A borderless community – Reflections on an intercultural encounter in Nepal

In May, I had the chance to learn about the Blue Diamond Society, the first organization in Nepal to work specifically on LGBTQIA+ issues. Founded in 2001 with just seven members, it has grown from a grassroots effort into a nationally recognized movement focused on health, advocacy, and human rights. Hearing about the organization’s evolution was both powerful and humbling—especially in a place where simply existing as a queer person still comes with real risks and barriers. 

In its early days, the organization wasn’t even allowed to officially register as LGBTQ-focused. Instead, it had to register as a “men’s sexual health” group. At the time, queer issues weren’t being addressed in Nepal by civil society. Over time, the Blue Diamond Society built a strong network, especially in regions near the Indian border, and expanded their work to include legal advocacy and capacity-building. A landmark moment came in 2007, when Nepal’s Supreme Court ruled that people should not face discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity. That ruling helped set the stage for citizenship recognition based on self-identified gender—a monumental achievement in South Asia. 

But despite these milestones, major challenges remain. Queer and trans identities are still largely invisible in government data systems, making it difficult to create responsive programs. Healthcare providers often lack training to treat queer patients respectfully or competently. Many members of the community struggle to access gender-affirming care. Mental health support is especially difficult to find, and education systems often leave queer students vulnerable to bullying, with little institutional support.

These issues came into sharp focus during a presentation from Elyn, a trans man working in LGBTQIA+ advocacy in Nepal. He spoke candidly about growing up without the words or support to understand himself, and about how isolating and painful that experience was. His story was filled with both strength and vulnerability—he talked about facing bullying at school, about medical professionals dismissing or misunderstanding him, and about the toll that ongoing exclusion takes on one’s mental health.

Listening to Elyn speak, I saw myself in him. I was moved—not just intellectually, but in my body. There was a quiet intensity to the way he told his story that stayed with me after the session ended. As a non-binary person who lives in Canada, I’m aware of the privileges and protections I often take for granted. But I also felt the echoes of his experience in my own life. That emotional undercurrent of feeling unseen, unsafe, or misunderstood—it’s something I know well, even if the context is different.

After the presentation, I had the chance to speak with Elyn one-on-one. The connection between us was immediate and real. We both lit up at the chance to talk to someone who gets it. I thanked him for his openness and courage, and shared a little bit about my own experiences. We didn’t need to say everything aloud to understand each other. There was something quiet and validating in simply being in each other’s presence. Despite the cultural, geographic, and political differences between us, there was a shared emotional language we both understood. 

That short conversation impacted me more than I expected. It grounded everything I had learned in a deeply personal way. Elyn’s story became a lens through which I could see the systemic issues more clearly, but it also softened me. It reminded me that activism isn’t just policy and law and data—it’s also about connection, visibility, and being witnessed. For me, that moment of connection became a reminder that our community really is borderless. Even across oceans and cultures, we can find each other and feel less alone. 

We ended up connecting on social media, and while it’s a small gesture, it felt meaningful. It reminded me that community can look like a lot of things—a shared glance, a vulnerable conversation, a simple message exchange. That kind of human connection—raw, respectful, and real—is what sustains us. 

Nepal is often seen as a leader in queer rights in South Asia, possibly because of its unique political history and relatively direct access to decision-makers. But that progress remains fragile. The recent closure of over 20 Blue Diamond Society sites due to USAID funding losses underscores just how precarious this work can be. 

Meeting Elyn didn’t radically change my worldview, but it left a deep emotional imprint. It reminded me why this work matters—not in theory, but in lived experience. His story reminded me that while our struggles may be shaped by different contexts, our need for recognition, safety, and connection is universal. 

All photos were taken by Dr. Andrea Paras who led the field school. 

El Lehman is a third year student in the BAS program (Biological Science and Music) at the University of Guelph.

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