July 14 is International Non-Binary People’s Day, and to mark it we spoke to Wednesday, a non-binary person in the Micro Rainbow community. Wednesday is 29 and from a small village in Pakistan. Pakistan imposes the death penalty for LGBT people, and Wednesday faced constant harassment and violence growing up from their family and community. They came to the UK in 2024 in pursuit of safety and freedom to live to their life openly. Read their story:
Wednesday’s story
In Pakistan, I felt like something was wrong inside of me. Growing up, I always took an interest in girl things. When I was alone at home, I would try on my sisters’ dresses and some makeup. But my whole life there, I faced discrimination, hate and abuse, because people always said I walk and talk like a girl, and have feminine behaviours.
Back home, I was allowed to go to school, go to college and go to university, but otherwise I was not allowed to go outside, I had to stay in the home. I was not allowed to attend marriages; I was not allowed to have friends or see them. My whole life was stressful. The worst treatment was from my brothers. They said my existence was an embarrassment to them in the community; they beat me constantly.
At school, at home, in the village, I was constantly judged, called names and abused for the way I am. I tried for the longest time to hide my feelings inside, to be a normal straight man, wear shalwar kameez. But everyone knew I was different, and there is no space for difference in Pakistan. If you are different, you are the property of everyone.
Reaching adulthood and university
Eventually, I went away to university, and on one of my very first days there, I was called morat by a classmate. Morat means not man, not woman. It means the same in Pashto and Urdu. It means ‘in between’, a trans person.
In my first year, I was kidnapped when I was travelling to university in the morning. No one knew where I was taken. After two weeks, I was found in Karachi. My father told the police, but my brothers stopped me from speaking to them, and then they had to close the case. After that I never wanted to go back to university because I was very scared but my family forced me to go.
Later, my brother’s father in law and his four sons beat me with guns until I was unconscious. I was sent to the hospital and I was admitted for 15 days . My whole face, my eyes and my shoulders were injured. Again, my brother forced me so say nothing to the doctors and I was scared.
After that, my mother forced my father to try and do something to save me. They started to work to get me out of the country, because in Pakistan we knew that every single city is very dangerous for someone like me. They both knew I wasn’t safe from my brothers or cousins either.
Getting to the UK
Eventually, I got a student visa and travelled to the UK to attend London South Bank University. I was still being as discreet as possible, but there were also other Pakistani people in my class, other South Asian people. I faced the same discrimination. When they saw me, their expressions changed, they laughed, they would get up and move if I sat down next to them.
It was very stressful for me. I was shocked that I was facing the same things here in the UK. It really affected my mental health. I tried to continue my studies, but things were getting worse. My stress and anxiety meant I was missing a lot of classes, and because of my low attendance, my university withdrew my enrolment.
Finding support and community
I found Micro Rainbow just by searching for help and support on google. I sent an email and joined a Social Inclusion event. I have taken part in the Trans Zine of Knowledge project, and found friends and community through this. Micro Rainbow helped me a lot.
I now live in Oxford, and even though it takes a long time to get to east London from there, I love to visit because Micro Rainbow changed my life. It gave me a new life. Everything is new for me, but it’s a wonderful life. I wanted to live this life forever.
Exploring freedom and identity
Living in Oxford, I feel free. I’m open, gay, non-binary. Everyone here knows that. I am accepting myself, so I can now proudly introduce myself with my identity. The very first time I introduced myself with my original, real identity, everyone could see the smile on my face. I never felt that relaxed or safe back home.
I also have a boyfriend. He is a gay refugee from Iran, and this year we attended Oxford Pride together. We danced, we held hands, we even kissed. I feel like this is the life I wanted.
The future
I am still waiting for my refugee status. I had my interview, but the interviewer didn’t believe me. I submitted my medical record and everything. I showed the scars from the beatings from my brothers. But it wasn’t believed – they said I should be sent back. I was shocked. I had already spent 27 years in hell, and they want to send me back for more hell, to be killed.
They said I didn’t have enough evidence of being LGBT in Pakistan. But in Pakistan I had to be discreet. I lived no life in Pakistan. It was too dangerous. I get very stressed when I think about being sent back. I can’t live that life again, never ever.
In the UK, I have my identity, I have my partner. I am safe. But I can never go back. Despite everything, I have decided to live life happy.
*Pseudonyms and stock images are used in this article to protect the identity of the people we work with.
