In Malaysia, Pride has gone underground —but it’s alive and kicking

‘In the event of a raid, we have an escape route,’ the host of the sapphic party explains as we gather in a warehouse in an undisclosed location.

The door is bolted, with a pair of lesbian security guards keeping an eye out for police. ‘Priority goes to Muslims, trans people, and anyone who might be perceived to be cross-dressing.’ These are the people most at risk of Malaysia’s anti-LGBT+ legislation, so organisers go above and beyond to protect them. There are secret code words, strict social media policies, and all manner of ingenious tactics to keep the community safe.

A Google search suggests that Malaysia doesn’t have much of a queer scene. You might think underground parties are rare, but that was just one of four queer events I went to that weekend, all of which have hundreds in attendance. From drag shows to go-go boys, Kuala Lumpur’s queer scene is alive and kicking.

It wasn’t always hidden, either. Until relatively recently, parties were held in plain sight, and for the most part, they were left alone by police. But then something changed. In the lead up to the 2018 elections, politicians used the community as a scapegoat, seeing hardline action as an easy way to win votes.

It was against this backdrop, in October 2022, that the community came together to throw their biggest event yet.

A Halloween party, tucked away in a warehouse behind a bookstore, it brought an unprecedented number of queer people together for one legendary party. Everyone has a story about what they were doing that night. Everyone remembers exactly how it happened.

Two queer locals walk me through the abandoned room where it took place: they tell me that the crowd was waiting for a drag queen to perform when suddenly the lights came on. They didn’t know what was happening until somebody shouted: ‘RAID!’

‘It was worse because it was Halloween,’ they explain, referring to the country’s laws against ‘cross-dressing’.

‘I couldn’t run because I was in heels and a balloon dress. Our friend was dressed like Dora the Explorer so he had to hide his wig.’ A ridiculous sentence that speaks to the absurdity of the situation.

But it wasn’t a joke; for some it would be the worst night of their lives.

People fled and escaped through back doors, but many were caught and rounded up by Malaysia’s Islamic religious police. Twenty were arrested and loaded into the back of a van. Some were drag queens, some trans, and some just dressed up for Halloween. NGOs worked quickly to bail them out, but the treatment they were subjected to in the interim has been widely described as ‘inhumane,’ ‘humiliating,’ and ‘traumatising’.

One activist described police actions as ‘outrageous state oppression’.

The Halloween raid is now infamous within the local queer scene, with many comparing it to the raid on The Stonewall Inn in New York City back in 1969. But for Malaysians this isn’t a historical event. In fact, it’s barely even history. It happened less than three years ago, and the impact on the community is still felt.

It’s a powerful reminder of how unequal LGBT+ rights are around the world.

Booking.com’s Travel Proud report found that safety is the number one concern for LGBTQ+ travellers, with more than half saying they’ve had to modify their behaviour to protect themselves overseas. These concerns are, of course, valid, but what’s often missed in headlines is that in spite of all this, queer life will always find a way.

In Malaysia, many are working hard to restore the queer scene to its former glory. In 2024, Carmen Rose brought together the drag community for a pride-themed photoshoot. They may not be able to have Pride in the traditional sense – the last attempt was shut down in 2017 –  but with a shared online audience of tens of thousands of people, they still bring visibility to the metaphorical streets.

‘Thailand had Pride, Singapore had Pride, and we were in the middle with nothing,’ Carmen explains. ‘I wanted to do something to show that we still exist.’

I was so inspired by her work that I reached out to ask if we could collaborate.

This year, I’m visiting Pride events all over the world, and while it’s important to tell the stories of the many communities that boldly march the streets, it’s just as important to tell the story of a community that don’t yet have the freedom to do that.

I offered to help fund another photoshoot – an unofficial celebration, Pride behind closed doors – and as it turns out, she’d already been working on an idea.

Gender non-conforming people are those most at risk from police harassment, so we bring together a group of drag queens, non-binary people, and trans men and women for a photoshoot that embodies their collective pride.

