Risking death to tell the truth: Saudi Arabia’s LGBT+ community

Faisal arrived at his family home and his father asked once more why he remained resistant to marrying a woman. He was by now no longer a teenager and, in Saudi Arabia, the expectation is that men should settle down, get married and have children. Yet Faisal, as a closeted gay man, delayed. His father, described by his son as a “powerful man” in the local community, had friends in useful places. He made contact with a psychiatrist, who Faisal says usually worked at a public hospital specialising in the treatment of mental illness and addiction. Faisal alleges that his father asked one of the specialists from the hospital to befriend his son. He tasked the medic with the challenge of “working out” why his son had refused to marry. He suspected his son may be homosexual. The medical professional came to the family home, where Faisal eventually revealed his sexuality. At the family home, the “treatment” began. “Torture” is a strong, loaded word, but this is how Faisal describes the process of attempted conversion therapy. The methods inflicted upon “patients” are physically vicious and psychologically cruel. “These were the psychiatrist’s tactics for defeating my inner gay demon,” he says, sarcastically. The psychiatrist started by asking Faisal to watch gay pornography and masturbate. The catch, however, is that Faisal was ordered to multi-task; specifically by vomiting at the point of ejaculation. “When I was physically unable to vomit, the doctor suggested pairing the gay pornography with videos of people vomiting. He provided a pill, too, that made me vomit almost instantly. His idea was that I would come to relate same-sex attraction with vomit. Just to have this conversation now is making me feel sick. I feel like I am still traumatised.” Faisal is one of the luckier ones. He escaped. Now his home country is only an outline, or an item on the foreign news. This week, he noted the takeover of Newcastle United. The Saudi sovereign wealth fund, called the Public Investment Fund (PIF), has acquired 80 per cent of the Premier League club, while Amanda Staveley’s PCP Capital Partners and the Reuben brothers equally share the remaining 20 per cent. It is, arguably, the most controversial takeover in the history of English football. Amnesty International, the human rights organisation, has requested a meeting with the Premier League, alleging that the deal “raises a host of deeply troubling questions about sportswashing, human rights and the integrity of English football”. Since the takeover last Friday, passing mentions have been made in news reports to the treatment of the LGBT+ community in Saudi Arabia. Now The Athletic can detail, directly from LGBT+ Saudis, the daily reality of their life in the Gulf state and what the Newcastle takeover and the scrutiny that comes with it means for them. We reveal multiple allegations of attempted cure therapy in some of the country’s celebrated “mental health” hospitals, mistreatment by the police, in addition to a growing campaign across Europe to secure the release of Suhail al-Jameel, a 25-year-old social media influencer reported to have been arrested in 2019 for posting a shirtless picture in leopard-print shorts (below). This all underpins a level of societal shunning that left one interviewee concluding that homosexuality in Saudi Arabia means “misery, isolation or, worse, death”. Over the past week, The Athletic made discreet contact with dozens of LGBT+ individuals who either reside in Saudi Arabia or have escaped its absolute monarchy to live a more liberal existence beyond its borders. Faisal is not the real name of the young man who experienced cure therapy and all names of sources within this report have been altered to protect their safety. Any specific details about their experiences are included only with careful consideration and permission. This is as much as we have been advised we can divulge about the method of reporting. It is no exaggeration to say the interviewees risked their freedom and lives by contributing to this article. On several occasions during group conversations, participants raised concerns that I could be a member of the Saudi police or security service moonlighting as a journalist. The imperative is clear. This is Saudi Arabia, where the adherence to strict interpretations of Sharia law renders it illegal to be LGBT+ and punishable by arrest, lashings, imprisonment, or even death. The Saudi LGBT+ community not only detail their struggle at the hands of the state but also address the Newcastle takeover. They present the manner in which they would like those of us who cover football as journalists or follow the sport as supporters to respond to the Saudi investment. Additionally, they accuse the Premier League of “pinkwashing”, by promoting their Rainbow Laces inclusion campaign while permitting the Saudi takeover of Newcastle. Zarah, a lesbian woman seeking asylum outside of Saudi Arabia, says: “We are not asking for sympathy or pity but we do ask for a voice. We just want our story to be heard as it really is. The truth is that it is heartbreaking to see people in the West who celebrate the people behind this takeover, who celebrate our oppressors. We see videos of people brandishing the Saudi flag or wearing a headdress. It just triggers a feeling of powerlessness.” Ali al-Ahmed (real name) is a Saudi scholar based in the United States who reports for the Institute of Gulf Affairs. He says: “You cannot blame ignorant people. It is like blaming your car for being unable to go into space. I don’t blame regular folk who think this will be good for them, for their neighbourhood and bring jobs for their folk. I am sure if they were aware, they would take a different position. What bothers me more is those people who allowed the PIF to buy the club. By that, I mean the Premier League.