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Millbank, Jenni --- "Sexual Orientation and Refugee Status Determination over the Past 20 years: Unsteady Progress through Standard Sequences?" [2012] UTSLRS 17; (2012) Fleeing Homophobia (ed.) Thomas Spijkerboer

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Sexual Orientation and Refugee Status Determination over the Past 20 years: Unsteady Progress through Standard Sequences? [2012] UTSLRS 17 (5 July 2012); (2012) Fleeing Homophobia (ed.) Thomas Spijkerboer

Last Updated: 10 April 2017

5 July 2012

Sexual Orientation and Refugee Status Determination over the Past 20 years: Unsteady Progress through Standard Sequences?

In Thomas Spijkerboer, (ed) Fleeing Homophobia (2012)

Jenni Millbank[♦]

Introduction
In this chapter I sketch a framework for analysis of sexual orientation based asylum claims that aims to accommodate both common themes and divergent outcomes (Jansen & Spijkerboer 2011: 14; O’Dwyer 2008; and more generally Ramji-Nogales et al. 2009) across the range of jurisdictions grappling with these issues to date. I take as my starting point Kees Waaldijk work from the late 1990s, in which he claimed a discernible trend of ‘steady progress’ through ‘standard sequences’ in the development of sexual orientation rights across the European Union in the last third of the twentieth century (2001b). Waaldijk suggested that within these trends there were two ‘laws’ or preconditions to reform, which he titled the ‘law of small change’ and the ‘law of symbolic preparation’. I suggest that progress in sexuality rights in refugee status determination (RSD) has in fact been rather unsteady, with significant informal resistance springing up to take the place of doctrinal obstacles as these are dismantled.[1]

I believe that ‘small change’ and ‘symbolic preparation’ are useful tools to understand existing variations of approach across receiving nations and, more importantly, as signposts for the framing of policy and litigation action in the future. Waaldijk’s analysis was developed in the markedly different context of family and relationship recognition claims (2001a). Yet it draws attention to the ways in which sexual orientation rights have evolved within general human rights frameworks despite not being specified within founding documents such as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR). In the same way the potentiality of sexual orientation claims was latent within the Refugees Convention, until ‘discovered’ quite recently. Using Waaldijk’s framework draws our minds back to the critical inter-relation between the development of refugee law, broader human rights norms and the specific step-by-step process of articulating and applying sexuality rights as human rights within adjudication processes.

It is only by starting with the expectation that gay men, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered people (LGBT) are entitled to enjoy the full range of fundamental human rights and freedoms that their refugee claims can be properly assessed as a failure of state protection, rather than, say, an irrational or improbable violation of prevailing cultural norms. Take the premise that sexual minorities are simply behaving appropriately by concealing their sexuality from neighbours, families and employers. This will lead to the conclusion that a lesbian who pretends to live with a female ‘flatmate’, because she could not acknowledge her partner without fear, is acting ‘naturally’. It is the understanding that lesbians and gay men have human rights rights-claims - to family life, to freedom of association and expression, in addition to privacy and protection from torture - which transforms the whole spectrum of violence and oppression on the basis of sexual orientation into a cognisable wrong under the Convention. A deep seated, nuanced and context sensitive equality analysis is required to transform judicial understandings of minority sexual identities that go beyond (very) private gay sex from being understood as ‘flaunting’, ‘provoking’, ‘parading’ or ‘publically proclaiming’ (Dauvergne and Millbank 2003b; Millbank 2009a: 393), into what is really being claimed: the right to live an ordinary everyday normal gay life, openly.

The place of refugee law within an international human rights framework is, of course, contested. Catherine Dauvergne, Patricia Tuitt, Michelle Foster and many others have contended that refugee law functions more to keep people out than to let them in, and operates as a form of exceptionalism, through its limited categories of claimants and avenues of claim (Dauvergne 2008; Foster 2008; Tuitt 1997). Moreover, much day to day refugee decision-making lacks any explicit consideration of human rights standards. The counter-argument is that international human rights norms underpins refugee law; for example through informing ‘persecution’ analysis (Hathaway 1991: 105–12), and the development of particular social group analysis (PSG), most especially with regard to gender (Daley and Kelly 2000; Anker 2002; Haines 2003: 46–80; Musalo 2003). I begin here from the premise that refugee law is a distinct but concretely applied manifestation of international human rights law; one which is simultaneously informed by, and inseparable from, the norms and institutional practices of the receiving country. This is why I believe that Waaldijk’s framework is so helpful, as his insights of small change and symbolic preparation alert us to the dynamic interplay of national conditions with international standards and ‘universal’ rights (Billings 2000; Tobin 2012).

Progress?

Between 1955 and 1967 there were at least nine complaints made under the ECHR by men in Germany and Austria, all designated ‘X’ in their communications, who had been imprisoned for terms between 15 months and 6 years for the crime of consensual gay sex. Each one of these applications was declared inadmissible as ‘manifestly ill-founded’ on the basis that ‘the Convention allows a...Party to punish homosexuality since the right to respect for private life may, in a democratic society, be subject to interference ... for the protection of health and morals..’ (X v Germany (No 530/59) 1960: 194; discussed in Wintemute 1997: 92).[2] Today such men would be eligible to claim asylum in most refugee receiving nations in the world on the basis that such sanctions were persecutory.