All wear traditional Malaysian clothing, with the addition of rainbow and trans pride garments stitched from local fabrics. The purpose is not to rock the boat, to challenge the government or legislation, but rather to give other queer people hope.

‘This is why visibility matters,’ Carmen tells me as we step into the photographer’s private studio, wigs and dresses scattered all over the place. ‘A photo isn’t going to change the law – we leave that to the lawyers and the lobbyists – we’re just trying to show that it’s possible to live as your authentic self. People need to see that Malaysians can be openly queer too.’

I chat with the group as queer makeup artists work on them. Almost everyone I speak to has a story of police harassment –having their phones searched, having their homes raided in the middle of the night, being surrounded by police cars while driving in full drag. One tells me that her boyfriend was stopped by the police just for hugging his male friend. Another speaks candidly about being sexually assaulted.

When she tried to report the crime, the police questioned her gender identity instead.

Their stories are difficult to hear, but I feel encouraged by their defiance. One of the girls steps out – in full drag – to run to the convenience store for coffee. She’s unbothered, and as I watch from the window, it seems that the people she encounters don’t seem to be bothered either. I’d witnessed the same that weekend when accompanying Carmen to one of her performances. As we walked down the busy high street, the only looks she seemed to get were those of admiration.

The queer community are not hiding from society. I learn that they work as professional chefs, in graphic design, as spin instructors, for luxury hotels. They’re out to their friends, coworkers, and often strangers, too.

This is crucial as many queer Malaysians are trying to navigate life without a support system, especially those living in rural areas. Without access to the community, they’re not always aware of their legal rights or how to access healthcare.

‘That information has historically been passed down by queer elders,’ Cik Teh Botol, a trans community health expert, explains. ‘But many people don’t have access to that knowledge. Who knows how many trans people are out there who need support. A lot of people have the misconception that HRT is illegal in Malaysia, and that leads people to self-medicate.’

‘I only started going to the community health clinic a year ago,’ Khleo Ambrose says, adjusting her crown. This year, she’s representing Malaysia in the world’s biggest transgender beauty pageant. ‘Before that, I was self-dosing, which was incredibly unsafe. I want to use my platform to show that there’s a better way. It’s a huge responsibility, but I’m happy to do it. And I’ll do it while looking good.’

It isn’t just trans healthcare that’s available either. HIV treatment and PrEP are available to the wider community too. In an unusually progressive move, Malaysia not only offers care to residents, but also to visitors.

In Singapore, foreigners living as long term residents may be deported if they test HIV positive, so many cross the border for testing and treatment instead.

‘People focus on what Malaysia is doing wrong,’ Carmen says between photos. ‘But they rarely speak about what we’re doing right. We’re not a confrontational society, unlike some places in the west, where hate crimes and shootings have become a day to day thing. It was British colonisation that erased our community in the first place. They gave us their anti-LGBT+ laws and left us to pick up the pieces.’

As a British person, it leaves me to reflect on the way I’d perceived Malaysia in the past.

I’d thought it unsafe, but I realise now that most of the anti-LGBT+ legislation falls under sharia law so it doesn’t apply to me as a non-Muslim visitor. Same sex intimacy is still illegal under civil law – but this was brought in by the British. And, even with that, I’d have to be caught in the act, and it’s rarely prosecuted.

What I’m most surprised by in all of this is the sense of community.

It’s the group of trans girls that invite me over for pot luck dinner, the smiling waiter who calls me handsome while remembering my coffee order, the road trip where we spend the whole journey scrolling Instagram for hot guys.

It’s the young queers wearing painted nails and lipstick, the openly gay artist who sings about queer heartache on the radio, the sisterhood of 4am checks to make sure everyone got home safe.

The parties are wild, the drag performers are phenomenal, and the community hold together like nothing I’ve ever seen.

‘I’m proud to be Malaysian,’ Giselle Fendi says as the photoshoot wraps. ‘I love my country, even if my country doesn’t love me.’