NEW YORK. – The floats rumbled to the sounds of Argentines dancing under the blooming jacaranda trees in rainbow bikinis, leather boots and angel wings Buenos Aireswhile the sequin skirts of the Drag queens They sparkled in the warm light of spring.
For Argentines it was nothing more than the annual celebration of the Pride March the city. But for one Russian gay couple who took part in the celebrations this month, it was scenes from another planet.
“It’s the greatest freedom I’ve ever seen,” said one of them, Marat Murzakhanov, 23, who comes from the Russian city of Ufa, near the Ural Mountains. “We want to stay here.”
They’re not the only ones.
Argentina has become a surprisingly important, if geographically distant, refuge LGBTQ Russians on the run from President Vladimir Putin’s increasing crackdown on homosexuals.
Since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine began three years ago, waves of exiles have flowed into neighboring states such as Georgia, Kazakhstan and Armenia to avoid conscription or oppression. But many gay Russians found it difficult to remain in these places as they faced stigma and a lack of legal protection.
With restrictive visa regulations barring them from entering Europe and the United States, they searched all over the world for a country where they could easily enter and live freely.
Many found that the answer was a long-haul flight to the other side of the world.
“When I told my parents I was going to Argentina, they wondered where it was,” said Anton Floretskii, 29, a programmer from Tolyatti, an industrial city in western Russia. “I explained to them that it was in the southern hemisphere. That they had completely different stars.”
Floretskii said he was persecuted, beaten and humiliated in Russia because of his homosexuality. Now wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that read “My boyfriend is gay,” she attended the recent Pride celebration with dozens of Russians with copper-blond hair, lace corsets and lipstick, singing Argentine gay anthems and sharing empanadas.
“It’s something unexpected,” Floretskii said. “Argentina was never on the map.”
In recent years, Putin has increasingly cracked down on the rights of LGBTQ people, in a campaign of repression that has accelerated since the war in Ukraine began in February 2022. In 2023, Russia’s Supreme Court designated the “international LGBTQ movement” as an “extremist organization” on a par with al-Qaeda, triggering a new wave of repression.
Many gay Russians said it was the culmination of years of fear. Lesbians wore wedding rings to pretend they had husbands, while gay boys were attacked in malls for their dyed hair.
Some decided to leave.
Floretskii came across Argentina as a possible destination in 2022 when it was included in a Google document shared by gay Russians that listed possible emigration countries.
Argentina offered strong protections for LGBTQ people, including marriage equality and gender self-determination.
Georgii Markelov, 27, a social media manager from Moscow, put Argentina on his agenda along with a dozen other countries known for respecting human rights and where Russians can enter without a visa.
Giordani Taldyki, 27, a psychologist from Moscow who first moved to Bangladesh, read Argentina’s constitution in a park in Dhaka, Bangladesh’s capital.
“Immigrant rights are enshrined in the Constitution,” Taldyki said. “I said to myself, Well, I really like it.”
Argentina’s constitution, often cited by LGBTQ Russians in Buenos Aires as the main reason for moving there, states that it “welcomes all men in the world who wish to live on Argentine soil.”
The constitution was adopted in 1853 as Argentina sought to populate a vast, sparsely populated territory and opened its doors wide to Europeans. Italians, Spaniards and Eastern European Jews, among others, arrived on ships in droves, making Buenos Aires one of the world’s largest immigration centers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
The country’s liberal immigration policy later attracted war refugees and high-ranking Nazis who wanted to disappear.
Argentina had previously welcomed Russian migrants, including political dissidents from the former Soviet Union and those seeking refuge after its collapse.
The latest wave began after the war against Ukraine, and the Argentine government has registered more than 120,000 Russian arrivals since 2022. The group included many pregnant Russian women hoping for a better future and a passport with fewer restrictions for their children. This trend attracted national attention in Argentina, but the parallel, quieter wave of Russian gays and transsexuals seeking political asylum received less attention.
“The Russians came and came and came and came,” said Anna Sokolova, 43, who is originally from Siberia and runs a dog training business in Buenos Aires with her wife. “It was like a snowball.”
Mariano Ruiz, head of a group that supports LGBTQ asylum seekers in Argentina, said he has helped more than 1,800 Russians since the war began. Part of Argentina’s appeal lies in its history. It was the first country in Latin America and one of the first in the world to approve equal marriage in 2010. A historic law was also passed allowing people to change their gender on official documents without requiring medical or court approval.
“I can be a trans girl, I can be myself and I don’t feel judged,” said Alisa Nikolaev, 24, who grew up in Siberia and moved to Argentina last year.
However, Argentina’s inclusivity has not been a priority for right-wing President Javier Milei, who has spoken out against what he calls “gender ideology” and tightened migration rules.
Although it has not sought to overturn marriage equality, Milei’s government has imposed sweeping austerity measures that have strained some public health programs, including those that provide hormone therapy and anti-HIV drugs.
The tension was palpable at the Pride celebration as participants wore hats that read “Make Argentina Gay Again” among makeshift street grills selling greasy meat sandwiches.
For many gay Russians, the openness was comforting and unexpected. “I was very happy,” said Taldyki. “There’s fighting going on here.”
There were many other things he and others appreciated about Argentina.
Taldyki said he loves it when people ask him, “Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?” He loved it when he saw a trans taxi driver and they no longer reminded him of his sexuality.
“Sometimes I forget that I’m gay here,” he said.
Floretskii loved walking into a hair salon and finding a gay hairdresser and Lady Gaga blaring from the speakers. “I thought, ‘Oh my God, am I in a country where this is normal?'”
Sokolova, the dog trainer, said she was pleased with the doctors at the reproductive clinic where she underwent insemination treatment in vitro They asked him why he didn’t come with his wife Antonina Lysikova, 37 years old.
When they recorded a family video this year, Lysikova said, the videographer they hired asked them why they didn’t show physical affection.
“We only recently understood that we are used to not hugging each other in society,” Lysikova said.
Yet many Russians, no matter how integrated they felt into Argentine society, trekked thousands of miles from home to enjoy basic rights.
“The bad thing about migration is that our country has no interest in us at all,” Lysikova said. “Maybe Argentina will be interested in us, but Russia will never be interested in us. It doesn’t matter how much money we make or how smart we are. Russia doesn’t want us.”
As the sun set and prepared to rise over Moscow on Pride Day in Buenos Aires, Russian lesbian couples with rumpled skirts and makeup smeared from a full day of partying slow-danced in a Beaux-Arts-style apartment hosting a Russian post-Pride party. A woman wiped away her tears.
The Russian DJ followed with “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry. Next to the dance floor was a room displaying items belonging to Russian LGBTQ artists, such as T-shirts and bags, as well as a donation box for a Russian transsexual who recently committed suicide in Argentina.
Igor Muzalevskii, 26, a real estate developer from St. Petersburg, appeared on the apartment balcony wearing a shiny silver vest and fishnet stockings. Below him, in the darkness, one of the last floats of the Pride parade passed, still packed with people jumping for the sixth year in a row. One was constantly waving a rainbow flag.
“That’s why we came,” Muzalevskii said, pointing down. “Now we know the world can treat you better.”
By Emma Bubola and Daniel Politi
About The Author