The Netherlands was the first country to accept sexuality as a PSG in 1981 (Waaldijk et al. 2010: 27; Afdeling Rechtspraak Raad van State (ARRvS) no A-21113, Rechtspraak Vreemdelingenrecht 1981.); others followed haltingly.[3] Sexual orientation was increasingly accepted in principle as eligible under the PSG ground by the mid to late 1990s as major courts in countries such as Canada, Australia and the UK made such observations largely in obiter (Canada (Attorney General) v Ward [1993]; Applicant A v MIEA (1997); Reg v IAT ex p Shah (1999). However in practice at lower levels sexuality claims continued to be challenged, and sometimes dismissed, on the basis that no Convention ground had been engaged (Millbank 2009b: 15; MK v SSHD (2009): [351]). Non-government organisations which specifically campaign for sexual orientation rights, such as the International Lesbian and Gay Human Rights Commission and International Gay and Lesbian Association were crucial in raising the profile of sexuality in human rights and refugee law spheres. The activism and lobbying of these organisations led to a fundamental shift in the focus of a number of mainstream human rights organisations such as Amnesty International, which resolved in 1991 that people imprisoned for their homosexuality were prisoners of conscience. Since then generalist human rights groups such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty, in addition to specialist LGBT organisations and, more recently UNHCR, have played a major role through documenting abuse in sending countries (Human Rights Watch & International Lesbian and Gay Human Rights Commission 1998; 2003; Amnesty International 2001; Human Rights Watch 2009a; 2009b; 2010; 2012), intervening in key cases (for example Hernandez-Montiel (2000), International Lesbian and Gay Human Rights Commission among others; Appellant S395/2002 v Minister for Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (2003), Amnesty International Australia; HJ and HT v SSHD [2010], UNHCR and the UK Equality Commission), and lobbying, providing policy guidance and participating in decision-maker training in receiving countries (see, Gray 2011: UK Lesbian and Gay Immigration Group 2010a: 2-3; Wolf-Watz et al. 2010).

In the past decade, developments have been rapid, including but not limited to the following milestones:


These advances have been hard won and do evidence real progress.

Standard sequences?
While there now thousands of written decisions on sexual orientation available worldwide in English alone, there remains very little reliable data on outcomes or reasoning in most receiving nations. In recent years Belgium and Norway have collected and made available information on the number and success rates of claims (Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011: 15; Hojem 2009), but they remain the exception as most countries do not release –and many do not even collect – such data.[5] In the few instances where raw figures are available, there is rarely a breakdown on the proportions of claims by women and men, countries of origin of claimants, or on the most common reasons for failure of claims. Lack of public access to written reasons for low level decisions (eg immigration courts, administrative tribunals and internal government decision makers) makes it extraordinarily difficult to gain an understanding of how the law on sexual orientation and refugee status is being developed and applied at the levels where it has the greatest impact. Access to both broad data on trends and outcomes and to the specific reasoning from determined cases is necessary in order to effectively advocate for LGBT asylum seekers on an individual and collective basis.

Some advocacy organisations have pioneered research drawn from client experiences. For example the Lesbian and Gay Immigration Group and Asylum Aid in the UK have both initiated valuable small scale studies of reasons for refusal letters issued at the lowest levels, which help build a picture of how appellate level jurisprudence and policy about gender, sexuality and PSG is (mis)understood and applied on the ground (Asylum Aid 2011; UK Lesbian & Gay Immigration Group 2010b). Recent multi-jurisdictional research projects such as Fleeing Homophobia and GENSEN in Europe are enormously valuable in identifying relevant case law, policy and trends within and across countries (GENSEN 2012). The Fleeing Homophobia report identifies several common themes across the EU which reflect the findings of my own comparative longitudinal research on RSD in the UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. To pose these as a standard sequence I suggest that we see:

  1. Acceptance of sexual orientation as an eligible PSG (see, for example UNHCR Gender Guidelines 2002b; European Union 2004: article 10(1)(d)),[6] followed by;[7]
  2. Evolving Persecution Analysis – involving:
  1. recognition that criminalisation of gay sex is persecutory (UNHCR Gender Guidelines 2002b; ; European Union 2004; UNHCR 2008: [17-8]),[8] and further, the related but distinct recognition that criminal sanctions may generate a persecutory environment, even in the absence of evidence of recent or systematic enforcement (Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011: 21-6; Chelvan in this volume);
  2. acceptance that non-state actors are often the primary agents of harm (Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011; UNHCR 2012);
  1. development of detailed and appropriately targeted country of origin information (see Dauvergne and Millbank 2003b; La Violette 2009; Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011);
  1. acknowledgement and rejection of the role of ‘discretion reasoning’;
  2. recognition of multiple and intersecting forms of harm as persecution, not ‘mere’ discrimination or ‘social pressure’.


The progress through these sequences appears far from steady. Indeed a close analysis of the case law from a single jurisdiction will often reveal that there are different decision-makers taking contrary interpretations on any number of the above issues over a period of years before they are ‘resolved’ by an appellate court or legislative directive. Such ‘resolution’ is in my view frequently also unstable, as lower level decision-makers subsequently misunderstand, restrictively interpret, actively reinvent - and on some occasions continue in complete ignorance of - precedents and policy guidance. This resistance, which I refer to here as ‘backsliding’ (without meaning to suggest that it is necessarily intentional), in combination with other informal barriers such as poor quality credibility assessment to establish whether the applicant is indeed a member of the PSG (see for example Millbank 2009b; Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011: chapter 6), means that each step almost always needs to be taken more than once. While there are many possible illustrations of this argument, for reasons of space I will address just one: discretion reasoning.

