of his friends. This time, he fears the police might track him down through sexually explicit messages exchanged in 2025. How many friends has he lost? Latyr no longer keeps an exact count. Probably a “dozen” since February. Some of them are locked up in Senegalese prisons, others have fled to The Gambia or Morocco.

Latyr’s bad feeling did not come true that day. He reappeared the following day, online, still free but wary. After his day’s work, he arranged to meet us at a friend’s flat, some way from Dakar. Standing back in the dimly lit hall, Latyr kept a safe distance from a group of residents gathered at the entrance.

“ “Ever since I was a child, I’ve lived my homosexuality discreetly,” says this tall, athletic man, his features drawn. “I’m lucky – I’m not effeminate. No one can suspect I’m gay because I don’t leave anything to chance.” Yet, in these troubled times, maintaining this social façade is wearing him down. “During the day, I constantly have headaches and palpitations. At night, I get very little sleep. I’ve lost 5 kilos, he continues in a weary voice. Every time an acquaintance passes away, I tell myself I’ll be next. “When I get home from work, before going up to my flat, I check that there isn’t a police car parked outside.” Latyr catches his breath in the overheated room. “My life outside work boils down to scrolling through the news in my bedroom. I only leave to eat or go to the mosque.”

A string of arrests

If he feels he is in the authorities’ sights, it is partly down to the investigators’ modus operandi. As part of a wide-ranging investigation targeting both celebrities and ordinary people, suspects’ phones are being combed through. Text messages or videos can be enough to trigger an arrest.

Consequently, more than a hundred suspected homosexuals have been arrested in Dakar and other major cities since 4 February, most of them accused of having close ties to Pape Cheikh Diallo, a famous TV and radio presenter who was remanded in custody on that day. He is being prosecuted on charges of ‘criminal conspiracy, unnatural acts, wilful transmission of HIV/AIDS through unprotected sexual intercourse, endangering the lives of others, money laundering and drug trafficking”.

In May, the arrest of Matar Ndiaga Seck – described by the national media as a close associate of the former prime minister and current Speaker of the Senegalese National Assembly, Ousmane Sonko – caused another bombshell. Dismissed from his post as head of government at the end of May, Ousmane Sonko is one of the advocates of tightening the law on homosexuality, which he calls “Western tyranny”.

This spate of arrests coincided with another scandal. On 8 February, in the days following the first crackdown on the TV presenter Pape Cheikh Diallo, 14 Senegalese nationals were arrested in Dakar. They are suspected of acting as recruiters for the French pensioner Pierre Robert, who has been in custody in France since April 2025. The businessman from Picardy has been charged with “human trafficking, aggravated procuring and the rape of a 15-year-old minor”. He is alleged to be the ringleader of a vast paedophile network involving young Senegalese children, who were filmed, raped and deliberately infected by HIV-positive individuals.

Although these two cases are unrelated, as a judicial source told Le Monde, they have led, in public debate, to a conflation of homosexuality, child sexual abuse and health risks. On 30 March, the enactment of the anti-LGBT law finalised the process of ostracising homosexual people. The first sentence – six years’ imprisonment without parole – was handed down on 11 April to a labourer caught with another man in the suburbs of Dakar.Read also | In Senegal, state-sanctioned homophobia jeopardises the fight against AIDS

In Senegal, homosexuality has been punishable under the Criminal Code since 1966, six years after the country gained independence. Although this law has never actually been enforced, Latyr still had to grow up concealing his sexual orientation. For even before it is punished by the law, homosexuality is punished by society. Both at home and at work, Latyr has learnt not to react to homophobic remarks. When conversations flare up about the ongoing arrests, he remains silent. This discretion does not go unnoticed by some of his colleagues. “When you’re my age and in a stable situation, you’re viewed with suspicion,” he notes. “I know my colleagues are wondering, but I keep it under control.”

A devoted and hard-working son, Latyr lives with his parents, who, he believes, are unaware of his homosexuality, thanks to a double life that is perfectly airtight. There is the official one, which revolves around family, work and the mosque. And the other, clandestine one, lived out in ‘Dakar by night’ and the capital’s furnished flats.

“I’ve experienced great love affairs and great heartbreak,” he confides, visibly moved. “We used to spend time together with our mates.

The drinks would go on late, then it was time to go out dancing in straight clubs, though the majority of the crowd were gay. We partied like there was no tomorrow!” Before noting, bitterly: “All that’s over now. You’ll speak to a man in the morning, then find out in the evening that he’s been arrested.”

Blending into the norm

For a long time, Latyr ‘struggled’ against his homosexuality by drawing on his faith, Islam, which is the majority religion in Senegal. As a practising Muslim, he feels a certain sense of guilt about transgressing the prohibition, according to certain interpretations of the sacred texts. His paradoxical relationship with religion nevertheless helps him to cope with his inner turmoil. “

Ever since I was a kid, prayer has been a source of support. Every day, I ask God to set me on the right path. I beg him to forgive me, to accept my repentance, and to protect me from the ongoing persecution, he says. But sometimes I suffer so much that when I go out to meet a man, I pray that a car will run me over and put an end to it. ”

Like Latyr, everyone interviewed for this article says they have thought about taking their own lives, due to the pervasive homophobia and the overwhelming sense of guilt they feel. They all also describe having suffered physical or sexual abuse within their own families.

“When I was 13, my older brother took me out to sea to go fishing.After a while, he tied me up. He beat me up, saying it was to discipline me, otherwise I’d become a bad person”, says Ibou Gaye. The reason this man has agreed to give his real name is that he has now sought refuge in France, where Le Monde met him. In March, he had publicly come out as gay in a video interview for Brut Afrique.