“ The Premier League says it has “received legally binding assurances that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia will not control Newcastle United Football Club” but declined to explain on the record how this will be demonstrated in practice. The league and the club have been shown the allegations in this piece but have come back with nothing, whether that be denials, reassurances or a promise to investigate or take action. We were, however, informed that Newcastle United are working towards achieving the intermediate level of the Premier League’s equality, diversity and inclusion standard. Staveley has insisted that the Saudi PIF is an “autonomous commercially driven investment fund” yet it is chaired by Mohammad bin Salman, the Crown Prince and de facto ruler of the kingdom. In addition to Bin Salman, the PIF board is composed of six ministers from the Saudi government and an advisor from the Royal Court. Yasir Al-Rumayyan is the governor of the investment fund and does not hold an official government position. As the only board member not directly linked to the Saudi state, he has been named chairman of Newcastle. He is also the chair of the state-owned oil company Saudi Aramco. Sky Sports have reported that Al-Rumayyan is hoping to be at St James’ Park tomorrow (Sunday) for Newcastle’s first match under their new ownership, against Tottenham Hotspur. The purpose of the PIF is to turbo-charge Bin Salman’s multi-billion-dollar Vision 2030 project, which seeks to reform Saudi Arabia’s economy to make the state less reliant on its oil revenues. This has led to new investment in tourism, entertainment, sport, technology and health. The Athletic has been told of other medical sites where cure therapy is alleged to take place, including allegations that trans women have been forced to take male hormones against their will and threats of electric shock therapy. The PIF was invited to respond to allegations within this report but declined. The Athletic also wrote to the Saudi embassy in the United Kingdom, who did not respond. The claims of separation between the Saudi state and the fund are further blurred by publicly-available documents that emerged in early 2019. These show the PIF agreed to pay New York-based KARV Communications company $120,000 per month. The agency’s task was to “create a clear distinction between the PIF and the political leadership in Saudi Arabia”. This became particularly necessary following the death of Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi, who wrote critically of Bin Salman in US newspaper The Washington Post. He was murdered at the Saudi embassy in the Turkish city of Istanbul in 2018, and according to a US intelligence report, Bin Salman is deemed responsible for approving the operation that killed Khashoggi. Bin Salman describes the findings as flawed. It is in the interest of the investment fund, therefore, to be seen as separate from the Saudi state in order to wear a more palatable appearance to overseas economic partners. The Saudi LGBT+ community, however, have their own story to tell. Zarah adds: “There is a reason that protestors or journalists are intimidated and killed. The reason is that the most powerful tool against a dictatorship is words. The internet has enabled us to speak to people overseas and explain the treatment. “It has led to some change in how people are treated. We do not have public executions in the market square anymore. “But there are still vile human-rights violations, and this is our chance to deliver the real picture.” Coverage of events in far-away places very often deals in the extremes. We hear about triumphs and tragedies; about massacres and monsoons. We will sometimes hear people speak in caricatures about the Middle East, as a place where gay people are thrown off buildings and heads get chopped off. There are seeds of truth and it is certainly accurate that the Islamic State (IS) filmed gay men being thrown from the roofs of hotels during the worst periods of their terror in Syria earlier this decade. The daily reality in Saudi Arabia, however, is less dramatic. Conversations with real people tell a more nuanced story. The regime is not like the Taliban in Afghanistan in the late 1990s. Door-to-door police searches to identify any homosexuals are not standard practice. There are light and tender moments that come along. There are the young gay men who stream the British version of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Indeed, in some Saudi colleges, they say asking peers if they watch Drag Race is an unwritten code to find gay friends. Drag Race is a portal to a different universe. One interviewee explains his love of a past British finalist of the show. “The drag star Bimini; I hope she knows what she means to people like me. It offers hope to know there’s a place with such a level of acceptance and understanding. When you do not see that in your own life, the visual