Confronting Discretion reasoning
While variously expressed, the universalised assumption of natural (and rightful) closetedness for gay men and lesbians provides the conceptual underpinning of persecution analysis in sexual orientation claims across dozens of jurisdictions worldwide.[9] Through ‘discretion reasoning’ claimants may be required, expected or assumed to be capable of (re)concealing, or relocating and thereby reconcealing, their sexuality in their home country order in order to avoid persecution. This has been expressed as a ‘reasonable expectation that persons should, to the extent that it is possible, cooperate in their own protection’ (RRT Reference V95/03527 (1996)), and thus as a normative standard or requirement of ‘reasonableness’ but is often embedded as an assumption or factual finding that behavioural ‘modification’, ‘restraint’ or ‘adaptation’ will simply ‘happen’. So a gay applicant from Uganda will ‘be mindful of his society’s concepts of good manners and the general social mores’ in concealing his sexuality (JM v SSHD (2008): [149]). Discretion logic is a particularly invidious form of victim-blaming because affirms the perspective, if not the conduct, of the persecutor. In the words of Pill LJ at Court of Appeal level in HJ and HT v SSHD [2009]: [32]), according

...a degree of respect for social norms and religious beliefs in other states is in my view appropriate. Both in Muslim Iran and Roman Catholic Cameroon, strong views are genuinely held about homosexual practices. In considering what is reasonably tolerable in a particular society, the fact-finding Tribunal is in my view entitled to have regard to the beliefs held there.[10]

The content of ‘discretion’ is rarely spelt out. Expressed as a matter of good manners, it implicitly encompasses lifelong secrecy and all-encompassing strategies of concealment, which time and again decision-makers have held ‘will not cause significant detriment to [the] right to respect for private life, nor will it involve suppression of many aspects of ... sexual identity’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2009]: [44]).

Discretion reasoning has generated a plethora of legal errors in persecution analysis, including: reversing the onus of Convention protection, treating the scope of protection offered by the Convention grounds inequitably, failing to undertake a future-focused analysis of the risk of harm and construing internal flight alternatives as opportunities for re-concealment rather than safety (see Atta Fosu v Canada (2008): [17]; Okoli v Canada (2009): [37]). It also leads to errors in defining the PSG, by treating ‘discreet’ and ‘open’ homosexuals as if they are two completely distinct, stable and mutually exclusive groups (see Weßels 2012; Dauvergne and Millbank 2003a: 117–23; Millbank 2009a: 393–395;). This too misleads a future focused analysis of persecution risk for the fundamental reason that there is no such thing as a complete and lifelong closet: a person may be closeted for some purposes or in certain spheres (work but not family, family but not friends, some friends but not all), and even those assiduously committed to concealment are always at risk of exposure through the disclosures of others, or surveillance, and through their own lack of conformity to heterosexual norms over time, for example if they do not marry and raise children by a certain age (SW v SSHD (SW Lesbians) (2011): [95]; Chelvan 2011). Discretion reasoning has been associated with very high failure rates for lesbian, gay and bisexual refugee claimants (Millbank 2009a: 393; UK Lesbian & Gay Immigration Group 2010).

The 2000s saw increasingly high level rejections of discretion approaches in both judicial and policy spheres across multiple jurisdictions.[11] The issue was first considered by an ultimate appellate court in December 2003 when the High Court of Australia by a slim majority of four judges to three in the case of S395 rejected discretion reasoning, stating that, ‘It would undermine the object of the Convention if the signatory countries required them to modify their beliefs or to hide’ and holding it was incorrect in law to require or expect someone to ‘take reasonable steps to avoid persecutory harm’ (Appellant S395/2002 v Minister for Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (2003): [41], [50] per Kirby and McHugh J, see also [82-3] per Gummow and Hayne JJ). The majority judgments also affirmed that the experience of sexual identity involves more than mere private sexual conduct (S395 (2003): [51-3] per Kirby and McHugh J, [81-2] per Gummow and Hayne JJ). In 2010, the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom issued a unanimous five opinion judgment approving the majority approach in S395 and condemning discretion reasoning in even stronger terms.

Backsliding on Discretion: Reasonableness, Choice and Other ‘Perfectly Natural’ Responses to Social and Family Pressure

Discretion logic has shown itself to be extraordinarily resilient. It has appeared, and been challenged, since the very first cases on sexual orientation. In cases from Germany in the 1980s and in Canada, Australia and New Zealand in the 1990s, low level decision makers rejected discretion in forceful terms (Dauvergne and Millbank 2003a: 115–6). It is notable that while such reasoning rarely appeared again in Canada and New Zealand, it remained prevalent in German and Australian cases. Even in countries such as Canada where it was rejected very early, and in the Netherlands where it has been expressly disapproved in policy directives, it continues to resurface at lower levels.[12] The 2011 Fleeing Homophobia report found discretion reasoning still occurring in Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Ireland, the Netherlands, Malta, Poland, Romania, Spain, Norway and Switzerland (Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011: 34).

The interlinked history of the S395 and HJ cases neatly illustrates the adaptive properties of discretion logic, as the themes of reasonableness, the natural and the social appear throughout both, not least of all in the way that S395 was twisted and misapplied to perpetuate a normative standard of discretion in UK jurisprudence for several years. Mr HJ actually took his claim to the UK the Court of Appeal on two occasions and challenged discretion in both. In the first judgment in 2006, the Court expressly followed the majority of the High Court of Australia in S395 (J v SSHD [2006]: [16], [20]). However Maurice Kay LJ referred to a general definition of persecution from S395 (as something which one could not ‘reasonably tolerate’) in a way which suggested that it was relevant to assessing the specific impact of discretion on a gay applicant (J v SSHD [2006]: [16], [20]). Several later cases, including the adjudicator rehearing J’s claim, reframed the persecution inquiry as whether the applicant could be ‘expected to tolerate’ a life of secrecy for fear of harm such as imprisonment or death (HJ v SSHD [2008]: [31]). In the absence of evidence of past persecution, and regardless of the testimony of applicant’s themselves about how intolerable such a situation was, decision-makers found without fail that lifelong concealment was indeed something that could be ‘reasonably tolerated’ (see eg: OO (Sudan) v SSHD (2009): [9], [17]); XY (Iran) v SSHD (2008): [13]); HJ (Iran) v SSHD (2008): [44]. In addition, AJ v SSHD (2009): [65] and SB (Uganda) v SSHD (2010): [51] both quashed similar tribunal determinations on judicial review because there had been past persecution such that future discretion was not possible).

