Angéline DeLuzio

Jo DeLuzio's Just Gone: True Stories of Persecution for Love and Life

Reviewed by Mona Angéline

Content warning: Violent homophobia and transphobia; Sexual assault; Torture

(re:books, 2024)

Just Gone is easily among my favorite non-fiction reads for the year, though that’s a sad thing to say when the book talks about violent trauma and torture. In her masterpiece, DeLuzio speaks with nine brave individuals who survived persecution for their sexual orientation in their home country, seeking refuge in Canada. To many Canadians, it can appear as though it has become accepted, almost normalized, to be a part of the 2SLGBTQ+ community given the widespread display of rainbows and celebrations of pride. Even I was a little surprised on my own visit to Toronto last year at just how many of our rainbow flags appear on every shop window these days—though that sort of commercialization might be a topic for another day. And yes, the number of countries that have legalized gay marriage has increased to thirty-five out of 195 in the world, according to DeLuzio, but this still leaves us with seventy-one outlawing gay sex altogether, and twelve of them punishing it by death.

DeLuzio’s first interviewee, Sherwin, is a Jamaican survivor of homophobic violence. In his native country, he faced severe hate and frequently received threats like "batty man fi dead," which means "f*gs should die." Even Time Magazine has described Jamaica as “the most homophobic place on earth,” citing its high rate of violence and murder and the attention the country has received from human rights activists. Coincidentally, this isn’t the first encounter I’ve had with its practices—in her heartbreaking memoir Make It Count, Cece Telfer recounts her story as a Jamaican transfemale elite athlete having to leave her country and her family to find peace and career success, within limits, might I add.

Following violent Catholic exorcisms in Indonesia that left him unconscious, Sungai arrived in Toronto after a long journey towards freedom:

Sungai barely survived his exorcism. … he was tied down, a rag was shoved into his mouth and a cloth was placed over his face. Large amounts of water from a bucket were repeatedly poured over his face, including his nose. He struggled to breath, repeatedly choking and gagging, but was unable to gasp for air because his mouth was blocked.

Ariella is a transgender woman originally from Nigeria, where the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA) became law in 2014. The African continent includes at least half of the countries where it is a criminal offense to engage in same-sex relations, and four where it is punishable by death. Ariella was thirteen when she was first abandoned to live on the streets, packing garbage to survive. Even in relative safety in Canada, she continues to receive harassment as a black transgender woman:

Quite disturbing to me, Ariella told me that she has been stopped by police more than once and questioned about whether she is soliciting clients for prostitution when she was simply walking to her neighbourhood grocery store. The intersectionality of being both Black and transgender puts her at risk for harassment by police, despite all of Canada’s efforts and movement forward to defend and ensure political and civil rights and freedoms.

Ziad and Mazn are refugees from Syria, helped in their escape by the so-called “Rainbow Railroad” —an endearing name that does give me some hope while reading of so much pain. In Syria, the LGBTQ+ community suffers violence, including family-inflicted torture and murder; same-sex relations are criminalized with a maximum three-year prison sentence.

Roberto and Eric hail from Mexico, where they were victims of a “Christian witch hunt” carried out by family, despite the fact that same-sex marriage is legal in Mexico as of 2022. Because crimes often go unreported, uninvestigated, and unsolved, the violence experienced by individuals such as Roberto and Eric persists:

Eric woke to find he was nude and tied to a chair with plastic cuffs. He had severe pain near his liver, suggesting he may have been beaten. Roberto was being pinned down and repeatedly raped with objects and hands. The perpetrators, essentially terrorists, were forcing pills down Roberto’s throat to keep him drugged. He was not entirely conscious. Eric dislocated his shoulder struggling frantically to break free from the chair and help Roberto. Shockingly, one of Eric’s aunts was in the room taking pictures and videos of Roberto being raped. Eric remembers that she was smiling and seemed to be enjoying these gruesome acts of violence.

Maryam’s story is perhaps a wake-up call for all of us. Although Canada is known for its progressive LGBTQ+ policies, she lives in fear of her family and religious community discovering her sexuality. Her own mother repeatedly harps on the leniency of Canadians with their daughters. According to her, honour killings fall under their own community’s laws—in other words, it isn't wrong to kill out of obligation to their religion. It’s almost ironic that Canada, a safe haven for many, is where Maryam feels confined:

Perhaps one day, Maryam will be as free as the little girl who once ran around outside on a hot summer day, hijab flying in the wind, wearing only her underwear. But for now, she has nowhere to run.

Mo, a man from a small country on the border between Europe and Asia, cites in powerful, broken English that where he’s from, animals slaughtered for meat receive more kindness than members of the 2SLGBTQ+ community. Although the government and police deny involvement, evidence suggests they create fake profiles on same-sex dating apps to identify and torture victims:

They are so rough. Stretch my bum wide and stick things inside to look. They say I like it. One examines, others watch, laugh. Spit at me. For the first time, I cry. They laugh more. Call me bad names. Call me girl. Call me names of vagina. Many times, many days they repeat over and over, anal exam. It is worse than beatings.

Mo speaks for the other survivors in the book and around the world when he urges us to see their plight. He suggests that if we deny the human rights of 2SLGBTQ+, Indigenous, or other marginalized groups, we risk losing our own rights as well. It is safe to say that if these groups can lose their human rights, we can lose ours.

DeLuzio's interviewees all had unique experiences with atrocities and barriers, but they all shared a belief in freedom and hope, and a will to do whatever it took to survive. Like the author, I am struck by the fact that most were men—she concedes that only one cisgender woman was interviewed for the book. Were women potentially not deemed important enough to be persecuted? Or, might I add, did we simply not know as much of their plight, given just that lesser importance in some parts of our world?

The book concludes with a summary of Canada’s significant efforts to welcome 2SLGBTQ+ refugees—a paragraph I decided to cite in this review since it might help someone in need:

Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) actively supports the sponsorship of refugees who face persecution because of their sexual orientation, gender identity or expression, or their HIV status. IRCC also offers information, resources, and system navigation, as well as links to other ally organizations, in addition to providing financial support for the Rainbow Refugee Society. The Blended Visa Office- Refereed Program (BVOR) matches refugees identified by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) with private sponsors in Canada. It is important to note that UNHCR Canada does not intervene or influence the process of deciding who will be considered a refugee in Canada, and whether a refugee can be resettled to Canada.

I am grateful to the author for this outstanding collection of harrowing and vulnerable stories, peppered with the contemporary legal and cultural background of each country. This is a unique book, an important book, and one I won’t forget. As the author says, we need to do better.

Thank you re:books for the Advance Reader’s Copy that helped me immensely in preparing this review.

Mona Angéline is an unapologetically vulnerable artist, athlete, and scientist. She honors the creatively unconventional, the authentically "other." She shares her emotions because the world tends to hide theirs. She is a new writer. Her work has been accepted for publication in a number of magazines—see more here.