Having settled in the Paris region since July 2024, following his marriage to a French researcher, he is speaking out openly about the “witch-hunt” currently taking place in his country of origin.

Coming from a line of traditional fishermen who have lived for generations in the town of Yoff, north-west of Dakar, Ibou Gaye stood out from those around him from a very early age. Until the end of his teenage years, he lived in a block of flats alongside his extended family – more than a hundred relatives, uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces. The young man was not immune to social scrutiny in the neighbourhood. “Unlike other gay men, I didn’t hide my mannerisms. I was nicknamed ‘Maniang Kassé’ [a transgender figure famous in Senegal since the early 2000s]. I had ‘my’ way of walking, and it even made some of my gay friends uncomfortable,” he explains proudly. “One of them said to me one day: ‘Look at the way you walk and the way you talk! The way you move your hands! It’s too camp, it puts you in danger!’”

Nevertheless, after his first love got married, Ibou Gaye eventually tried to blend in with the norm himself. For a few months, he swapped his fisherman’s sandals for trainers, as these gave him, according to a cousin, a more “masculine” gait ”. As the son of an imam, he regularly attended the local mosque, where he prayed in the hope of becoming heterosexual. His neighbours were surprised to see him wandering through the neighbourhood’s alleyways, rosary in hand. “I prayed constantly to change and to ask for forgiveness,” he recalls. “A friend had told me that by repeating certain phrases, I would wash away my sins.”

The “repentance”, as he calls it, came to an end after six months, when the young man was frightened by the prospect of a traditional family life: “Where I come from, a man gets married between the ages of 18 and 20. Around the age of 25, he takes a second wife so he can have mor children and retire at 35. I realised I didn’t want that sort of life.”

Ndongo (name changed), aged 38, also nearly gave in to a marriage of convenience.

This is known as a ‘lavender marriage’ , that is, a union between a man and a woman entered into to conceal the husband’s and/or wife’s homosexuality or bisexuality, and thus protect themselves from persecution. When we met Ndongo in early June at a large hotel in Dakar, he was recovering from a long period of overwork.

This craftsman, with broad shoulders and a zebiba (literally ‘raisin’ in Arabic) marked on his forehead – the mark left by prostrating oneself on the ground during Muslim prayer – approached with hesitant steps.

For venturing outside his routine of work and home – which he has stuck to for months – heightens his hypervigilance. “The pressure is too much”, he breathes. And that’s not just a figure of speech. “Recently, I had to go to the doctor because of the anxiety. My blood pressure was 18. I couldn’t even tell him the reasons for my condition because I don’t trust him,” continues Ndongo.If I get caught, it’s the end for me; my family will never accept it.”

Born in a town in northern Senegal, he was subjected to bullying and mockery from a very early age: “I’d rather hang out with the girls than play football with the boys. So they’d insult me, but I didn’t understand why.” His behaviour, unusual for a young boy in his community, unwittingly placed him under tacit surveillance.

One evening, whilst chatting by the river with a boy he was in love with, a friend of his brother’s caught him. On his return, Ndongo faced his older brother’s fury. In the years that followed, he tried to suppress his attraction to men. The reserved young man entered into a relationship with a woman.

But after six years together, on the eve of his wedding, he breaks it off and leaves his hometown for the capital. “I imagined the disastrous life I would lead and the ordeal I would put this woman through, who hadn’t asked for any of this. I couldn’t bear it and I left it all behind”, he explains.

“The moralisation of society”

In Dakar, Ndongo lives alone and discovers a vibrant, underground gay scene. Parties in private flats, amongst friends, away from prying eyes, allow him to form friendships and romantic relationships, though not without risk. For HIV is still circulating within Senegal’s LGBT+ community, despite the country’s success in combating and preventing the virus.

Ndongo eventually becomes infected, as do several of his friends. However, antiretroviral drugs have managed to make them “undetectable”.

Ndongo and his friends could, from then on, have led an “almost normal” life, which is now under threat from repression. “Now, many of us are afraid to go to the clinic or hospital. We wonder if we’ll be arrested, because we’re accused of spreading HIV”, says Ndongo, who has been able to rely on his doctor’s help. “We meet up somewhere in town and he gives me my medication.”

As he approaches his 40th birthday, Ndongo seems to have faced too many battles. Living his homosexuality with peace of mind has never been possible. But in recent months, as the country has been rocked by serious economic difficulties, he has seen society’s attitude become more extreme. In the land of teranga (‘hospitality’ in Wolof, one of the national languages), members of the LGBT+ community are, in his view, easy scapegoats. “In Senegal, homosexuality has been made out to be the greatest sin. Yet there are other offences that are just as serious. Among those who condemn us, how many place the word of their marabout above that of God? How many commit adultery or practise usury?

These are grave sins that have been normalised everywhere,” he protests.

In the same vein, he lambasts the idea that his homosexuality was “instilled” in him by the West, as politicians and activists suggest. “I grew up far from the capital and from white people until I was 30. How could they possibly have influenced me?”, asks Ndongo. “The people I saw as a child were the goor-jigéen.” A contraction of the Wolof terms goor(“man”) and jigéen (“woman”), the goor-jigéen—men dressed as women and sometimes homosexual—have long played a central role in festivities. As ‘ladies-in-waiting’ to the drianké – elegant, socially respected women – or as entertainers at traditional ceremonies, the goor-jigéen had a social role and status that did not provoke the same widespread rejection as it does today. ‘They were applauded at our ceremonies, recalls Ndongo. They entertained us with their mannerisms and didn’t shock anyone.’

The shift in attitudes occurred in the late 1990s, as sexual minorities in Europe and North America began to assert their rights. At the same time, homophobic rhetoric gained momentum in several African countries, both Muslim and Christian.