Related to, and informing, ‘reasonableness’ is the ubiquity of social forms of expression of heterosexuality and acceptance of the invisibility – or at least the vastly lesser visibility of – expressions of homosexuality within a trope of individualised choice. Heterosexual people just happen to ‘choose’ to marry while gay men and lesbians often ‘choose’ not to tell people that they are in a same-sex relationship, but this is not for any reason, they just like to keep such things private, or to keep themselves to themselves. Thus, in S395, the Minister argued, and Callinan and Heydon JJ in dissent accepted that,

The appellants had in fact, and would in all likelihood continue to live, as a matter of choice, quietly without flaunting their homosexuality. They were not men who wished to proclaim their homosexuality. Living as they did, they were not oppressed. Discretion...was purely a matter of choice and not of external imposition. No one required them...ever to modify their behaviour (S395 (2003): 106, emphasis added). [13]

It is alarmingly that the two more empathic and detailed judgments affirming the ‘right to live freely and openly as a gay man’ in HJ also continue to assume the existence of a naturally secretive gay person who is exercising free choice in no way related to persecutory conditions by never disclosing their sexuality. Lord Hope imagines the possibility of someone who is ‘naturally reticent’ and who conceals their sexuality ‘in reaction to family and social pressure’ ‘or for cultural or religious reasons of his own choosing’ and states that such person would not have a well founded fear of persecution (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [22], [35]). Likewise Lord Rodger hypothesises a ‘perfectly natural wish to avoid harming his relationships with his family, friends and colleagues’ as a reason for concealment and repeatedly uses the word ‘choice’ in contrasting persecution with ‘social pressures’(HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [61-2] emphasis added). Janna Weßels notes that, in addition to being an untenable distinction in any persecutory environment, this may lead later decision-makers to place the burden on applicants to demonstrate that the ‘material reason’ for their concealment is fear - which was also a distinctive feature of the UK discretion approach prior to HJ (Weßels 2011: section 7; Millbank 2009a: 397; Johnson 2007) and a feature of the dissents in S395.

Through the creeping glosses of reasonableness[14] and choice and the unreflexive dismissal of ‘social and family pressure’, the very concealment which can’t be ‘required’ or ‘expected’ by decision makers may once again become a state that is assumed as chosen, commonplace and natural, and thereby viewed as a complete defence to persecution rather than prima facie evidence of its real risk.

Lack of progress through the stage I identify as (e) ‘recognition of multiple and intersecting forms of harm as persecution’, may therefore inhibit or even cause a return to stage (d), discretion reasoning. Considering this unsteady progress, exemplified by the Supreme Court decision in HJ and HT v SSHD [2010], which is at once so progressive and yet arguably still founded on an untenable dichotomy of ‘open’ and ‘discreet’ gay people (Weßels 2012), I argue that the laws of small change and symbolic preparation help us to see a path through. Symbolic change is directed towards the abstract level of rights pronouncements and small change to the concrete application of rights claims to specific experiences. Both of these are necessary elements to a progressive jurisprudence in sexuality claims, and both make each other possible.

Symbolic Preparation
Waaldijk argues that before equality rights were actually granted in practice there had to be a period of ‘symbolic preparation’ in each nation, whereby some formal legislation or proclamation paved the way for later change. These acts could be relatively abstract– such as repealing criminal provisions that had not been enforced for decades, or passing anti-discrimination guarantees that covered only a small sector of civic life, or other forms of equality laws of limited scope or practical utility. The symbolism itself was the significant aspect, in marking recognition of lesbians and gay men as subjects within a shifting frame of reference, from outsiders/objects to insiders/subject of rights. The law of symbolic preparation also draws our attention closely to the need for preparation – as new ways of thinking about GLTB are integrated into the polity and the collective imaginary.

The more familiar and engaged a receiving nation is with sexual orientation rights claims across a wide range of areas, the better equipped its decision makers will be to engage in a contextual and sensitive way with sexuality asylum claims. Formal legislative equality guarantees or high profile litigation across a diverse range of rights help to trigger this familiarity and engagement – even in unrelated areas by different legal actors. Thus, receiving countries which have only recently engaged with formal guarantees of sexual orientation rights (including those undertaken with some reluctance as part of the process of entering the CoE, see Stychin (2003)), or which have resisted introducing measures to correct birth documentation for trans people, are likely to have both harsher formal barriers to LGBT claims and a weaker understanding of them at a conceptual level. Put plainly, these countries are simply less likely to “see” persecution when it happens to LGBT.

The UK is an interesting example of this phenomenon. Despite being a liberal democratic nation with fairly low levels of homophobic violence, the UK has had quite a poor history on LGBT asylum claims through eras overseen by both conservative and centre left political governments. The UK was slow to accept sexuality as a PSG, very resistant to seeing criminalisation as persecution, and applied discretion reasoning widely and persistently (see Millbank 2009a; UK Lesbian and Gay Immigration Group 2010b; Miles 2011). This arguably reflects a legal context in which gay sexuality was stigmatised through regimes of privacy and bare ‘tolerance’. Although gay sex in private was ‘decriminalised’ in 1967 in England and Wales, an unequal age of consent remained until 2001, and right through to the early 2000s sweeping and discriminatory laws on public indecency for gay sex continued to be enforced. There was also a rarely utilised but chilling anti-proselytising provision concerning the ‘promotion’ of homosexuality and ‘pretended families’ (‘Clause 28’ of the Local Government Act, which applied to local councils and public education). Affirmative rights such as anti-discrimination protections in employment and same-sex relationship recognition came belatedly, in 2003 and 2004, respectively (see Employment Equality (Sexual Orientation) Regulations 2003 (UK); Civil Partnership Act 2004 (UK), followed by more comprehensive rights through the Equality Act 2006 (UK)).