representation means so much more. I never want to lose this connection.” It may be a surprise to some that Drag Race is available on streaming subscription platforms in Saudi Arabia. Others find a way, too, to watch the American coming-of-age film Love, Simon — about a high-school boy grappling with his sexuality. The internet provides opportunities that would never have been possible for those who came before. Saudi LGBT+ people use Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) to protect their location and identity. They also set up anonymous social media accounts, where, as vulnerable young people, they can find stories of others in the same position. One says: “I could read on Twitter about gay Saudis and their experiences. For the first time, I felt a shared sense of identity, that feeling of connection, belonging, that there really are people out there who understand me.” Social media websites are a gateway drug that provide the confidence for the next and more daring fix: dating apps. Gay dating app Grindr is blocked in Saudi Arabia. But other apps, such as Scruff and Tinder, are accessible. The risk with dating apps is considerable. The New York Times wrote in 2015 how a Scruff user in Saudi Arabia had reported that police in Riyadh used the app to entice and then deport an acquaintance. Interviewees for this piece explained that some gay men on Tinder say they are looking only for friends, but the real intention is to find dates. On other occasions, they laugh, they are simply horny, and take risky decisions. Do they worry? “Yes, of course,” says Faisal. “You are in constant fight-or-flight mode. The date looks nice, you think you would like to hook up. But when you have your private time, the thought of being caught creeps up on you. It hinders everything; this fear of losing everything. Your family, friends, job or even your life. One slip and you can be dead.” Others go on dates and are told stories about the fate of other gay men, such as the one whose family discovered his anonymous Twitter account, where he spoke about his sexuality, and beat their own child up before disowning him. “Imagine if these were the stories you heard on your first dates,” says one interviewee. A different interviewee, Amad, was told by one partner about a friend who had been entrapped via a dating app. “The police used him to then out other gay individuals. If you cut a deal, they set you free. It is a way for the community to turn on one another and a domino effect.” The PIF did not respond to this allegation, insisting it is separate from the Saudi state. Dates are clandestine events, either long and aimless car journeys or making the most of time alone at a person’s home. Once together, the fear and possibility grips the situation. Aisha, a lesbian teenager, recalls kissing a schoolmate in a classroom when they were alone. “Honestly, I almost pissed my pants. It was terrifying. It was very traumatising. The fear of the moment overrode the joy.” Faraz says he knows a relationship is nigh-on impossible, so he lives for fleeting moments of pleasure, and hopes the police — or his family — will not find him. For some, the shame is all-consuming; heavy and alive, constructed from all those buried fears and desires. Amad recalls having sex with a religious partner. “Straight away,” he says, “this guy said, ‘We fucked up, we committed a big sin, we need to pray to God for forgiveness’. That was straight after we had sex.” It is shortly before midnight when one interviewee invites me into a group call. Over two dozen LGBT+ people are present. Some are within Saudi Arabia. Others have escaped and face an agonising wait for asylum at safe-houses across the world. Some, it should be said, are prepared to speak on the record but the risk of association to others present on the call means we ultimately decide to make all contributors anonymous. As I introduce myself to the group, as a gay journalist, the raised hand emojis go up. “How can we be sure he isn’t working for the police?” asks one woman, and those questions repeat themselves several times during the discussions. They explain individuals have previously been ejected from calls after arousing suspicion. Their fears calmed, we talk for several hours. It feels somewhere between activism and a therapy session, as individuals share experiences, express fears and state impossible aspirations. Despite the alleged oppression by organs of the Saudi state, it is a fear of the family, first and foremost, that most often arises. Amir explains: “The state is so powerful that, on many occasions, the state does not need to police the situation. The Kingdom’s subjects will do it for them.” I am told first-person accounts of differing levels of family mistreatment. One trans woman recalls how she was battered by her uncle “in order to put some manhood” into her. She subsequently attempted suicide several times. Others take cars away from their relatives or install tracking software that tells the male guardian every journey embarked upon by their child. Another trans person on the call is too afraid to speak with their own voice but sends a message to another contributor, asking them to explain how her family attempted to “pray the trans away”. Faisal, the young man forced to masturbate to a video of people vomiting, continues his story. He explains he told the specialist that in male same-sex relations, he is the active partner