A safe house in Poland offers LGBTQ Ukrainians sanctuary from Russian bombs

It was 5:30 on a Thursday morning in March when Nadia and Ania finally made it across the border from Ukraine and into Poland with their two cats. Nervously, they dialed the number they had been given.

Helena Vukovic, a Serbian activist who's in Poland to volunteer with the EuroCentralAsian Lesbian* Community (EL*C), had been up most of the night waiting for their call. Vukovic's voice was hoarse when she answered, but she assured them that she would pick them up soon and bring them to a safe house two hours away.

Ania worried it all might be a trick. "What if these people are sex traffickers?"

Soon, the three were packed into a car. Still feeling jittery, Nadia and Ania sent their geolocation to relatives who could track their progress.

Back in Ukraine, Nadia, an actor, and Ania, who works as an administrator at a language school, lived in different cities but spent as much time together as they could. When Russian bombs began targeting their cities, Nadia rushed to Ania's side.

"We spent a week running between the apartment and a bomb-shelter," Nadia told me. "We would go to bed in the hallway hugging and at least we knew that we are together if something happens."

Ania began having panic attacks. When they finally decided to leave, they spent seven hours waiting on the train station platform. "I tried to distract Ania by playing word and number games with her," Nadia said.

The welcome they got from Vukovic and the others was warm and helpful – the opposite of what they'd feared.

Nadia and Ania appreciated the quiet of the safe house in Poland. The day after they arrived, they took their cats, who had refused to eat or go to the toilet for days, to a veterinarian. They pass rolling hills on their daily walk to a nearby lake.

"When we arrived here and there were no sirens, it immediately calmed us down. We were in a stupor for several days. We are not used to trusting people," Nadia said.

A low profile

In February, EL*C held an emergency meeting to decide how they could assist Ukrainian refugees, who would be especially vulnerable. They ended up renting several houses close to the Ukrainian-Polish border to offer temporary housing.

Most of the 3.9 million people who have fled Ukraine have poured into Poland, but the country is considered unwelcoming to LGBTQ people. "Are you going to save lesbians by bringing them to Poland?" Alice Coffin, a French activist who helped organize EL*C's response, recalls being asked.

Vukovic said that EL*C is keeping a low profile and has not shared the locations of the safe houses. "We chose rural areas, and not cities, so there are not many people around."

"I do not hide – ever – in my life. But this is for a bigger goal," Vukovic said.

Poland does not recognize same-sex marriage, and same-sex couples are barred from adopting children together. In recent years, dozens of Polish towns declared themselves LGBT "free zones," though some of these resolutions were rolled back after the European Commission threatened to cut off some funding.

In the month since Russia's Feb. 24 invasion of Ukraine, EL*C has coordinated the relocation for around 80 people and 44 people have stayed in their safe houses. Most of the refugees are referred to them by Insight, a Ukrainian LGBT rights organization.

"If you are discriminated against in peace, you would be even more during the war," Vukovic said.

Nadia and Ania are sharing the house with six other refugees, as well as Vukovic and her partner, Tijana.

There's a binational Russian-Ukrainian couple. (They declined to be photographed.)

And another woman, who goes by the nickname Mouse, is there with her mother and her two kids, who are 9 and 12. They are from Kramatorsk, near the front lines in eastern Ukraine, and this is the second time they've fled fighting in eight years.

One evening, Nadia, Ania, and Mouse were relaxing in the living room and discussing the news from home – where the Russian rockets had hit that day. (Earlier that day, a friend had told Mouse that two missiles had hit near the cemetery where Mouse's dad is buried. "Fuck. Send me a photo," Mouse had told her friend.)

Mouse recounted her recent trip across the border to collect her car. Mouse, who wears her hair short, told them that she was repeatedly stopped by territorial defense units who mistook her for a man. (Ukrainian men between 18 and 60 are barred from leaving the country.)

"I almost became soldier Jane! I probably should not cut my hair till the war ends," she said, laughing from the memory. In the end, the guards let her go and wished her a safe trip.

The next morning, Vukovic called up to the Russian-Ukrainian couple. "Guess who is going to be buying the next round of drinks to celebrate!" A woman in Germany had volunteered to host them for six months.

The couple jumped for joy and hugged Vukovic. This was great news. Because Poland doesn't recognize same-sex unions, the Ukrainian can legally stay in Poland but her Russian partner cannot. They bought an apartment together late last year in Chernihiv, but the city has seen heavy bombing and it's not clear when they'll be able to return.

"Do not live in the past, look forward," Vukovic tells them. "You are young and you can build your life again in a new country, where your rights are protected."

Since then, Nadia and Ania have been offered a place to stay, in Barcelona. They've been to the city before, as tourists, and have some friends there, but neither speaks Spanish. They're nervous about starting a new life, but grateful for what they have.

"The most important thing is that we are together," Nadia said. "Going to bed hugging each other, no matter what happens next."