Violence against women and gender-diverse individuals remains pervasive in Ghana. According to the 2022 Ghana Demographic and Health Survey (GDHS), 41.6% of women aged 15 to 49 who have ever had an intimate partner have experienced at least one form of intimate partner violence (IPV)—emotional, physical, or sexual. For Lesbian, Bisexual, Queer (LBQ) and Gender Non-Conforming (GNC) survivors, the situation is even more dire as they face multiple layers of exclusion and lack of safety. Between societal rejection, legal discrimination, and a lack of safe resources, their experiences of domestic and intimate partner violence are often ignored or minimized, leaving them without protection or avenues for justice.
Structural violence, systemic barriers embedded within legal, economic, and social systems, traps LBQ and GNC persons in cycles of abuse. Criminalization, family rejection, lack of economic opportunities, and inadequate community support services leave them vulnerable. The constant fear of being outed or criminalized discourages survivors from seeking help, reinforcing patterns of isolation and abuse. Survivors often have limited access to financial independence, safe housing, and community support, making it challenging to escape violent situations.
As Women’s History Month comes to a close, it’s crucial to celebrate the resilience and resistance of LBQ and GNC survivors. Their often unheard stories reveal the patterns of abuse many face, the unique obstacles to seeking support, and the steps necessary to create a future free from violence. We must also acknowledge the courage it takes for these survivors to share their stories, and the respect they deserve.
“I thought it was normal”
Ama, a 29-year-old bisexual woman, met her girlfriend while at university. What began as a passionate and loving relationship soon devolved into isolation and control. Her partner dictated everything—who she could speak to, what she wore, even where she worked. When Ama spoke up, her partner swung between violent outbursts and overly affectionate gestures, making Ama question her feelings and reactions. “I stayed because I thought it was normal. She told me, ‘No one else will love you like I do.’ I believed her,” Ama recalls. The partner often threatened her with outing Ama to her conservative family as a tool of manipulation. After enduring years of emotional and physical abuse, Ama was finally able to leave, thanks to the intervention of a close friend. However, guilt and self-doubt still haunt her, even after her escape.
“Some days, I still wonder if it was my fault,” Ama said softly as we sat in a quiet café in Tema, the salty breeze from the coast drifting through the open windows. “I ask myself if I overreacted, if I should have tried harder to make it work. But then I remember how small I felt, how much of myself I lost. And I know—I had to leave.”
Ama is still in the process of healing and learning to trust herself again. She has reconnected with old friends and started therapy, though the scars of manipulation linger. “I’m trying to unlearn the idea that love means control. That’s the hardest part,” she admitted. Now, she’s focused on reclaiming her independence, slowly building a life where she feels safe and valued. She recently started a job she loves, one where she no longer has to look over her shoulder. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong to myself,” she said.
He tried to “fix” my identity
Fatimah, a Gender Non-Conforming (GNC) whose pronouns are she /they/them, a Muslim woman from Tamale, was on a different path before ending up in an abusive relationship. She grew up in a conservative household where she struggled with her gender identity. Fatimah was lucky to find in a small queer community in her early twenties where found solace and support. She built a life of quiet defiance—choosing her clothing freely, forming deep friendships, and even mentoring younger queer individuals seeking acceptance. However, under pressure from her family and community, she entered a relationship with a man who claimed to love her but ultimately sought to change her. At first, he appeared understanding, even protective, but the relationship soon turned coercive.
Fatimah suffered emotional and physical abuse inflicted by the man who believed he could “fix” her identity. She recalls, “I thought if I acted more ‘feminine’ the beatings would stop.” But they never did. Her abuser justified his violence by claiming it was for her good, to make her fit into society’s norms. He isolated her from her queer friends, controlled her finances, and manipulated her emotionally. Whenever Fatimah tried to leave, he warned, “If you report me, the police will laugh in your face because you’re already unnatural.” The abuse continued for years with Fatimah completely isolated and afraid until she made contact with a discreet community-based organization. With their support, she found emergency housing, psychological counseling, and financial assistance to regain her independence.