Organisations funded by the American evangelical Christian right emerged and also waged a crusade in the name of defending ‘African values’.

In Senegal, the opening up of the media to Muslim preachers around the year 2000 marked a turning point. “The liberalisation of the press has increased their visibility”, wrote researcher Ndèye Gning in 2013, in her thesis on male sexuality in Senegal. On the airwaves and screens of a country where survival is a daily struggle, these preachers spread an ultra-conservative and puritanical rhetoric that also targets women.

“Against this backdrop of the moralisation of Senegalese society, sexually and economically active women, as well as gay men, represent a threat to a masculinity struggling with significant difficulties – particularly economic ones – in maintaining its position,” analyses the academic, who recalls the Goudi Town affair. In 2007, the broadcast of a video showing Senegalese women competing in a leumbeul contest (an erotic dance performed by women during festivities), filmed in a nightclub in Dakar, led to the arrest of several dancers for “indecent exposure and offending public decency”.

In the early 2010s, the Jamra association, founded in 1983 to combat drug addiction, prostitution and HIV, took up the fight against what it considers to be an “LGBT lobby

”. Right up to the National Assembly: from 2016 to 2026, the religious NGO repeatedly tabled, through MPs sympathetic to its cause, draft bills to criminalise same-sex relationships. The passing of the law in March 2026 marked, for the organisation, a first victory.

“Homosexuality is a behavioural deviation, but it is not inevitable”, says Mame Makhtar Guèye, co-founder of Jamra, who was contacted for this article. Known for his scathing media outbursts, he sees himself as the country’s guardian of public morals by targeting audiovisual productions. In 2020, this former executive at the International Centre for Foreign Trade in Senegal had the series Réwolène taken off the air, in the name of child protection. “It was a piece of LGBT propaganda, featuring young actors wearing make-up and behaving in an effeminate manner”, he claimed in 2022, when contacted for an article in Le Monde on the anti-abortion movement in Senegal, Mame Makhtar Guèye’s other crusade.

As the instigator of the major anti-LGBT demonstration on 23 May 2021, which brought together several thousand people, he wants the government to go further by introducing “conversion therapies” in prisons, to “put an end to the impunity of LGBT networks ”. “For twenty years, we have seen a series of very serious incidents”, he argues. He cites, amongst other things, the arrest of two alleged homosexuals near the Grand Mosque in Dakar on 23 November 2020, who were reportedly caught in a suggestive position. “These blasphemers threaten public order. It is them we are fighting, not those who live out their inclinations in silence”, argues the activist with the deep voice, who has had close ties to political circles for some forty years.

Lesbians, the second target

Mame Makhtar Guèye, who in 2014 had stands promoting queer pride banned at the Dakar Biennale, has a new target. After reporting suspected gay men to the authorities in early March, he claims to have done the same for lesbians, who have so far been relatively spared from repression.

“Their turn will come within a few weeks,” he asserts, confidently. “I have handed over to the police a list of lesbians who are drug addicts, drug dealers and aggressive. They are bad role models for our girls.” ”

Anta (name changed), aged 23, has heard rumours of a “list” drawn up in her town, near Dakar. It is yet another source of anxiety for this lesbian woman caught between a homophobic climate and family pressure. Her father recently announced his forthcoming marriage to his cousin.

“He summoned me and made me sit in the living room, surrounded by my uncles. He said I was bringing shame on them,says Anta, her voice trembling. I’m standing up to him, but I know he won’t give up.

As far as he’s concerned, a woman’s place is by her husband’s side. Even though my cousin has been divorced twice and has three children, my family will sacrifice me so that people stop talking about us.”

In Year 5e, her first romance with a classmate ended when she moved away. Then, in her late teens, she met an older woman. “Back then, everyone knew she was a lesbian, but she lived in peace, alone in her flat”, recalls Anta. Her comings and goings at this woman’s home eventually alerted her relatives. An aunt caught her leaving the woman’s home and told her mother, who assaulted her: “She hit me, shouting that I had to be like other girls my age. That I must never see that woman again. She demanded that I give up my tracksuits and my short hair.” A fan of streetwear, she eventually adopted the conventions of Senegalese femininity. “I started wearing weaves and dresses. I even had a boyfriend. But I didn’t recognise myself. It was like living in disguise all the time. So I went back to being myself”, says the young woman, who now sports a layered short hairstyle.

Never before the crackdown had intensified had Anta felt so isolated. “My best friend accused me of only thinking of myself by continuing to look like a lesbian,” she laments.

“My sister, who used to support me before all this, now says out loud that she hopes lesbians will soon be arrested. She recently confiscated my phone to stop me from communicating. Today, I can’t see any other way out except to die or leave.” Like Ndongo and Latyr, Anta has taken steps to apply for asylum in France. But the chances of obtaining this precious ticket are slim, given the tightening of asylum rules in France and across Europe.

Yet none of the three are among those young Senegalese with no job prospects. All are professionally established. This is no coincidence, explains Ibou Gaye. “Some people think you become gay to get rich through prostitution. That’s absolutely false. We face severe discrimination, notes the trained chef. The only leverage we have with our families, to prevent them from completely rejecting us, is to provide for our loved ones. So many do everything they can to be financially beyond reproach.

Despite his professional situation, Latyr, for his part, cannot see himself thriving in Senegal. Whilst regretting having to leave his homeland, he hopes to continue his life abroad. During his long, sleepless nights, the fate of his imprisoned friends never ceases to torment him. “ What will become of them once they’re released? They won’t be able to get their lives back, nor reintegrate into society. Few will have the means to leave, he worries. I no longer recognise this Senegal. It’s no longer mine.”

