\u201cAre you a <\/span>mule<\/span><\/i>, or not?!\u201d His kidnappers shouted, using a derogatory slang word for a gay person in Libyan Arabic.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Abdough Ilbosiphi cowered in the back of a blacked-out Toyota, as it drove away from his hometown of Soq Aljuma\u2019a, Libya. As his kidnappers hit him repeatedly on the back of the neck, Abdough remained silent. Locked in the backseat, he frantically thought how he could dispose of his cellphone. \u201cIt has all my details, photos of my ex-boyfriend,\u201d he recalls, still traumatized.<\/span><\/p>\n Abdough was just sixteen when he and his best friend launched <\/span>Libya Pride<\/span><\/i>, a gay rights blog that quickly drew the attention of Libya\u2019s underground LGBT community. At the time, he was riding the wave of optimism that followed Libya\u2019s 2011 revolution, and had hoped that his anonymous blogging could shift perceptions of homosexuality in one of the world\u2019s most conservative societies.<\/span><\/p>\n But four years after the revolution, as Abdough sat blindfolded and uneasy in the back of an SUV, he felt little pride in what had become of his country.<\/span><\/p>\n The car stopped. Abdough shuffled out.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI was blindfolded when we got to their place,\u201d he recalls, but he soon found himself in an empty, brightly-lit room — sitting across from a large man with a thick beard. Judging from the man\u2019s traditional Muslim dress and beard, Abdough guessed that his kidnappers were members of the <\/span>Quwwat alrude alkhasa<\/span><\/i>, the conservative Islamic militia controlling Tripoli at the time.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Abdough doesn\u2019t know how long the interrogation lasted, but he hasn\u2019t forgotten the feelings of fear and panic. \u201cThey were asking me about the blog,\u201d he says, his voice laced with discomfort. \u201cThey kept asking, \u2018Who is behind it?\u2019 and I would insist that \u2018It was nothing. It was just me and my friend. We were just bored.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n After several alternating rounds of interrogation and beatings, a new face entered the room and changed the line of questioning: \u201cDo you watch American movies? Do you listen to English songs?\u201d Abdough felt the mood in the room shift. He sized up the new interrogator as \u201cthe good cop,\u201d and he played along.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYes, I do,\u201d he admitted. As the man launched into an hour-long lecture about western media propaganda being <\/span>haram<\/span><\/i>, or against Islamic law, Abdough found himself sobbing and nodding in agreement.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI started crying, just breaking down,\u201d he says. \u201cI put my head on his chest, and told him I was deluded.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The charade worked.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Within hours, the kidnappers let Abdough go. With a promise to shut down the website and continue praying five times a day, he left the compound — forced to walk for several hours to his home. Traumatized, Abdough returned to his family, unable to speak about anything for fear of reprisal.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI went back home and just pretended like nothing happened,\u201d he says. To this day, Abdough\u2019s identity as a gay man remains hidden, save for a small circle of friends.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Abdough\u2019s story is remarkably common for LGBT Libyans living in the post-Gaddafi era. Kidnappings and arbitrary detention based on one\u2019s assumed sexual orientation have become <\/span>routine practice<\/span><\/a> by militias and security personnel. The Libyan Red Cross estimates that over 600 Libyans were kidnapped or killed by militia groups between February 2014 and April 2015, the same window when Abdough was abducted.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Discrimination and hararassment against gay Libyans continues to exist in Libya\u2019s penal code today, with same-sex relations punishable by up to <\/span>five years in prison<\/span><\/a>.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But instead of leaving Libya behind, Abdough chose to stay and continue his social justice campaign — only in a different way. He enrolled in law school, where he currently studies human rights law.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n With a more nuanced approach, Abdough continues to stay active in Libyan civil society today. \u201cYou cannot just come to people and tell them, gay rights are human rights,\u201d he says. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t work like that in Libya.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re just trying to make people more open to the idea of human rights themselves — and that takes time,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n Despite having lost hope in Libya\u2019s current political class, Abdough remains optimistic. He says that most Libyans are not against gay rights, \u201cbut they wouldn\u2019t dare to say that in public, because they don\u2019t feel safe.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As he says this, it\u2019s as if Abdough is channeling the atmosphere around him.<\/span><\/p>\n He abruptly cuts me off.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOkay, I can\u2019t chat anymore. I\u2019m out in public and there\u2019s a lot of people staring at me now. Ciao.\u201d<\/span>