“We should round up all the gays and send them to Uganda to be shot!”

This was a friend of mine speaking, an educated entrepreneur in his 30s, a devout Christian from Nigeria. A homophobe.

We need to protect the children, families and the culture of Nigeria, he continued. Handing out the harshest punishments to homosexuals, he said, would be an important deterrent to the younger generation.

My friend is not alone in his views. These opinions are sadly common not only in Nigeria, but also in the rest of Africa. Having spent most of my career there, I’ve noticed an increasing homophobia on the continent.

Almost 2.8 billion people live in countries where identifying as lesbian, gay, transgender, bisexual and intersex could lead to imprisonment, corporal punishment or even death.

I had read about homophobia, heard opinions like those of my friend’s that are shocking and far too familiar. But rarely had I come across work that captured the feelings and voices of the persecuted.

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For this project, I wanted to give those individuals a chance to say what they wanted to say, and be seen how they wanted to be seen, by collaborating with them in their portrait’s creation and allowing them to write their own stories. The results were often unexpected, insightful and almost always deeply moving.

The project took me to seven countries where persecution of L.G.B.T.I. people is widespread, and in each place local activists introduced me to the survivors of discrimination.

Shooting with a large camera and using Polaroid-type film, I gave my subjects, many of whom were scared of being identified, the right to destroy the photo if they thought it threatened their safety.

Letting them have the power over the process not only made them feel more secure, but it also changed our relationship.

I traveled first to Nigeria, where last year in the north of the country I talked to five young men in hiding.

Because they were gay, they had been arrested and faced the death penalty. The cases were dismissed, but not before the men were flogged.

They hid because their families had rejected them, and their community, disappointed with the verdict, was ready to hand out the punishment that it felt the court neglected to provide.

Hearing of the arrest and torture was harrowing. But what really broke my heart was the evident pain the men felt from being ostracized by their families. One of them recalled a moment after his prison stay, when he was too ill to move, that a family member said to him: “God should take your life so we will have peace. You have caused so much dishonor.”

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Each also shared stories of the relentless discrimination they had faced all their lives.

Jessie’s story was equally moving.

Jessie is a transgender woman from a Palestinian refugee camp in Lebanon (Slide 19). Because of the way she identifies, she has been attacked and raped, and members of her family have made several attempts on her life. I wanted to make a portrait reflecting her story of tragedy and adversity.

When I asked how she’d like to have her picture taken, she struck a series of seductive poses. It was not how I imagined I would photograph her.

After the shoot, we talked about the many struggles she had faced.

“I understand you identify as a woman, but why not just pretend to be a boy, wouldn’t it just be easier?” I asked.

She looked at me in shock, and fixed her dark eyes on mine.

“I was born this way,” she said, “and I will die this way!”

I now understood how important Jessie’s identity, and its accurate representation, was to her. She posed the way she felt — as a sexy young woman.

One of the most beautiful experiences was with D. and O. from St. Petersburg, Russia (Slide 2).

Attacked in the street because they had been holding hands, they wrote of their experience together, with O. writing the final paragraph:

“After the attack, I felt even more strongly how dear D is to me, and how scary the thought was that I could lose her. The worst thing that I felt was an absolute inability to protect the one I loved, or even myself. Yes, now I look back on the street and look at every passing male as a possible source of danger. I realized that there are defective people who can pounce on us just because we are lesbians. But every time, now when I’m in the street, when I take her by the hand, I do it consciously, it is my choice. D, hold my hand, this is my reward for your courage.”

I always want my work to have an impact, I want it to count, I want it to make a difference for the people whose stories I was helping to tell.

Working with volunteers, I created the nonprofit Witness Change to help in particular the groups I had worked with in Nigeria, Uganda and South Africa. The goal is to expand their assistance to those people arrested, homeless, beaten and neglected because of who they are.

Raising money is one goal. The other is born out of the belief that bigotry thrives in environments where those discriminated against are denied the right to speak out against the injustices they face. We needed to have these people seen and their stories heard. We created whereloveisillegal.com to share the stories I’ve documented and to encourage others to share their stories of persecution and survival.

Within three months @whereloveisillegal had 100,000 followers on Instagram. The stories continue to spread throughout the world and are already making change a reality.

Three weeks ago I found out four more young men were in prison in northern Nigeria, awaiting trial because they had been caught having sex. They faced 14 years in prison.

We posted a request for help on @whereloveisillegal. Within 24 hours, we had raised enough money to post bail and secure legal representation. A few days later they were free.

As delighted as we were to have been able to make a change for these men, I know the need is great.

Wonderful gains in equality have been seen in some parts of the world, but persecution persists. It is my hope that bringing these survivors and their stories from out of the shadows can be a step toward a world where one day, who you love cannot be considered a crime.



Robin Hammond has documented human rights and development issues around the world through long term photographic projects. He has won numerous awards including a World Press Photo prize, the RF Kennedy Journalism Award, the W.Eugene Smith Award for Humanistic Photography, and four Amnesty International awards for Human Rights journalism. His latest work “Where Love Is Illegal”, has become a social media campaign that shares stories of discrimination against LGBT individuals. Mr. Hammond is also the founder of Witness Change, a non-profit organization dedicated to advancing human rights through visual story telling.

Follow @RobinNHammond, @nytimesphoto on Twitter. Lens is also on Facebook and Instagram.