A few days after sharing his story, Latyr was arrested. He faces up to ten years in prison.

« Si on m’attrape, c’est la fin pour moi » : au Sénégal, l’effroi quotidien des homosexuels sous le coup de la répression

Alors qu’en mars, une loi a durci les peines encourues pour relations homosexuelles, les Sénégalais LGBT+ vivent dans la peur. Sous le couvert de l’anonymat, plusieurs d’entre eux témoignent d’un quotidien très incertain, marqué par l’angoisse de l’arrestation.

« Je ne sais pas si vous me trouverez libre. Les gendarmes se rapprochent de moi. On ne peut pas fuir son destin », écrit Latyr (le prénom a été modifié), à la veille de notre entretien prévu à Dakar et dont les détails, comme ceux de nos autres rencontres, seront tus par mesure de sécurité. Les jours précédents, ce trentenaire avait pris l’habitude de confier ses inquiétudes face à la répression inédite menée à l’encontre des personnes LGBT+ au Sénégal.

Dès notre première prise de contact sur la messagerie chiffrée Signal, facilitée par un Sénégalais exilé en Europe, Latyr a voulu témoigner de son « calvaire », pour que le monde « sache ». Parler – sous anonymat – était aussi une façon de laisser une trace « au cas où » sa liberté lui serait confisquée. Car depuis le durcissement de la loi contre l’homosexualité voté en mars, les relations entre personnes de même sexe sont passibles de cinq à dix ans de prison au Sénégal, qui les considère comme des « actes contre nature », contre un à cinq ans auparavant.

Latyr pense son « tour arrivé » après l’interpellation de l’un de ses amis. Cette fois, il craint que les gendarmes ne remontent jusqu’à lui grâce à des messages à caractère sexuel échangés en 2025. Combien d’amis a-t-il perdus ? Latyr ne tient plus les comptes exacts. Sans doute une « dizaine » depuis février. Certains d’entre eux sont enfermés dans les prisons sénégalaises, d’autres ont fui en Gambie ou au Maroc.

Le mauvais pressentiment de Latyr ne se réalisera pas ce jour-là. Il réapparaît le lendemain, en ligne, toujours libre mais méfiant. Après sa journée de travail, il nous a donné rendez-vous dans l’appartement d’un ami, éloigné de Dakar. Posté en retrait dans le hall mal éclairé, Latyr se tient à bonne distance d’un groupe de résidents massés à l’entrée.

« Depuis mon enfance, je vis mon homosexualité discrètement, assure ce grand sportif, les traits tirés. J’ai de la chance, je ne suis pas efféminé. Personne ne peut se douter que je suis homosexuel car je ne laisse aucun geste au hasard. » Or, en ces temps troublés, maintenir ce masque social l’épuise. « En journée, j’ai constamment des céphalées et des palpitations. La nuit, je dors peu. J’ai perdu 5 kilos, poursuit-il d’une voix lasse. A chaque fois qu’une connaissance tombe, je me dis que je suis le prochain. Quand je rentre du travail, avant de monter chez moi, je vérifie qu’une voiture de gendarmes n’est pas postée devant. » Latyr reprend son souffle dans la pièce surchauffée. « Ma vie, hors du travail, se résume à scroller les infos, dans ma chambre. Je n’en sors que pour manger ou aller à la mosquée. »

Interpellations à la chaîne

S’il s’estime dans le collimateur des autorités, c’est en partie lié au mode opératoire des enquêteurs. Dans le cadre d’une vaste enquête visant des célébrités et des inconnus, les téléphones des suspects sont passés au peigne fin. Des messages écrits ou des vidéos peuvent suffire à provoquer une arrestation. Ainsi, plus d’une centaine d’homosexuels présumés ont été interpellés à Dakar et dans les grandes villes depuis le 4 février, la plupart accusés d’être intimement liés à Pape Cheikh Diallo, célèbre animateur télé et radio, placé en détention provisoire ce jour-là. Il est poursuivi pour les chefs d’« association de malfaiteurs, actes contre nature, transmission volontaire du VIH/sida par rapports sexuels non protégés, mise en danger de la vie d’autrui, blanchiment de capitaux et trafic de drogue ».

En mai, l’arrestation de Matar Ndiaga Seck, présenté par les médias nationaux comme un proche de l’ex-premier ministre et actuel président de l’Assemblée nationale sénégalaise, Ousmane Sonko, a provoqué un autre coup de tonnerre. Remercié de son poste de chef du gouvernement fin mai, Ousmane Sonko est l’un des défenseurs du durcissement de la loi sur l’homosexualité, qu’il appelle « tyrannie de l’Occident ».

Ces interpellations à la chaîne se sont télescopées avec un autre scandale. Le 8 février, dans les jours suivant le premier coup de filet contre l’animateur Pape Cheikh Diallo, 14 Sénégalais sont arrêtés à Dakar. Ils sont soupçonnés d’être les rabatteurs du retraité français Pierre Robert, en détention depuis le mois d’avril 2025 en France. L’homme d’affaires picard a été mis en examen pour « traite d’êtres humains, proxénétisme aggravé et viol sur mineur de 15 ans ». Il serait à la tête d’un vaste réseau pédocriminel impliquant de jeunes enfants sénégalais, filmés, violés et contaminés volontairement par des personnes séropositives.

Bien que ces deux affaires n’aient pas de lien entre elles, comme l’indique une source judiciaire au Monde, elles donnent lieu, dans le débat public, à un amalgame entre homosexualité, pédocriminalité et risques sanitaires. Le 30 mars, la promulgation de la loi anti-LGBT a fini d’acter le processus d’ostracisation des personnes homosexuelles. Une première condamnation à six ans de prison ferme à l’encontre d’un ouvrier, surpris avec un autre homme dans la banlieue de Dakar, est prononcée le 11 avril.