during sex, referred to as a “top”, while the recipient would be a “bottom”. He says the specialist said this was a relief, as the bottom would be “taken in handcuffs to the hospital and treated by electric shock therapy.” In Saudi culture, Faisal explains, the bottom is perceived as the weaker and more feminine participant, an object rather than a subject, and therefore requiring more severe intervention. He adds that this reflects the state’s overall perception of what it means to be male or female, arguing that “toxic masculinity runs rife in Saudi Arabia”. Faisal winces and says: “The specialist admitted the success rate for treating bottoms was very low. He was a self-proclaimed psychiatrist.” This was only in the recent past, and Faisal lives outside of Saudi Arabia today. He now has a more comforting therapist, who informed him that he has suffered a form of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) related to his abuse as a child and young man. In his more tender years, Faisal’s father sensed the need to make his son more masculine. “I was 10 years old and my father wanted to make me more of a man, so he forced me to kill a sheep at a slaughterhouse. “My example is only one person’s life but utterly representative. The truth is that simply existing as an LGBT+ person in Saudi Arabia causes PTSD.” Fatima, a trans woman, takes confidence from the group. She begins talking, slowly at first but soon emboldened. She says: “I was sent to a mental health institute. They gave me male hormones to make me more of a man and therapists held sessions saying that being gay is a sickness. They would goad me, saying, ‘What kind of face is that you have? Is it male or female? You probably wear your mother’s and sister’s lingerie’. “It was mentally abusive. They made me shave my head and cut my hair to look more like a man, they made me grow my beard more to appear like a man. In the beginning, they took me to the facility and strip-searched me. They took stuff away like phones and personal belongings. “Then it is an isolation room for two weeks. Then it is a six-to-eight-month process to be released, as long as you go back and check in. The only reason they let me out is my dad signed a legal agreement guaranteeing that I will show up to the facility to continue receiving treatment. “My friend was in the hospital and was given sleeping medication to be sedated for a long time and left isolated in her room. She was released the first time after two months but then her family caught her reading about transgenderism on the internet, so they sent her back to the facility. The family said the police should be called if anyone tries to visit.” A second trans person tells a story about a day at school, when a teacher hauled them to the front of the class and threatened to pull up their clothes to check what was underneath. A lesbian woman says she, too, was sent to a mental institute. She says: “I was interrogated about my sexuality, my religion, and a lot of nonsense irrelevant to my mental wellbeing. They asked whether I was only pretending to like women because I might have had sex with a man outside of marriage, which is an offence. They were saying that I used lesbianism to try and hide it. They treated me like I was ill because I did not conform to their vision.” Sevag Kechichian, a Gulf researcher for Democracy for the Arab World Now (DAWN) says: “The legal system is still to a large extent under the control of, or given its authority by, an interpretation of a religious system. I am not surprised to hear accounts of torture or attempts to convert individuals by methods such as cure therapy.” In many cases, the family is able to control the fate of their child. Some will simply turn them in to the police, “to wash away the shame”. Yet Amad explains that most gays will avoid police interventions unless they make themselves known and present on social media. The alleged treatment of Suhail Al-Jameel, frequently raised by LGBT+ Saudis during these conversations, has acted as a forewarning to others who dare to be publicly different. He is a 25-year-old who spoke on YouTube and has over 100,000 Twitter followers. Those familiar with his situation say he had previously studied in California in the United States. He is now reported to be two years into a prison sentence after posting a shirtless photograph on Twitter. Hassan, a gay man, explains: “Suhail was first arrested in 2018 but he was released on good behaviour. He was lured back to Saudi Arabia amid claims a relative was unwell.” Al-Jameel is alleged to have been arrested again in October 2019, and multiple reports on social media claim that the charge sheet included “cybercrimes”, “homosexuality”, ”imitating a woman”, ”disobedience” and ”public indecency”. He is also alleged to have received 800 lashes and now resides in a political prison, which is worse than a normal one. As the board of the PIF (which now owns Newcastle) includes six government ministers, in addition to the Crown Prince, there is loose hope that pressure in the United Kingdom could lead to his release. Al-Jameel is an icon for LGBT+ people in Saudi Arabia. “He is like a goddess,” says Amara, a lesbian woman. “He is kind of openly gay and helps a lot of my homosexual friends who see him as an idol. He is our Lady Gaga, totally amazing. He was loved for being himself. He did not talk specifically about being gay before being