How the question of risk of persecution is answered depends very much on decision-makers pre-existing understandings of what is proper or tolerable behaviour on the part of sexual minorities and on the part of the state. These understandings in turn hinge upon implicit conceptions of both human rights and sexual norms – and these reflect the domestic social and political context in which the decision maker lives. Symbolic preparation is part of the process of transforming those norms.

Small Change

Few, if any, receiving countries have managed to progress through all of the steps posed in the ‘standard’ sequences, and many have faltered on one particular step. Even receiving nations which are generally positive on LGBT claims have tended to address each step separately and haven’t been capable of moving through several simultaneously. Consideration of the law of small change brings a greater optimism to an examination of the chaos of inconsistent state practice, with the knowledge that each step needs to be taken more than once, and must be taken in tandem with the process of symbolic preparation.

The law of small change reminds us that progress will, indeed must, be incremental. Given the highly individualistic nature of RSD this may mean issues being addressed one case at a time as opportunities present themselves. It is the steps at lower levels, as claims are framed and understood, that build to larger change at institutional and precedential levels. The above discussion on backsliding suggests that the ‘trickle down’ effect of jurisprudence from higher courts may be muted or undermined and so must be accompanied by an ‘educating up’ effect. Equality interventions are therefore critical at lower levels in decision making within domestic systems, as is sensitivity and credibility training and other forms of engagement with early stage decision-making, such as provision of country evidence, expert evidence, and critical assessment of government compiled country evidence.

HJ and HT v SSHD [2010] illustrates the on-going inter-relation of symbolic preparation and small change. The death of discretion as a ‘reasonable expectation’ and the embrace of equality affirming language is a major victory, even as there are suggestions that discretion may yet come back to haunt us in another guise through the approved process of dividing applicants into those who ‘live openly’ and those who don’t prior to undertaking a persecution analysis (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [82]).

Lord Hope stated that ‘[gay people] are as much entitled to freedom of association with others of the same sexual orientation, and to freedom of self-expression in matters that affect their sexuality, as people who are straight’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [14]). Lord Rodger held that

the Convention offers protection to gay and lesbian people—and, I would add, bisexuals and everyone else on a broad spectrum of sexual behaviour—because they are entitled to have the same freedom from fear of persecution as their straight counterparts. No-one would proceed on the basis that a straight man or woman could find it reasonably tolerable to conceal his or her sexual identity indefinitely to avoid suffering persecution. Nor would anyone proceed on the basis that a man or woman could find it reasonably tolerable to conceal his or her race indefinitely to avoid suffering persecution. Such an assumption about gay men and lesbian women is equally unacceptable.[15] (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [76]).

These clear statements about the importance of equality analysis in determining sexual orientation asylum claims are accompanied by a number of other discursive elements which signal a transformation in English jurisprudence concerning sexuality. The framing of the issues in the case in the opening paragraphs of Lord Hope’s opinion, itself the first placed in the judgment, is enormously significant. In the place of the usual specific and flat relaying of factual and legal claim- typically expressed in the form: ‘This case concerns X person from Y country who claims to have experienced Z, made an application for refugee status on <date>, had a decision made by A, reaffirmed by B and C <on date/s>, which decision is now under appeal on grounds of D’ - the judgment opens with a broad foundation of policy and principle. Lord Hope refers to historical legal and political context in a manner that establishes homophobic violence on a global scale as a matter of deep concern, and moreover as something for which ‘we’ (‘our time’, ‘our own government’ ‘remain with us’) must take responsibility.

The need for reliable guidance on this issue is growing day by day. Persecution for reasons of homosexuality was not perceived as a problem by the High Contracting Parties when the Convention was being drafted. For many years the risk of persecution in countries where it now exists seemed remote. It was the practice for leaders in these countries simply to insist that homosexuality did not exist. This was manifest nonsense, but at least it avoided the evil of persecution. More recently, fanned by misguided but vigorous religious doctrine, the situation has changed dramatically. The ultra-conservative interpretation of Islamic law that prevails in Iran is one example. The rampant homophobic teaching that right-wing evangelical Christian churches indulge in throughout much of Sub-Saharan Africa is another. The death penalty has just been proposed in Uganda for persons who engage in homosexual practices. Two gay men who had celebrated their relationship in a public engagement ceremony were recently sentenced to 14 years’ imprisonment in Malawi. They were later pardoned in response to international pressure by President Mutharika, but he made it clear that he would not otherwise have done this as they had committed a crime against the country’s culture, its religion and its laws. Objections to these developments have been greeted locally with derision and disbelief.

The fact is that a huge gulf has opened up in attitudes to and understanding of gay persons between societies on either side of the divide. It is one of the most demanding social issues of our time. Our own government has pledged to do what it can to resolve the problem, but it seems likely to grow and to remain with us for many years. In the meantime more and more gays and lesbians are likely to have to seek protection here, as protection is being denied to them by the state in their home countries. It is crucially important that they are provided with the protection that they are entitled to under the Convention –– no more, if I may be permitted to coin a well known phrase, but certainly no less (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [2]-[3]).[16]

In and of itself this is one of the strongest statements in support of the importance of lesbian and gay equality rights from any English court. But its significance is immeasurably greater when set against the trivialisation and indifference to homophobic persecution evident in so many judgments of English courts and tribunals on sexuality refugee claims in the preceding decade (Chelvan 2012).