Au Sénégal, l’homosexualité est punie dans le code pénal dès 1966, six ans après la promulgation de l’indépendance du pays. Si cette loi n’a jamais réellement été appliquée, Latyr a tout de même dû grandir en camouflant son orientation sexuelle. Car avant d’être punie pénalement, l’homosexualité l’est socialement. A la maison comme au travail, Latyr a appris à ne pas réagir aux discours homophobes. Lorsque les conversations s’enflamment au sujet des arrestations en cours, il garde le silence. Une discrétion qui n’échappe pas à certains collègues. « Quand vous avez mon âge avec une situation stable, vous êtes suspect, note-t-il. Je sais que mes collègues se posent des questions, mais je garde le contrôle. »

Fils dévoué et travailleur, Latyr vit chez ses parents qui ignorent, selon lui, son homosexualité, grâce à une double vie parfaitement étanche. Il y a celle, officielle, qui se déroule entre la famille, le travail et la mosquée. Et l’autre, clandestine, vécue dans le « Dakar by night » et les appartements meublés de la capitale. « J’ai connu de grandes histoires d’amour et de grands chagrins, confie-t-il, ému. Avec les copains, on passait du temps ensemble. Les apéros finissaient tard, puis c’était l’heure de sortir danser dans des boîtes hétéros, mais où les homos étaient majoritaires. On faisait la fête comme pas possible ! » Avant de constater, amer : « Tout ça, c’est fini. Tu parles à un homme le matin, tu apprends le soir qu’il a été arrêté. »

Se fondre dans la norme

Longtemps, Latyr a « lutté » contre son homosexualité en puisant dans sa foi, l’islam, majoritaire au Sénégal. Musulman pratiquant, il éprouve une certaine culpabilité face à l’interdit qu’il transgresse, selon certaines interprétations des textes sacrés. Sa relation paradoxale avec la religion l’aide néanmoins à faire face à ses tourments. « Depuis gamin, la prière est un soutien. Tous les jours, je demande à Dieu de me mettre sur le droit chemin. Je supplie qu’il me pardonne, qu’il accepte mon repentir, et qu’il me protège contre la traque en cours, dit-il. Mais parfois, je souffre tellement que quand je sors pour rencontrer un homme, je prie pour qu’une voiture m’écrase et que j’en finisse. »

A l’instar de Latyr, toutes les personnes interviewées dans le cadre de cet article affirment avoir pensé à mettre fin à leurs jours, à cause de l’homophobie prégnante et du sentiment de culpabilité qui les accable. Toutes décrivent par ailleurs avoir subi des violences intrafamiliales physiques ou sexuelles.

« Quand j’avais 13 ans, mon grand frère m’a emmené en mer pour pêcher.Au bout d’un moment, il m’a ligoté. Il m’a tabassé en disant que c’était pour me corriger, sinon je deviendrais une mauvaise personne », raconte Ibou Gaye. Si cet homme accepte de donner son vrai nom, c’est parce qu’il s’est aujourd’hui réfugié en France, où Le Monde l’a rencontré. En mars, il avait publiquement révélé son homosexualité dans une interview vidéo pour Brut Afrique. Installé en région parisienne depuis juillet 2024, après son mariage avec un chercheur français, il alerte à visage découvert sur la « traque »en cours dans son pays d’origine.

Issu d’une lignée de pêcheurs traditionnels installée depuis des générations dans la commune de Yoff, au nord-ouest de Dakar, Ibou Gaye a très tôt dérangé son entourage. Jusqu’à la fin de l’adolescence, il vit dans un immeuble aux côtés de sa famille élargie – plus d’une centaine de parents, oncles, tantes, cousins, neveux et nièces. Le jeune homme n’échappe pas au contrôle social dans le quartier. « Contrairement à d’autres homosexuels, je ne cachais pas mes manières. On me surnommait “Maniang Kassé” [personnalité transgenre célèbre au Sénégal depuis le début des années 2000]. J’avais “ma” démarche et ça gênait même des amis gay », explique-t-il fièrement. « L’un d’eux m’a dit un jour : “Regarde comment tu marches et comment tu parles ! Comment tu bouges tes mains ! Ça fait trop pédé, ça te met en danger !” »

Pour autant, après le mariage de son premier amour, Ibou Gaye finit par tenter de se fondre, lui aussi, dans la norme. Durant quelques mois, il troque ses sandales de pêcheur contre des baskets, car elles lui confèrent, d’après un cousin, une démarche plus « masculine ». Fils d’imam, il fréquente assidûment la mosquée de secteur, où il prie dans l’espoir de devenir hétérosexuel. Ses voisins s’étonnent de le voir déambuler dans les ruelles du quartier, chapelet à la main. « Je priais sans cesse pour changer et demander pardon, se souvient-il. Un ami m’avait dit qu’en répétant certaines formules, je laverais mes péchés. »

Le « repentir », comme il l’appelle, prend fin au bout de six mois, lorsque le jeune homme s’effraie à la perspective d’une vie de famille traditionnelle : « Chez nous, un homme se marie entre 18 et 20 ans. Vers 25 ans, il prend une deuxième femme afin d’avoir plus d’enfants et de pouvoir prendre sa retraite à 35 ans. J’ai réalisé que je ne voulais pas de cette vie-là. »

Ndongo (le prénom a été modifié), 38 ans, a, lui aussi, failli céder au mariage de convenance. C’est le « mariage lavande » (ou lavender marriage), c’est-à-dire l’union d’un homme et d’une femme conclue pour dissimuler l’homosexualité ou la bisexualité de l’époux et/ou de l’épouse, et ainsi se protéger des persécutions. Lorsque nous rencontrons Ndongo, début juin, dans un grand hôtel de Dakar, il se remet d’une longue période de surmenage.