arrested. It is like that TikTok cycle where they say, ‘Show me you know how to do this without telling me how’. He showed he was gay without stating it. All influencers are on the radar of the police, as the court of public opinion thinks he is promoting homosexuality.” After his arrest, Al-Jameel wrote on Twitter, accusing the state of treating foreign LGBT+ visitors differently to its own citizens. “You want tourism but you won’t give us freedom. If you are gay and with money, stay away from Saudi Arabia, there is no place for you here. It is illegal to be who you are and it is sad.” The Saudi desire to impress economic partners overseas is highlighted by a remarkable allegation, reported for the first time here, that representatives of the government are believed to have reached out to leading LGBT+ human rights organisation Outright Action International in order to request resources to inform officials as to the best way to entertain high-profile LGBT+ visitors working in the entertainment space. Outright declined to comment formally when contacted by The Athletic. A source said they were unable to confirm or deny that a request came from the representatives of the Saudi government but said Outright is not currently providing training to the Saudi state. Saudi Minister of Tourism Ahmed Aqeel Al-Khateeb sits on the board of the PIF. He was invited to comment on the perceived double standard of welcoming overseas LGBT+ visitors while Saudi LGBT+ people are oppressed. The PIF again declined to respond. Human rights researcher Kechichian says his organisation has been made aware of the case but unable to gain information. In June this year, a small group of protestors demanded Al-Jameel’s release outside the Saudi embassies in Dublin and Berlin. A projector beamed his face and a rainbow against the one in Berlin along with the captions “Prisons are full of innocents like Suhail”, and, “We fight the dark by the light.” Amara continues: “By buying Newcastle, the government is now going to have to answer for itself when accused of many human rights violations. The whole world can help us by amplifying his treatment.” The PIF and the Saudi embassy in London did not respond to questions about the current status of Suhail Al-Jameel. As evening becomes early morning, the stories continue. Every so often, those videos from Newcastle, as gleeful supporters brandished Saudi flags in the streets, are again discussed. Zarah calls it “ridiculous and hurtful” on more than one occasion. They do not castigate those supporters but do seek to educate. They are conscious, too, that the UK government appears to have increasingly warm relations with the kingdom. Take, for example, the tweet by the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia upon completion of the takeover. Neil Crompton wrote: “Excellent news about the PIF investment in Newcastle United. Good for the PIF, good for Newcastle and good for investment in NE of England. Howay.” Back to the group call and each recollection feels more desperate than the one that came before. Amir and his parents moved to the US in his early teens but his family’s religious devotion remained. In his early 20s, his parents quizzed him on his sexuality and when he revealed he is gay, they took away his car and his phone. He was only allowed to travel in their company. His mother even began to attend university classes with him. “I was under the direct threat of kidnap by my parents,” he says. Amir was fortunate, and smart. He had previously made local politicians and charities aware of his precarious situation, as well as senior personnel at his university. It allowed them to prepare an escape plan and a safe-house for the moment his parents uncovered his sexuality. His parents returned to Saudi Arabia without him. “I receive threats from people claiming to be Saudis,” he says. “I was told I have a death sentence on my head. Somebody called me who claimed to be from the Saudi government and essentially said, ‘You have two death sentences; one for being gay and one for becoming an infidel’. I was wondering how they would do that. I asked, ‘Would they stone me the first time and behead me the second time?’ When I said that to the person, he laughed and hung up on me. I don’t know if it was a troll or someone really from the government. It is an example of the bombardments I have been getting. Four years ago, there were phone calls and now it is more on social media.” The PIF declined to comment. Amir has now secured asylum status in a new country and is happily partnered with a man. Others search for a way forward. Some within Saudi Arabia lead mendacious lives in submission to the system, marrying to appease their family and the state. I met a young woman in London who had fled. She recalls her first marriage, in which she says she was repeatedly sexually assaulted. She says that when she walked out on her husband, cars rounded on her on the highway and she was arrested. She was released when she agreed to return to him. When her husband became bored of her, she says her father asked him to detail the ways in which his daughter had caused the marriage to fail. Then she was returned to her family home. Her family arranged a second marriage to an older man when she decided to escape. Others are equally courageous in their words. Aisha, a lesbian woman, says: “I will never get married. It is not as important as living my life. Since