Rituals of Rejection: The Struggles of LGBTQ+ Youth in Indigenous Communities

LGBTQ+ individuals from Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities endure widespread violence, including physical assaults, expulsions, and hate crimes. While some regions show greater tolerance, others perceive sexual diversity as a “curse”

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Illustration by Divergentes

For Shangela, stories of young people being expelled from Indigenous communities because of their sexual orientation or gender identity are far too common. Many of these individuals, relying on networks they’ve managed to build, end up in regional capitals seeking support from family or friends.

“The violence on the Caribbean Coast is worse. Here, if you’re gay, lesbian, or trans, they kick you out of the municipality. The police don’t get involved—if anything, they’re violent too. Your family completely abandons you, and many have no choice but to live on the streets. That’s why so many are afraid to come out,” Shangela shares.

Using a pseudonym, Shangela is a 33-year-old gay man from Bluefields in the South Caribbean Coast Autonomous Region (RACCS). Alongside a group of LGBTQ+ youth activists, he works to support those who have been forced to leave their communities.

Rituals and Exorcisms to “Cure” Them

Rituals of Rejection: The Struggles of LGBTQ+ Youth in Indigenous Communities
The ceremonies to “expel the spirits” vary depending on the ethnic group and the level of tolerance the Indigenous community has toward homosexuality | DIVERGENTES

Expulsion is not the only form of punishment LGBTQ+ youth from Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities face. The response often depends on the orders of community leaders, known as witas.

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While most try to conceal their sexual orientation or gender identity, once it becomes known, they are often accused of being “possessed by spirits.”

In such cases, the wita may prescribe an exorcism involving various rituals. These can include beating the individual with branches while reciting prayers, forcing them to endure prolonged fasting, and other forms of penance.

“The family meets with the community leader to carry out a series of often-violent actions. Families believe homosexuality is cursed. Sometimes, these young people flee the discrimination and end up in places like Bluefields, Nueva Guinea, or El Rama, where we as a movement try to provide some support,” explains Kaurniz, another LGBTQ+ individual who also chose to remain anonymous.

“Due to our multiethnic and multicultural identity, discrimination here is different from what occurs in the Pacific region. In Indigenous communities, we are deeply rooted in cultural beliefs, and none view homosexuality in a positive light,” Kaurniz adds.

Coping with Discrimination

Rituals of Rejection: The Struggles of LGBTQ+ Youth in Indigenous Communities
According to the activist, the young people expelled from their communities are Miskitos, Ulwas, Garífunas, and other ethnic groups | DIVERGENTES


Shangela began his activism at a young age. As a gay man who embraces femininity, he has faced discrimination in nearly every aspect of life—at home, in school, on the streets, and within public institutions.

Living in the urban area of Bluefields hasn’t spared him from violence. After earning a degree in Psychology, he chose to work with social organizations, offering psychosocial support to other LGBTQ+ individuals dealing with similar struggles.

Through these spaces, Shangela built networks to assist LGBTQ+ individuals during emergencies. It was there that he realized the violence he had endured since childhood is even more severe in other areas.

While some regions are more accepting of sexual diversity, others completely prohibit it. “The experience differs across communities in the north and south,” Shangela explains.

“We wish we had a shelter for all the young people who come from Indigenous communities—Miskitos, Ulwas, Garífunas—who have nowhere else to go. Even when they reach regional capitals, their families here sometimes continue to discriminate against them, refusing to let them express their sexual orientation or gender identity,” adds Kaurniz.

Ignored Complaints

Although Nicaragua has a Special Ombudsperson for Sexual Diversity, Samira Montiel, within the Office for Human Rights, the institution fails to address complaints from the LGBTQ+ community. This inaction is the result of explicit orders to avoid cases that could “disrupt the peace,” a euphemism used to legitimize Nicaragua’s police state.

Shangela and Kaurniz explain that many LGBTQ+ individuals report assaults to the National Police, but officers frequently refuse to file their complaints. Instead, they blame or threaten the victims, accusing them of being “disruptive” or “provoking the aggression.”

“The police have never supported or defended me—or anyone in the LGBTQ+ community. One time, an officer even tried to hit me when I went to file a complaint. The police are among the main groups fueling violence,” Shangela says.

“When I walk down the street, they shout at me, insult me, and humiliate me with comments like, ‘Why don’t you just act like a man?’ or ‘You’re just asking for us to beat you up.’ I hear things like that all the time,” he adds.

Before the regime of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo began targeting social organizations, several human rights and LGBTQ+ groups reported the violence faced by this community to the Special Ombudsperson for Sexual Diversity. However, they never received a response.

Hate Crimes Against the LGBTQ+ Population

Rituals of Rejection: The Struggles of LGBTQ+ Youth in Indigenous Communities
At least 30 organizations dedicated to defending sexual diversity rights have had their legal status revoked since 2018 | DIVERGENTES

Even in regional capitals, LGBTQ+ individuals face constant threats and attacks that often go unpunished, allowing their aggressors to act without consequences.

From January to June 2024, the LGBTQ+ Human Rights Violations Observatory, part of the feminist organization La Corriente, recorded four hate crimes in Nicaragua.

One of these cases involved Elmer Johnson, a 39-year-old gay man from Bilwi, who survived an attempted murder in May.

“The victim reported that three men suddenly and repeatedly attacked him, beating and stabbing him. The status of the investigation remains unknown,” the Observatory’s report noted.

Another local observatory documented 108 cases of assaults and hate crimes against LGBTQ+ individuals between January and September 2024, including seven violent deaths.

In addition to this violence, the government revoked the legal status of around 30 nonprofit organizations that advocated for LGBTQ+ rights, further silencing efforts to protect this vulnerable community.

LGBTQ+ Youth Left Without Essential Psychosocial Support

For Shangela and Kaurniz, the government’s shutdown of social organizations has dealt a heavy blow to LGBTQ+ individuals, particularly young people expelled from their communities. Without safe spaces to seek help, they are left more vulnerable than ever.

Shangela, who once provided therapy to victims of violence, can no longer offer this support due to the closures. This lack of assistance has left many young people struggling with severe depression, anxiety disorders, and even suicidal thoughts.

“They’re not mentally well—they can’t handle the constant discrimination. They have no emotional support from friends, family, or anyone else. There’s so much that needs to be done, but there’s barely any access to therapists,” Shangela explains.

“These young people had formed strong bonds with the organizations because we worked closely with them. But everything fell apart when the organizations were shut down, and now they’re back in emotional crises with nowhere to turn. We used to organize recreational activities and intervene with their families. They felt safe with us,” he adds.

The closures of these programs haven’t just left LGBTQ+ individuals without psychological support. According to activists, they’ve also created an environment that fosters discrimination and hate speech, further isolating an already marginalized community.


The information we publish in DIVERGENTES comes from contrasted sources. Due to the situation in the region, many times, we are forced to protect them under pseudonymity or anonymity. Unfortunately, some governments in the region, including the Nicaraguan regime, do not provide information or censor independent media. For this reason, despite requesting it, we cannot rely on official, authorized versions. We resort to data analysis, anonymous internal sources, or limited information from the official media. These are the conditions under which we exercise a profession that, in many cases, costs us our safety and our lives. We will continue to report.