Introduction

I am sitting on the bench talking with my respondent about his everyday life in the ‘here and now’, which he seems to perceive positively and with a great optimism. He is a university student, wearing bright crimson pants and a yellow cap. The day is sunny and the park is quite crowded. People are walking along the avenue. They look at him for a second and pass by. One young mother with a stroller smiles at us. We do not notice how a group of young men have stopped nearby. One of them says several insulting words in Kyrgyz. My respondent replies rather rudely. In response, the speaker spits in his direction, and the group moves on, constantly looking back. “Do you see? That's why I’m going to move to San Francisco!” His tone stays optimistic but it becomes clear that his enthusiasm for studying and participating in extracurricular activities is not (or, at least, not only) about the ‘here and now’, but mostly about his future. His brave and provocative behaviour suddenly assumes a shade of detachment and alienation, creating a distance between him and his environment. I know that in the world of animals and insects, bright colours are the perfect means for ‘protective aggression’, warning others not to approach, but I have just understood that for this young gay man from Bishkek, they are also a vehicle for escape– to escape not ‘to somewhere’, but just ‘out of here’. Actually, he was the only respondent of mine who had the guts to dress in this way when walking through the city. Still, his reaction to the abuse belied his vulnerability and bravado because this kind of behaviour is really risky and he is completely aware of the risks. At that moment, I saw why he wanted to leave for San Francisco. Indeed, I came to see some kind of ‘San Francisco’ behind each and every story that I collected during my research.

During Soviet times, male homosexuality was criminalized in Kyrgyzstan. Transgender people and lesbians were mostly considered within a psychopathological framework.