Just as Lord Hope makes a large gesture towards homophobic violence as a global phenomenon with national impact at the outset of his opinion, Lord Rodger makes the more intimate gesture, detailing what such violence actually means as a lived experience. It is striking that Lord Rodger is the only judge in any of the available decisions in Mr HT’s litigation to actually record in the extent of HT’s victimisation and his injuries. In a short paragraph Lord Rodger notes that HT was beaten by a mob who tore off his clothes and threatened to kill him, struck him with fists, sticks and stones, cut towards his penis with a knife wounding him in the stomach; that the police on arrival punched him in the face and kicked him repeatedly, and that as a result of this violence HT spent two months in hospital (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [44]). Understated as this narration is, it provides a breathtaking contrast to the preceding Court of Appeal decision which, after detailing the procedural history of HT’s case, beginning with his arrest and custodial sentence in the UK for using a false passport, recorded in two sentences the existence and exposure of his relationship in Cameroon, concluding merely: ‘Later HT was attacked’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2009]: [5, 6]).

Small symbolic change, symbolic of larger changes

Perhaps the most enduring impact of HJ and HT will be in elements that appear at first glance to be its most trivial asides. There are a multitude of apparently minor elements within the judgment which signify a shifting understanding of sexual orientation. I suggest that these discursive elements could be seen as small symbolic change, altering and opening a frame of reference for larger change in the future.

At a number of key junctures the judges self-consciously reflect on language choice: discretion is repeatedly framed in quotation marks, described as a ‘euphemistic expression’ which ‘does not tell the whole truth’ and renamed variously as ‘concealment’, ‘lying’, ‘denying’, ‘hiding’ and ‘suppressing’ (Lord Hope paras 21, 22, 33, 35(b), 38; Lord Rodger para 72, 75, and also spelling out the practical implications of concealment, para 63; Lord Collins para 101, 104; Sir John Dyson para 116, 121).[17] Concealment is also expressly characterised by Lord Rodger and Sir John Dyson as a state endured rather than ‘tolerated’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [80], [122]).

The judgments refer to ‘lesbians’ and ‘gay men’ (and Lord Rodger adds bisexuals) rather than using the traditional terminology of ‘homosexuals’ so favoured in law. Note by contrast that the two joint majority judgments and both dissents in S395 (2003) continued to utilise ‘homosexual’ despite submissions from amicus curiae urging them to do otherwise. Moreover both Lord Hope and Lord Rodger reference heterosexual men and women as heterosexual and as ‘straight’, specifically locating majority sexualities. On first reading the Supreme Court judgment in HJ and HT what struck me was a pleasant tone of warmth in the opinions, and also a somewhat surprising note of informality. I can’t recall another judgment from a superior court which called heterosexual people ‘straight’, nor which referred to one’s ‘mates’ - can you? How nice. But on reflection I concluded that these were not merely incidental colloquialisms; rather, such variations in language reflect the sustained efforts of critical, feminist and queer scholarship to alter the paradigms in which sexuality, identity and perspective are framed within mainstream jurisprudence (West 1990; Brooks 2006; Delgado 1989; Fajer 1992 & 1994; Graycar 2008).

Firstly, naming lesbians and gay men separately paves the way for recognition of gendered difference in the experience of sexuality. Lesbians have been routinely disadvantaged in refugee adjudication (as elsewhere) by being subsumed under a male paradigm of experience (Millbank 2003; Neilson 2005). Stepping away from ‘homosexuals’, or even ‘gay people’ as a facially neutral but actually male-normative category renders it possible (although certainly not inevitable) for adjudicators to identify and recognise lesbians as women and to take account of their experiences of persecution in the context of gendered vulnerabilities. Naming heterosexual people as heterosexual – rather than as, say, ‘people’, ‘normal people’ or ‘society’ – also challenges the pervasive and invisible ‘point-of-viewlessness’ (MacKinnon 1989; 213) that is heterosexual hegemony. Naming heterosexuals helps us to see how ‘general social mores’ involve assumptions about the widespread and naturalised display of heterosexual identification and relationships (including what Lord Rodger calls the ‘small tokens and gestures of affection which are taken for granted between men and women’: HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [77] emphasis added). This is a great help in undoing discretion reasoning based on expectations of conformity implicitly entailing concealment. It is a powerful point directed to heterosexual readers when Lord Rodger says, ‘No one would proceed on the basis that a straight man or woman could find it reasonably tolerable to conceal his or her sexual identity indefinitely to avoid persecution’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [76]). Naming and locating heterosexuality also makes it possible to unpack, for example, the common finding made in sexuality based refugee claims that it is a ‘general social expectation that all people marry’. Such findings inform conclusions that marriage cannot be persecution and that there is no nexus to sexuality in forced marriage claims (Dauvergne and Millbank 2010). Seeing and naming heterosexuality assists us to realise that such a ‘general social expectation’ is in fact an expectation that people be (or act as if they are) heterosexual and go on to prove, or enact, it by entering into a heterosexual marriage (often with attendant legal disabilities for women) such that coercion to marry may indeed be persecutory on the basis of sexual orientation or gender.