When I spoke with Fatimah on the phone, she was now in a better place, though the scars of her experience still linger. Their voice carried a mix of relief and quiet determination. “I finally feel like I can breathe again,” she said. Currently, Fatimah is focusing on rebuilding her life. She has reconnected with her queer community and is slowly regaining her confidence. With the support she received, she started a small business, which gave her financial independence. While healing is an ongoing process, she is determined never to let anyone dictate her identity again. “I won’t hide who I am anymore,” she told me firmly.
Abusers get away with it
When violence occurs within an already marginalized population, many survivors feel trapped and powerless. The cycle of abuse typically includes a tension-building phase, where the abuser becomes increasingly controlling and irritable, leading the survivor to alter their behavior to avoid provoking them. This escalates into an acute explosion phase, where abuse becomes physical, sexual, financial, or psychological. Queer and GNC survivors may face forced “feminization,” public humiliation, or threats of outing. Warning signs of abuse may include emotional abuse and control, financial manipulation, sexual coercion, threats of outing, and physical violence. Every time the victim gathers some power to question or pull away, the abuser apologizes, promises change, or showers the survivor with affection. This phase often disappears over time, leading to another cycle of violence.
Even when survivors realize they are in an abusive relationship, leaving can be incredibly difficult due to family and societal rejection.
Many LBQ and GNC persons have already severed family relations due to discrimination, leaving them emotionally and financially vulnerable. Internalized shame and trauma frequently lead survivors to blame themselves or feel that they deserve the abuse due to societal or religious conditioning. Economic dependence and housing insecurity further complicate the situation, as many survivors lack the financial means to leave. In the current environment in Ghana, where debates over anti-LGBTIQ legislation have persisted for years, the fear of criminalization looms large; reporting abuse may lead to arrest, given that laws criminalize LGBTQ+ identities.
Survivor-centered response and care are needed
Mainstream discussions about domestic violence often overlook LBQ and GNC relationships, making it harder for survivors to seek help. The lack of survivor-centered services adds to the challenges. The few shelters for victims of violence in Ghana mainly cater to heterosexual, cisgender women. They are often not equipped to handle abuses involving same-sex, trans, and GNC persons, many of whom face discrimination in these very spaces. Addressing GBV against LBQ and GNC survivors requires proactive and intentional responses. Prevention efforts must center survivor experiences by equipping crisis centers and shelters with knowledge and sensitivity to LGBTQ+ issues. Faith leaders, educators, and activists must actively challenge harmful narratives that justify violence under the guise of cultural or religious preservation. Legal frameworks should recognize all forms of intimate partner violence, regardless of gender or sexuality, ensuring equal access to justice.
Community organizations have stepped in where mainstream institutions have failed, providing crucial safe spaces, emergency shelter, and financial aid.
They offer trauma-informed therapy, peer support networks, and legal assistance tailored to the realities of queer survivors. These initiatives not only help survivors escape abusive situations but also work on preventing violence by educating communities, training service providers, and advocating for inclusive policies and LGBTQ+ sensitivity. They continue to provide nonjudgmental crisis response, safe referrals, and legal protections. However, these community-led efforts, while impactful, remain underfunded and often operate in secrecy due to the hostile legal and social environment.
Inclusive action against gender-based violence is non-negotiable; all survivors deserve safety, dignity, and justice. Prioritizing LBQ and GNC persons requires dedicated safe spaces for healing, accountability, and survivor-led solutions. Validating their experiences and prioritizing their liberation is paramount. Institutions must urgently implement safe reporting mechanisms and drive policy change, learning from grassroots expertise. For those enduring abuse, immediate outreach to trusted community organizations is critical for safety and healing.
*Names have been altered to protect survivor identities.
Riba-writes (They/Them) is a Black, Queer, Muslim feminist and human rights activist from Ghana, with over nine years of experience in grassroots organizing, gender justice, and LGBTQ+ rights advocacy.