Ukraine’s LGBTQIA+ soldiers wear unicorn symbol on uniform

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As they pack their bags to return to active duty, volunteer fighters Oleksandr Zhuhan and Antonina Romanova gaze at the unicorn insignia that gives their uniforms a rare distinction: a symbol of their status as an LGBTQIA+ couple of Ukrainian soldiers.

Members of Ukraine’s LGBT community who enlisted to fight in the war began sewing the image of the mythical character into their standard uniforms, just below the national flag.

The practice dates back to the 2014 conflict, when Russia invaded and annexed the Crimean peninsula and “a lot of people said that there are no gays in the army,” actor, director and drama teacher Zhuhan told Reuters as he and Romanova dressed in his apartment for the second round of three-month fighting.

“So they [a comunidade lésbica, gay, bissexual, transgênero e queer] They chose the unicorn because it is a fantastic ‘non-existent’ creature.”

Zhuhan met Romanova, who identifies as a non-binary person with her/her pronouns, and moved to the capital from Crimea after being displaced by the conflict in 2014, through her theatrical work.

Neither of them was trained in the use of weapons, but after spending a few days hiding in the bathroom at the start of the war, they decided they wanted to do more.

“I just remember that at a certain point it became obvious that we only had three options: hide in an air-raid shelter, flee or join the Territorial Defense volunteers. We chose the third option,” says Romanova.

For Zhuhan and Romanova, their condition gives them an added sense of responsibility.

“Because what Russia does is not just take our territories and kill our people. They want to destroy our culture and… we cannot allow that to happen,” says Zhuhan.

‘No bullying’

On their first mission, the couple fought in the same unit in Mikolaiv, in southern Ukraine. The experience changed their lives. They found it terrifying, Zhuhan contracted pneumonia, but his fellow fighters accepted them.

“There was no aggression or bullying. It was a little unusual for them, but over time, people started calling me Antonina, some even used the pronoun ‘she,'” said Romanova.

The two received a lot of pats on the back when they joined the new unit at Kiev Central Station for a second three-month period of combat. Zhuhan and Romanova knew some of the staff, but the commanders weren’t at the station.

“I’m a little worried about that,” Zhuhan said, as the mood darkened as the unit headed for the train at dusk. “I know that in some units the rules are stricter. It wasn’t like that in ours. [primeira] unity.”

Zhuhan’s discomfort improves when a commander makes clear his refusal to tolerate homophobia. A senior official later told Reuters over the phone that the only thing that matters on the front lines is being a good fighter.

But one fear remains. “What worries me is that if I’m killed during this war, they won’t let Antonina bury me the way I want,” says Zhuhan. “They’d rather let my mother bury me with the priest reading silly prayers… I’m an atheist and I don’t want that.”

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