Living Between Gazes: Queer Experiences of Safety and Security

For queer people, the idea of safety goes far beyond the absence of physical harm. Safety is about walking down the street without feeling like every glance is a threat. It is about entering a room without the weight of judgment. It is about having the freedom to breathe, exist, and express without fear. In many contexts, particularly in places where queerness is met with suspicion or hostility, safety becomes a layered and fragile concept—one that is both deeply personal and inherently social. In this article, drawing on the voices of queer people from diverse backgrounds, we explore what safety and security mean both in intimate, personal terms and in the broader context of public spaces.

Safety as a Feeling, Not Just a Place

For many queer people, safety is not tied to physical walls or defined locations but to emotional states. As one participant explained, “It’s a place where I do not feel stressed, but feel welcomed. It can be my room, or somewhere far from my parents.” This sense of safety can be fleeting in public spaces, where the presence of certain groups—such as aggressive or conservative men, often referred to as “qaqa” (red. Lads in English)—immediately triggers fear and discomfort.

The simple act of existing in public can be fraught with tension. Stares, unsolicited comments, or physical intrusions turn ordinary spaces into unsafe territories. “That’s the minimum I ask for—don’t stare at me for no reason,” said one participant. Yet even this minimum often feels out of reach.

Community as Protection

Queer circles often provide a buffer against these anxieties. One participant described how moving from straight-dominated social spaces into queer ones gave them a greater sense of security: “Within the last year, I started forming and hanging out with a queer circle, which gives me a lot more safety and security.”

Still, even within supportive communities, visibility can feel dangerous. Being singled out or “pointed at” sparks fear of exposure. For some, this has led to protective behaviors—like adopting a cold or masculine exterior in public, a defense mechanism rooted in childhood experiences of bullying.

The Interconnection of Emotional and Physical Safety

For many, emotional and physical safety cannot be separated. A cutting stare or whispered insult can trigger the same flight response as physical aggression. “If I am not feeling emotionally safe, then it means I am not feeling physically safe either,” one participant explained. This constant discomfort shapes daily choices—what to wear, which streets to take, whether to ride public transport, and how to carry oneself.

Something as simple as wearing short sleeves in summer can feel dangerous. Outfits are measured against imagined risks: Will this draw unwanted attention? Will it provoke aggression? One participant described always wearing darker clothes to avoid notice, while another shared the coping strategy of walking fast with headphones in—even without music playing—to ward off interactions.

Coping Mechanisms and Silent Rules

To survive public scrutiny, many queer people adopt unspoken rules of conduct: keep a straight face, avoid eye contact, and walk quickly. One participant recounted accidentally taking a selfie on the bus, only to be shocked by how stiff and serious they looked—a defense mask they hadn’t even realized they were wearing.

Others attempt small acts of defiance, like staring back at harassers. For some, this works to silence the gaze; for others, it only fuels further shamelessness. The outcome is unpredictable, which makes each decision fraught with risk.

Why Safety Feels Out of Reach

Underlying these experiences is a systemic failure: harassment rarely carries consequences. Reporting aggressors feels unsafe in itself, exposing queer people to police scrutiny or indifference. As one participant put it, “They know that if these people are reported, there won’t be any serious consequences for them. So the solution is to take care of it ourselves—counteract if we can, avoid it if we can’t, and hope for the safest situation.”

Living in Survival Mode

The voices collected here reveal a shared reality: queer people are constantly negotiating survival in spaces that feel hostile, even when no violence occurs. Safety is not a guarantee but a fragile condition, dependent on mood, surroundings, and the presence of allies.

Whether through walking quickly, putting on a mask of toughness, or sticking close to queer friends, these strategies are less about thriving and more about surviving. They highlight the heavy emotional labor required just to exist in public.

Safety, then, is not just a right denied but a daily battle—one fought in glances, gestures, clothing choices, and routes home. It is a battle that leaves many asking for the bare minimum: to be left alone, to exist without intrusion, to move through the streets without fear.

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