Cet artisan aux épaules larges et au front marqué d’une zebiba(littéralement « raisin sec » en arabe), le signe laissé par les prosternations au sol dans la prière musulmane, arrive d’un pas hésitant. Car s’aventurer hors de sa routine entre travail et maison, à laquelle il se tient depuis des mois, accroît son hypervigilance. « La pression est trop forte », souffle-t-il. Et ce n’est pas qu’une façon de parler. « Récemment, j’ai dû aller chez le médecin à cause de l’angoisse. Ma tension était à 18. Je ne pouvais même pas lui confier les raisons de mon état car je n’ai pas confiance, poursuit Ndongo. Si on m’attrape, c’est la fin pour moi, ma famille ne l’acceptera jamais. »

Né dans une commune du nord du Sénégal, il fait très tôt l’objet de brimades et de moqueries : « Je préférais rester avec les filles que jouer au foot avec les garçons. Alors ils m’insultaient, mais je ne comprenais pas. » Son comportement, inhabituel pour un garçonnet dans son milieu, le place malgré lui sous une surveillance tacite.

Un soir, alors qu’il converse au bord du fleuve avec un garçon dont il est épris, un ami de son frère le surprend. A son retour, Ndongo subit la fureur de son aîné. Les années qui suivent, il tente de réprimer son attirance pour les hommes. Le jeune homme réservé se met en couple avec une femme. Mais au bout de six ans de relation, à la veille de son mariage, il rompt et quitte sa ville pour la capitale. « J’ai imaginé la vie désastreuse que je mènerais et le calvaire que je ferais vivre à cette femme qui n’a rien demandé. Je n’ai pas supporté et j’ai tout quitté », explique-t-il.

« Moralisation de la société »

A Dakar, Ndongo vit seul, découvre un milieu gay clandestin et animé. Les soirées dans des appartements, en entre-soi, à l’abri des regards, lui permettent de nouer des relations amicales et amoureuses, non sans risques. Car le VIH circule toujours dans la communauté LGBT+ sénégalaise, en dépit des bons résultats du pays en matière de lutte et de prévention contre le virus. Ndongo finit par être contaminé, comme plusieurs de ses amis. Des antirétroviraux sont toutefois parvenus à les rendre « indétectables ».

Ndongo et ses amis auraient pu, dès lors, mener une vie « presque normale », aujourd’hui menacée par la répression. « Maintenant, beaucoup d’entre nous ont peur d’aller à la clinique ou à l’hôpital. Nous nous demandons si nous serons arrêtés, car on nous accuse de transmettre le VIH », raconte Ndongo, qui a pu compter sur l’aide de son médecin. « On se donne rendez-vous quelque part en ville et il me remet mon traitement. »

A l’aube de ses 40 ans, Ndongo semble avoir affronté trop de combats. Vivre son homosexualité en toute sérénité n’a jamais été possible. Mais ces derniers mois, alors que le pays est secoué par de sérieuses difficultés économiques, il a vu le regard de la société se radicaliser. Au pays de la teranga (« hospitalité » en wolof, l’une des langues nationales), les membres de la communauté LGBT+ sont, selon lui, des boucs émissaires tout trouvés. « Au Sénégal, on a fait de l’homosexualité le plus grand péché. Pourtant, il existe d’autres fautes tout aussi graves. Parmi ceux qui nous condamnent, combien sont-ils à placer la parole de leur marabout au-dessus de celle de Dieu ? Combien pratiquent l’adultère ou l’usure ? Ce sont de grands péchés qu’on a normalisés partout », s’insurge-t-il.

Sur le même ton, il fustige l’idée selon laquelle son homosexualité lui aurait été « inoculée » par l’Occident, comme le laissent entendre les politiciens et activistes. « J’ai grandi loin de la capitale et des Blancs jusqu’à mes 30 ans. Comment auraient-ils pu m’influencer ?, s’interroge Ndongo. Ceux que je voyais enfant, c’étaient les goor-jigéen. » Contraction des termes wolof goor (« homme ») et jigéen (« femme »), les goor-jigéen, hommes travestis en femmes et parfois homosexuels, ont longtemps occupé une place centrale dans les festivités. « Dames de compagnie » des drianké – femmes élégantes et respectées socialement – ou amuseurs publics lors des cérémonies traditionnelles, les goor-jigéen avaient une place et une fonction sociale qui ne provoquait pas de rejet aussi massif qu’aujourd’hui. « Ils étaient applaudis dans nos cérémonies, se souvient Ndongo. Ils nous divertissaient avec leurs manières et ne choquaient personne. »

Le changement de regard intervient à la fin des années 1990, à mesure qu’en Europe et en Amérique du Nord, les minorités sexuelles revendiquent leurs droits. Parallèlement, le discours homophobeprend de l’ampleur dans plusieurs pays africains, musulmans et chrétiens. Des organisations financées par la droite chrétienne évangélique américaine voient le jour et mènent également une croisade au nom de la défense des « valeurs africaines ».

Au Sénégal, l’ouverture de l’espace médiatique aux prêcheurs musulmans, autour des années 2000, marque un tournant. « La libéralisation de la presse a accru leur visibilité », écrivait, en 2013, la chercheuse Ndèye Gning, dans sa thèse consacrée aux sexualités entre hommes au Sénégal. Sur les ondes et les écrans d’un pays où la survie est un enjeu quotidien, ces prédicateurs propagent une rhétorique ultraconservatrice et puritaine, qui vise également les femmes.