There is a clarity of acceptance across all five judgments that sexual orientation entails a wide range of self expression, that one’s erotic life is critical to self identity and that it can and must encompass a social and emotional life. When Lord Rodger affirms that the Refugees Convention is there to protect the right ‘to live freely and openly as a gay man’ he specifies that such a life includes the ability to show affection, have friendships, socialise, be spontaneous, chat and flirt (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [82]). Lord Rodger’s reference to ‘male heterosexuals’ playing rugby and drinking beer and gay men ‘going to Kylie concerts, drinking exotically coloured cocktails and talking about boys with their straight female mates’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [78]) has been a controversial sticking point (Hathaway and Pobjoy 2012). While I admit to finding this passage grating on first reading, I believe it deserves closer attention, and, given the balance of Lord Rodger’s opinion, the benefit of the doubt - not least of all because he concludes the ‘Kylie passage’ with a finding of equality (stating that ‘gay men are to be as free as their straight equivalents in the society concerned to live their lives in the way that is natural to them as gay men, without fear of persecution’: HJ and HT v SSHD (2010): [78]). Notably Lord Rodger himself characterises his references to football and cocktails as ‘trivial stereotypical examples’ and makes it clear that they are intended to illustrate the point that a wide range of un-sexual social behaviour is inextricably engaged by sexuality. In addition his notation of ‘mutatis mutandis – and in many cases the adaptations would obviously be great – the same must apply to other societies’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: [78]) makes it apparent that – unlike some refugee adjudicators – Lord Rodger is not unthinkingly seeking to impose a Westernised or narrowly stereotyped view onto the wide range of sexual identifications and practices around the world (Millbank 2009b). While I may be alone in being left personally untouched by the enduring allure of Kylie Minogue (Chelvan 2011), there is nonetheless a charming insider knowingness to Lord Rodger’s ‘Kylie’. There are, after all, quite a lot of women in the world called Kylie, but we all know who he means, don’t we? This reference, linking to a vision of straight and gay mates drinking and gossiping companionably together, along with Lord Hope’s use of ‘our’ and ‘we’, paints a discursive community in which gay men belong as insiders, not outsiders.

In the paragraph of the judgment directly following on from the one discussed above, Lord Rodger continues that he does not mean to ‘give any false or undue prominence to the applicant’s sexuality or to sat that an individual is defined by his sexuality’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: 79). In what appears to be a response to Callinan and Heydon’s dissent in S395 which had held that the applicants in question were naturally discreet and not engaged in ‘politics to secure greater toleration of homosexuality in the society in which they lived’ (S395 (2003): [108]), Lord Rodger held that ‘an applicant for asylum does not need to show that his homosexuality plays a particularly prominent part in his life’ (HJ and HT v SSHD [2010]: 79). To make this point he refers to two English men of ‘genius’, poet AE Housman and mathematician Alan Turing, whose ‘talents may have been at least as significant to their identity as their homosexuality’ (ibid). Alan Turing is a fascinating choice of example given that he was prosecuted in 1952 for gross indecency after acknowledging a gay relationship in the course of making a statement to police about his home having been burgled. In order to avoid gaol, Turing was forced to undertake so called ‘chemical castration’, involving a series of oestrogen injections while he served out a year of probation, following which there was further police surveillance of his activities. In 1954 Turing committed suicide. Recently this aspect of Turing’s history has gained more prominence. In 2009 then Prime Minister Gordon Brown issued a statement of apology, acknowledging that Turing and many thousands of other British men convicted for gay sex under ‘homophobic laws’ were ‘treated terribly’ and that ‘Over the years millions more lived in fear of conviction’ (Davies 2009). Past and current UK governments have refused to consider a posthumous pardon for Turing, which is still the subject of a public campaign (Northerner 2012). Recollecting that had Turing lived to challenge his conviction under the ECHR, like the Misters X from Germany and Austria through the 1950s and 1960s, his communication would most likely have been dismissed as manifestly ill-founded. Even with additional violation of chemical ‘treatment’ may not have been judged cruel and inhumane treatment under the human rights law of the time, given that this was (to use the words of Callinan and Heydon JJ) ‘freely chosen’ in order to avoid gaol, and goal was a legitimate deterrent. Perhaps Lord Rodger did not intend to evoke the shadow of human rights violations embedded just below the surface of modern human rights law, and the violence in the law of Britain’s own recent past. But then again, perhaps he did.

Conclusion

The application of human rights norms in the assessment of sexuality based refugee claims continues to come down to unconscious or semi-conscious understandings of what it is to be a normal person living an ordinary life. There can be no wholesale or unmediated application of human rights standards, even if such standards were stable artefacts, because of the embedded role of distinctive domestic ‘interpretative communities’ in doing the work of refugee adjudication (Tobin 2012).

Challenging and actively reconstituting understandings of human rights norms, sexuality and of normal life requires both big rights claims and the little details of life lived. In the face of pervasive lack of transparency at lower levels of decision-making, lack of information about overall trends in RSD outcomes, apparently inconsistent state practice and resilient informal barriers in refugee adjudication, Waaldijk’s ideas of small change and symbolic preparation give us a practical and optimistic framework to work within. Symbolic preparation brings to light the human rights norms that are at stake, while small change entails the process of day to day application of these norms to the specific fact situation of each applicant. Small change and symbolic change are in constant inter-play. Within even apparently small changes such as use of language and choice of facts we may find symbolic dimensions indicative of, and contributing to, much greater change.

