We helped Nodir and Bilol build a new life
London, UK – 5 August 2026
In Uzbekistan, love between two men is not only condemned, but it is also criminalised. Under the country’s Criminal Code, same-sex relations are punishable by up to three years in prison. But behind the law lies something even darker: in police stations, LGBT+ people are tortured; in prisons, they are raped, humiliated, and sometimes killed. Outside prison walls, families and neighbours act as enforcers of this hatred, with rumours spreading like wildfire. In a society where homosexuality is branded as sin, shame, and dishonour, often punishable by death at the hands of one’s own relatives, it is referred to as “honour killing.”
This is Nodir and Bilol story in their own words:
We first met in 2020, when Nodir was a patient during the COVID pandemic & Bilol was working as a nurse. What began as a conversation grew into a fragile but precious love. “It just felt right,” recalls Nodir.
But in Uzbekistan, even private happiness feels like living under a shadow. At any moment, being exposed could mean imprisonment, beatings or worse for us.
In 2022, that shadow fell over us. Bilol’s stepfather discovered messages on his phone & reacted with rage. He beat Bilol so violently that his head was bleeding. When Nodir rushed to help, he found Bilol crying, terrified & begging to be taken away. We were unsure what to do next. Luckily, Nodir’s parents allowed Bilol to stay, believing he was simply a friend in trouble, but our secret was already out.
Soon afterwards, Bilol’s stepfather pretended that he wanted reconciliation. We were lured to his house, but instead of forgiveness, it was a trap.“As soon as we entered, three men rushed out,” says Nodir. “They locked the door, grabbed us & started beating us. They broke my teeth with their fists. They took our SIM cards & kept us without food or water for three days. We were so desperate that we drank water from the fish aquarium.”
We felt hopeless & did not know what to do. Were we going to be left there to starve? Finally, we managed to attract the attention of the neighbours, who called the police. When the police arrived, Bilol’s stepfather denounced us as gay. The police responded coldly: “Then they must be arrested.”
At that moment, we realised that we were trapped between our families, our community & the state. Nowhere was safe. While the police & Bilol’s stepfather were discussing what to do with us, we managed to escape into the night. With the help of a sympathetic neighbour, we fled our hometown & travelled to the capital, Tashkent.
For six months, we hid in Tashkent, taking whatever renovation work we could find & never knowing who might betray us. “Every knock at the door felt like death coming,” recalls Nodir. “We were constantly looking over our shoulders. We lived like shadows, in fear for our lives.”
In early 2023, Nodir’s mother called him, begging him to come home. She told him: “Why aren’t you coming? You will be safe here.” Nodir missed his family & especially his mother, so it was difficult to resist. What we did not know was that she had been forced to lure us back. When we returned, it was yet another trap.
“They were waiting for us,” says Nodir. “They beat us until I thought we would die. My shoulder was broken that day. Bilol carried me in his arms through a neighbour’s house & somehow we reached a hospital. I still do not know how we survived the beatings.”
By then, our photographs were circulating across Uzbekistan with the words “dead or alive.” Bilol’s stepfather held a senior position & was well connected. We felt that he wanted to avenge the so called dishonour we had brought upon him.
The feeling of being hunted never left us. We were attacked & beaten in the street, & Bilol was stabbed. Still, we managed to survive & continued living in hiding. “We did not know what they wanted from us,” says Nodir. “Did they want to force us to change, torture us or simply kill us? All we knew was that there was no place left for us in Uzbekistan.”
In desperation, we fled again, this time to a Baltic country & then to Germany. For eight precious months, we experienced a life we had never known before: a life of safety. “It was the first time we felt free,” says Nodir. “We could walk outside without fear. Slowly, our broken minds began to heal.”
But our happiness did not last. The authorities sent us back to the Baltic country. This was when we contacted the Peter Tatchell Foundation for help & support. Life was extremely difficult at first. The Foundation helped us build a support network & supported us in securing asylum. It was a challenging journey, but today we are finally living in peace & safety. We want to thank everyone who has supported us throughout this journey.