« Dans ce contexte de moralisation de la société sénégalaise, la femme active (sur le plan sexuel et économique) de même que l’homosexuel représentent une menace face à une masculinité aux prises avec d’importantes difficultés (notamment économiques) pour se maintenir », analyse l’universitaire, qui rappelle l’affaire Goudi Town. En 2007, la diffusion d’une vidéo de Sénégalaises s’affrontant dans un concours de leumbeul (une danse érotique pratiquée par les femmes lors de festivités), filmée dans une boîte de nuit de Dakar, avait provoqué l’arrestation de plusieurs danseuses pour « attentat à la pudeur et outrage aux bonnes mœurs ».

Au début des années 2010, l’association Jamra, fondée en 1983 pour lutter contre la toxicomanie, la prostitution et le VIH, s’empare du combat contre ce qu’elle estime être un « lobby LGBT ». Jusqu’à l’Assemblée : de 2016 à 2026, l’ONG religieuse fait porter à répétition, par le biais de députés acquis à la cause, des projets de loi pour criminaliser les relations entre personnes de même sexe. L’adoption de la loi de mars 2026 constitue, pour elle, une première victoire.

« L’homosexualité est une déviance comportementale, mais ce n’est pas une fatalité », juge Mame Makhtar Guèye, cofondateur de Jamra, contacté dans le cadre de cet article. Connu pour ses sorties médiatiques virulentes, il se veut le gendarme des bonnes mœurs du pays en s’attaquant aux productions audiovisuelles. En 2020, cet ancien cadre du Centre international du commerce extérieur du Sénégal fait retirer la série Réwolène, au nom de la protection des enfants. « C’était une œuvre de propagande LGBT, avec des jeunes acteurs qui se maquillent et ont des manières efféminées », soutenait-il en 2022, contacté pour un article du Monde autour du mouvement anti-IVG au Sénégal, l’autre croisade de Mame Makhtar Guèye.

Instigateur de la grande manifestation anti-LGBT du 23 mai 2021 qui a réuni plusieurs milliers de personnes, il souhaite que le gouvernement aille plus loin en instaurant des « thérapies de conversion » dans les prisons, pour « mettre fin à l’impunité des réseaux LGBT ». « Depuis vingt ans, nous avons eu une série de faits très graves », avance-t-il. Il cite, entre autres, l’arrestation de deux homosexuels présumés dans le secteur de la grande mosquée de Dakar, le 23 novembre 2020, qui auraient été surpris dans une position suggestive. « Ces blasphémateurs menacent l’ordre public. Ce sont eux que nous combattons, pas ceux qui vivent leurs penchants en silence », défend l’activiste à la voix caverneuse, proche des milieux politiques depuis une quarantaine d’années.

Les lesbiennes, deuxième cible

Mame Makhtar Guèye, qui a fait interdire, en 2014, des stands prônant la fierté queer lors de la Biennale de Dakar, a une nouvelle cible. Après avoir signalé aux autorités, début mars, des homosexuels présumés, il affirme avoir fait de même pour des lesbiennes, jusqu’ici relativement épargnées par la répression. « Leur tour arrivera d’ici à quelques semaines, assure-t-il, confiant. J’ai remis aux autorités policières une liste de lesbiennes toxicomanes, trafiquantes de drogue et agressives. Ce sont des contre-modèles pour nos filles. »

Anta (le prénom a été modifié), 23 ans, a eu vent d’une « liste » établie dans sa commune, près de Dakar. Une angoisse de plus pour cette femme lesbienne prise en étau entre le climat homophobe et la pression familiale. Son père lui a récemment annoncé son mariage à venir, avec son cousin. « Il m’a convoquée et m’a assise dans le salon, au milieu de mes oncles. Il a dit que je leur faisais honte, lâche Anta, la voix tremblante. Je lui tiens tête, mais je sais qu’il ne renoncera pas. Pour lui, la place d’une femme, c’est auprès de son mari. Même si mon cousin a divorcé deux fois et qu’il a trois enfants, ma famille me sacrifiera pour que les gens arrêtent de parler de nous. »

En classe de 5e, sa première histoire d’amour avec une camarade s’achève par un déménagement. Puis, à la fin de l’adolescence, elle rencontre une femme plus âgée. « A l’époque, tout le monde savait qu’elle était lesbienne, mais elle vivait en paix, seule dans son appartement », se souvient Anta. Ses allées et venues chez cette femme finissent par alerter ses proches. Une tante la surprend quittant son domicile et prévient sa mère, qui la violente : « Elle m’a frappée en criant que je devais être comme les autres filles de mon âge. Que je ne devais plus revoir cette femme. Elle a exigé que j’abandonne mes joggings et mes cheveux courts. » Fan de streetwear, elle finit par adopter les codes de la féminité sénégalaise. « J’ai commencé à porter des tissages et des robes. J’ai même eu un petit copain. Mais je ne me reconnaissais pas. C’était comme vivre déguisée tout le temps. Alors je suis revenue à moi », affirme la jeune femme, qui arbore désormais un dégradé sur cheveux courts.

Jamais, avant l’intensification de la répression, Anta ne s’était sentie si isolée. « Ma meilleure amie m’a reproché de ne penser qu’à moi en continuant à ressembler à une lesbienne, se désole-t-elle. Ma sœur, qui me soutenait avant tout ça, dit à voix haute qu’elle espère que les lesbiennes seront bientôt arrêtées. Elle m’a récemment confisqué mon téléphone pour m’empêcher de communiquer. Aujourd’hui, je ne vois pas d’autres issues que de mourir ou de partir. » A l’instar de Ndongo et Latyr, Anta a entrepris des démarches pour demander l’asile en France. Mais les chances d’obtenir le précieux sésame s’avèrent minces au vu du raidissement des règles d’accès à l’asile en France et dans toute l’Europe.