I was a child, I kept being told I cannot live without a man. That I need someone who is masculine or strong enough to give me shelter, food and children if I want to be happy. I do not want that. I do not want to be ordered to marry some cousin. I want my freedom.” What is freedom? “Freedom is to be independent. Freedom is to pay my own bills, Freedom is to own my house. Freedom is to want to play the role that society has prescribed to men. I have a female classmate from school; she was smart, really fucking smart. I was with her eating lunch one time and she told me she wanted to do a major in law. Her mum said no because if you are a lawyer, you work with men and to work with men is a sin and haram (forbidden), according to Sharia law. She was made to believe that living her dream is a sin.” In recent years, the Saudi state has sought to alter Western perceptions. Bin Salman has made progressive reforms. He lifted the world’s last remaining prohibition against female drivers. He reopened cinemas and introduced pop concerts. Women there can now travel without the permission of men but sources in Saudi Arabia cautioned how, in practice, “it depends how repressive the male guardian is”. Mixed-gender workspaces are now permitted, although, again, many families who remain devout seek to limit the roles of their wives and daughters in public life. More encouragingly, the “religious police” is increasingly inactive. In 2016, it was decided that Members of the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice would no longer be permitted to chase suspects or arrest them. Crimes could include wearing nail polish or listening to music. Instead, they now report observations to security forces. An extreme example came in 2013, when two brothers who had refused to turn the radio down in their vehicle were chased down by four officers and got into a fatal car crash. However, a court subsequently acquitted them. Saudi progress is a riddle of contradictions. Bin Salman permits women to drive but in 2018, Loujain Al-Hathloul, who campaigned for women’s right to drive, was sentenced to more than five years in prison. Saudi authorities insist the charges relate to contact with organisations hostile to Saudi Arabia. Al-Hathloul was convicted of charges such as attempting to harm national security and advance a foreign agenda. She was prosecuted in the Specialised Criminal Court, which had been established to try terrorism cases. The BBC reported how, according to her family, she was beaten, given electric shocks and threatened with rape after her arrest. The Saudis deny the torture yet when they hosted the G20 group of the world’s leading economies last November, campaigning bodies sought to raise attention to alleged human rights abuses. Saudi Arabia’s Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, Adel Al-Jubeir, told the BBC: “We do not allow people to lecture us or dictate to us what we should or shouldn’t do — just like we don’t tell people in the UK or in America or in other places what they should or should not do.” This appears to remain their position in relation to the LGBT+ community. In March 2016, the Saudi government objected at the United Nations (UN) to a motion to include the condemnation of violence against LGBT+ people in a resolution opposing torture. They argued the eradication of torture should not be used to “promote other issues”, while they also protested the UN’s inclusion of LGBT+ rights in its 2015 Sustainable Development Goals. Now, however, the country’s Public Investment Fund owns an 80 per cent stake in a Premier League football club, where, on a corporate level, expectations are only increasing to support inclusion of LGBT+ people. Amanda Staveley, part-owner of Newcastle’s new-look set-up, says the club remains committed to the Premier League’s Rainbow Laces campaign, where clubs are expected to show support for the LGBT+ community. Faisal is withering. He says: “The pinkwashing is nice, isn’t it? So it is, ‘We are going to take money from those who torture us while wearing rainbow laces’? No, thank you. Not in our name.” On Friday, Liverpool manager Jurgen Klopp criticised the Premier League for failing to publicly explain the decision and said, “there are obviously concerns about human rights issues”. Human rights researcher Kechichian insists that “Western attention is necessary but insufficient for change.” He adds: “But without it, those who are suffering are definitely worse off.” Talk among LGBT+ Saudis turns to how English football supporters might assist them. They suggest they could campaign for the imprisoned Suhail Al-Jameel and others in his position. The impact of this, given the global visibility of the Premier League globally, could apply pressure to the Saudi authorities. Faisal is more mischievous. “Or opposition fans could just unveil a big tifo banner with a photo of Jamal Khashoggi asking, ‘Where is the bonesaw?’” The giggles give way. Fatima concludes: “I believe the Saudi government is motivated to improve its image on a world platform. It may prove successful but it also provides a tool to ask questions about violations. This real picture can apply pressure, stigma and influence public opinion. This could impact Saudi policy. “Our government will always seek to paint it in a certain way; that is why we rely on amplifying voices to give the true image of the LGBT community to the western world.”