Coming out can carry devastating consequences in Ethiopia, but ‘coming in’ offers an alternative path to solace and solidarity in a society that remains deeply hostile to the LGBTQ+ community.
by Beza Lealem
Coming out is often described as a personal journey — a gradual process rather than a single moment, and with no right or wrong time. Yet despite this nuanced understanding, there is an unspoken assumption in the West that once a person has reached a place of self-clarity, the natural next step is to share that truth publicly.
For many in Ethiopia, coming out as LGBTQ+ is not so much an act of self-expression as a careful calculation of the trade-off between authenticity and safety. “Coming out for us, most of the time, is not a choice,” Faris Cuchi Gezahegn told the BBC when asked about the topic two years ago. Their words still resonate across the community today.
An Ethiopia-born co-founder of advocacy group House of Guramayle (HoG), Gezahegn began their journey long before coming out in public — first as gay, then as a femme non-binary person, and later as a queer person.
“Coming out is, first and foremost, a coming out to the self,” Gezahegn explained during a TikTok Live discussion in October organised by HoG marking National Coming Out Day. For them, coming out is not a one-off event but a continuous process through which an individual asserts bodily autonomy and gradually gives language to their identity over time.
Gezahegn refers to this as ‘coming in’, a primarily inward-looking process that only invites in selected individuals who have proved themselves trustworthy.
Weighing up the risks of coming out
National Coming Out Day was first celebrated on 11 October 1988 in the United States, founded by psychologist Robert Eichberg and lesbian activist Jean O’Leary. Born out of the gay liberation and feminist movements, the day was created to break the silence around gay identities and to highlight the fact that homophobia and prejudice thrive in an environment of invisibility and ignorance. The annual observance was later adopted in other countries.
For some, National Coming Out Day is a chance to celebrate visibility, courage and self-recognition. For others, it is a reminder of the obstacles that make coming out so difficult.
In countries where LGBTQ+ people are criminalised or severely stigmatised, the call to “come out” can feel like an impossible demand. But even this agonising choice between truth and security is not afforded to all. Many are outed against their will through rumours, blackmail, or online targeting, often with devastating consequences as families shun them, communities cast them out and employers strip them of their livelihoods.
In Ethiopia, consensual same-sex acts remain punishable by up to 15 years in prison in cases deemed ‘grave’ by the authorities. There are no legal protections against discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation or gender identity. Asserting an LGBTQ+ identity is not only discouraged; hostility towards those who do so is actively encouraged.
From schools to pulpits, and politicians to loved ones, the message is clear: being LGBTQ+ is shameful, sinful, foreign, unspeakable or even inconceivable. The consequence is hate-fuelled harassment and social media campaigns that often go viral, spilling over into real-world violence. Rights groups and journalists, including Fatteh Magazine, regularly document such attacks.
The intimidating environment forces many to lead double lives: a public identity for self-preservation and a private one for self-affirmation. Even for LGBTQ+ Ethiopians abroad, coming out can be complicated. Some fear that visibility might endanger family members back home, while others use it to amplify silenced voices within their community. For those who do come out, it can sometimes feel like a double-edged sword, as much a burden as a privilege.
Recognising the rewards of ‘coming in’
Against this challenging backdrop, Gezahegn’s concept of ‘coming in’ struck a chord with Ethiopian participants in the HoG’s recent TikTok session. In communities where the risks of visibility are so high, it is often unrealistic to expect LGBTQ+ people to disclose their identities. Focussing instead on the internal journey towards self-acceptance allows individuals to honour who they are while navigating cultural, familial and legal realities that make coming out dangerous.
The first step in the ‘coming in’ process is to acknowledge this aspect of your identity and to declare it with courage, conviction and compassion to yourself. Saying it aloud — always in private and with no risk of being heard — can help bring you closer to the unconditional acceptance of your sexual orientation or gender identity. The rewards of this process differ for everyone and often come gradually but, for many, they include greater self-confidence and self-worth and a growing sense of inner peace.
After finding solace, some seek solidarity. The next step, which requires caution and patience, is turning to the resilient, often invisible, networks that LGBTQ+ Ethiopians have already built. These chosen families — friends bound by trust, affection and necessity — become the primary source of support. This is where ‘coming in’ becomes a social reality, where people confide in each other, recognising one another’s identities, affirming their dignity and healing the wounds left by stigma.
These networks take many forms: shared meals behind closed curtains, coded Telegram groups, whispered laughter in safe rooms and relationships that step in where family support has been withdrawn. Quiet solidarity becomes a vital source of strength. “It’s how we survive,” said one gay Ethiopian man in his thirties at a community outreach event last year. “We take care of each other, celebrate together, grieve together.”
Coming out should never be compulsory. Nor should silence be taken as a sign of shame. Even in environments where safety is not an issue, deciding when, how, or whether to disclose one’s identity is an act of self-determination.
Choosing not to come out does not mean abandoning hope. Societal change often begins quietly. Parades and headlines are rarely themselves the start of transformation. Change begins in small, determined acts of connection and care. The future of LGBTQ+ life in Ethiopia hinges on solidarity within the community and among allies prepared to stand alongside them in the work of supporting one another. Togetherness nurtures the courage to be true to ourselves and the strength to refuse to internalise society’s condemnation.
Even hope itself is a form of resistance. The prospect of Ethiopia openly celebrating National Coming Out Day may feel far off or even farfetched, but it is not unimaginable. Hope for such monumental change is sustained by hope in the more modest signs of progress in daily life.
Whether you decide to come out, come in, or remain silent for your own safety, you are valid, valued and you belong.