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[♦] Professor of Law, University of Technology Sydney. This chapter arises from a paper delivered to the Fleeing Homophobia Conference, VU University Amsterdam, September 2011. Many thanks to Sabine Jensen and Thomas Spijkerboer for the invitation, VU and UTS for financial support to attend, to Anthea Vogl for research assistance and to Thomas Spijkerboer for comments on an earlier draft. This research is supported by grant DP 120102025 from the Australian Research Council.
[1] My work to date has largely focused on Australia, the United Kingdom, Canada and New Zealand, with less systematic consideration of case law from the United States. While this research addresses only written decisions from English-speaking jurisdictions (and a handful of decisions in French from the Canadian set), I contend that the same broad themes appear across several countries in Europe, even if there are differences in emphasis. I acknowledge that there are also many major structural and procedural barriers, including fast-tracking procedures, safe country designations, the use of detention, reduced avenues of appeal and grounds of appeal, the interdiction of boats, excision of territory and attempts to expel applicants to non-signatory countries for processing. Here I focus on barriers arising within the RSD process, limited though that is.
[2] X v Germany No 104/55 (1955) 1 YB 228; X v Germany No 167/56 (1956) 1 YB 235; X v Germany No 261/57 (1957) 1 YB 255; (196); X v Germany No 530/59 (1960) 3 YB 184; X v Germany No 600/59 (2 April 1960); X v Germany No 704/60 (1960) 3 Coll Dec ; X v Austria No 1138/61 (1963) 11 Coll Dec 9; (196); X v Germany No 1307/61 (1962) 5 YB 230; X v Germany No 2566/65 (1967) 22 Coll Dec 35.
[3] In Germany for example, there were contradictory decisions through the 1980s and early 1990s (discussed in European Council on Refugees and Exiles 1997: 9). Janna Weßels argues that international jurisprudence on sexuality and PSG remains ‘confused’ (Weßels 2011: 12).
[4] There were 23 votes in favour, 19 against, and 3 abstentions.
[5] Sean Rehaag unearthed outcome statistics for 2006 in Canada through freedom of information claims (Rehaag 2008). Rehaag has since made this data publically available: <http://ccrweb.ca/documents/rehaagdata.htm> (accessed 17 January 2012), under the link ‘Raw data’. Unfortunately such access to information laws cannot be used if the government does not in fact collect this information in the first place.
[6] As of June 2011, 33 member states within the EU explicitly recognized sexual orientation as a PSG in either their national legislation or case law (Council of Europe Commissioner for Human Rights 2011).
[7] It should be noted that a number of European countries, such as Sweden, Denmark and Norway, did not in fact begin here as they addressed sexual orientation and gender claims only under subsidiary or complementary protection regimes (Denmark continues to do so). While this afforded important protections to individual claimants it arguably perpetuates an inequitable status more broadly, by reinforcing the idea that GLBT are less entitled to Convention protections. For this reason I argue that accepting the PSG is still a necessary step before developing an equitable persecution analysis.
[8] A further difficulty is that decision-makers may then uncritically accept that the repeal of criminal sanctions means there is no further risk of persecution (see Dauvergne and Millbank 2003b). This approach was recently critiqued in the United States: Rojo v Holder (2011).
[9] In the United States, these issues are more often considered through the frame of “visibility.” In one sense, this concerns whether the applicant will be “visible” or identifiable to potential persecutors: Millbank (2003); Hanna (2005). Visibility also increasingly appears in U.S. jurisprudence requiring collective “social visibility” in order to define a PSG. This may lead to the finding that there is no PSG at all in sending countries where the entire class of applicants are closeted and the broader society disclaims their existence (Marouf 2008: 79–88). See also Soucek (2011). The BIA requirement of “social visibility” was stringently criticised by the Court of Appeal in the Seventh Circuit (Ramos v Holder (2009)). However the “social visibility” approach was recently upheld by the Court of Appeals in the Tenth Circuit (Rivera-Barrientos v Holder (2011)), despite being contrary to UNHCR policy guidance and to the submissions of UNHCR intervening in that case (see UNHCR 2002a; Brief for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees 2002: 1222). The “visibility” approach has also been taken in France, with troubling results for GLB (Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011: 36).
[10] This was expressly disapproved by Sir John Dyson (HJ and HT [2010] [129]).
[11] In 2005 and 2007, respectively, Sweden and the Netherlands amended administrative policy guidance for adjudicators to instruct that lesbians and gay men could not be required or expected to hide their sexuality in their countries of origin (Hojem 2009: 15; Jansen and Spijkerboer 2011: 35). Note that these and other sources also indicate on-going difficulties putting such guidance into practice (see Wolf-Watz et al. 2010)
[12] See a recent Canadian case involving pre-removal risk assessment of a gay Guyanan national in which the officer stated, ‘While the applicant may feel constrained to exercise discretion with respect to his sexual orientation in some settings, evidence that he need not always feel constrained to do so causes me to find that the sometime exercise of discretion does not constitute cruel and unusual treatment or punishment’ (quoted on review in AB v Minister for Citizenship and Immigration (2010) - in which the decision was overturned). See also the mixed policy messages and confusion in the decision-making process reported in Sweden (Wolf-Watz et al. 2010: 3.4.1, 4.4).
[13] Callinan and Heydon JJ reinscribe discretion as the ‘choice’ of applicants but go further to contend that it is in fact not only a ‘natural’ but a neutral state of social grace encompassing all people in a manner ‘by no means unusual. In many societies, both heterosexual and homosexual couples regard their domestic and sexual arrangements and activities as entirely private’ (S395 (2003): [110).
[14] James Hathaway and Jason Pobjoy’s recent critique of the Supreme Court decision in HJ and HT involves a proposal that refugee protections ought to be limited to behaviour which is ‘reasonably necessary’ to express one’s sexuality (Hathaway and Pobjoy 2012). This is a testament to the enduring intuitive appeal of external judgments of ‘reasonableness’. Elsewhere I have argued that this suggestion is dangerously retrograde because ‘reasonableness’ in refugee case law to date has been a by-word to date for lesser, not equal, protections, for gay and lesbian applicants (Millbank 2012 see also Goodman 2012); through it discretion has lived a second life in English case law, and it would be loathsome to see it revived for a third.
[15] See also HJ and HT (2010): [53], [65] (stressing that the underlying rationale of the Convention is to ensure that people are free to live openly without fear of persecution).
[16] The contrast with S395 could not be more stark; Gleeson CJ in dissent opens with a statement about the process of judicial review of administrative action which stresses the utmost importance of confining review to the case as originally made out.
[17] The exchange of concealment for discretion reflects the submissions of the Equality and Human Rights Commission as second intervenor: see eg HJ and HT v SSHD [2010] paras 4, 44.


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