Pourtant, tous les trois ne font pas partie des jeunes Sénégalais sans perspectives d’emploi. Tous sont professionnellement établis. Un fait qui n’est pas une coïncidence, explique Ibou Gaye. « Certains pensent qu’on devient homo pour devenir riche en se prostituant. C’est absolument faux. La discrimination nous frappe fort, constate ce cuisinier de formation. Le seul pouvoir qu’on a face à nos familles, pour qu’elles ne nous rejettent pas totalement, c’est de subvenir aux besoins de nos proches. Donc beaucoup font tout pour être irréprochables financièrement. »

En dépit de sa situation professionnelle, Latyr, lui, ne se voit pas s’épanouir au Sénégal. Tout en regrettant de devoir quitter sa terre natale, il espère poursuivre sa vie à l’étranger. Durant ses longues nuits sans sommeil, le sort de ses amis emprisonnés n’a de cesse de le tourmenter. « Que vont-ils devenir une fois relâchés ? Ils ne pourront pas retrouver leur vie, ni réintégrer la société. Peu auront les moyens de partir, s’inquiète-t-il. Je ne reconnais plus ce Sénégal. Il n’est plus le mien désormais. »

Quelques jours après avoir livré son histoire, Latyr a été arrêté. Il encourt jusqu’à dix ans de prison.

US: Ohio bill could increase prison sentences for people living with HIV

Advocates say Ohio bill would unjustly penalize people living with HIV

Andy’s Law is meant to make work safer for correctional officers, but it could have other severe consequences.

HIV education and prevention advocates are calling for changes to a bill designed to increase safety for Ohio corrections officers but that also has the potential to unjustly increase prison sentences for people living with HIV.

HB 338 would enact Andy’s Law, a set of provisions that increase penalties for crimes committed against correctional officers. One section of the proposed law would add a mandatory prison sentence of seven years to the crime of felonious assault and a mandatory prison sentence of at least three years to the crime of harassment with a bodily substance.

Contained within the crimes of “felonious assault” and “harassment with a bodily substance” are two of the six laws in Ohio that criminalize certain acts – including sex – for people living with HIV, or that substantially increase penalties for them compared to people who do not have the virus. These laws impose stiff penalties – regardless of whether the virus is or can be transmitted. In some situations, the law also requires sex offender registration.

Additionally, HB 338 would change policies and procedures with the intention of increasing “good behavior” of inmates, including banning educational opportunities and tablet use and limiting visitation rights to those in high-security facilities.

The bill is named after corrections officer Andrew Lansing, who was killed by an inmate at Ross Correctional Institution on Christmas Day 2024. The bill passed the Ohio House in November with bipartisan support – only three Democrats voted against it – and has had three hearings in the Senate Judiciary Committee, most recently on June 10. 

Advocates say the two new mandatory penalties created by Andy’s Law would create serious unintended consequences for Ohioans living with HIV. 

According to a 2024 study released by OHMM and the Equality Ohio Education Fund, from 2014 to 2020, there were at least 214 confirmed HIV-related prosecutions in Ohio, of which over half (120 cases) came from the state’s “harassment with a bodily substance” law and about a third (77 cases) came under Ohio’s felonious assault law. The remainder (17 cases) were related to sex work. 

Additionally, the research shows that Ohio’s HIV criminalization laws disproportionately impact Black communities, with at least 36% of defendants identifying as Black. Statewide, 29% of all defendants (62 people) were Black men.

“HB 338 seeks to improve correctional facility safety for officers and staff; however, it also sweeps in and increases penalties for two of the six HIV statutes which the Ohio Health Modernization Movement (OHMM) has targeted in recent years,” said Josh Meek, OHMM Steering Committee Member.

At the June 10 hearing, advocates urged lawmakers to reconsider parts of the bill that would increase sentences of prisoners living with HIV who cannot transmit the virus, but would be sentenced as if they could. 

Adam Reilly, associate director of prevention at Caracole — a Cincinnati-based non-profit dedicated to ending the HIV epidemic  — explained that the six laws on the books that unfairly target people living with HIV were written before current HIV treatment advances and medical understanding. The laws are focused on whether an Ohioan living with HIV has disclosed their HIV status to their sexual partners, regardless of whether they can transmit the virus. 

“According to the CDC [Centers for Disease Control], a person living with HIV who is on treatment and maintains an undetectable viral load has zero risk of transmitting HIV to their sexual partners,” Reilly testified. “That means, under current law, if you’re living with HIV, you can get a second-degree felony for consensual sex that involves zero risk of transmitting HIV.”

In his testimony, Meek highlighted the same issue with harassment with a bodily substance: that actions are criminalized where transmission is not even possible.

“We believe this sentencing is disproportionate to the alleged harm, especially since in some circumstances there is no risk of HIV being transmitted,” he submitted in written testimony. 

Meek told The Buckeye Flame that the over 80 opponent or interested-party testimonies submitted for the June 10 hearing was an indication that “there is still much work to be done.” He said there is hope that the Judiciary Committee excludes the HIV-related statutes – felonious assault from failure to disclose HIV status and harassment with a bodily fluid – from the mandatory sentencing.

“Since HB 338 didn’t pass before the summer recess, it seems the legislature has decided to take additional time to review the bill, which is a good indicator of the possibility that these changes will be included,” Meek said. 

The Buckeye Flame reached out to Judiciary Committee Chair Nathan Manning and the bill’s primary sponsors, Reps. Mark Johnson and Phil Plummer, for comment, but no response was received before this publication date.