The virus of decades-old Soviet homophobia has struck a new post-Soviet country: Kazakhstan. This month, the Kazakhstani parliament passed a law banning so-called “LGBT propaganda.” The law must still be approved by the Kazakhstani Senate and signed by President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev. If this happens – it looks very likely that it will – Kazakhstan will join the expanding “club” of post-Soviet countries where homophobia is not just tolerated but enshrined in public policy (headed by Russia with its recently ramped-up crackdown on queer people). 

The Kazakhstani law entails mandatory labeling of public materials with “LGBTQ themes,” including books, films and media. Violations could lead to fines or short-term detention, and the government would be granted the power to suspend access to websites and digital content. The initiative follows a 2024 petition signed by 50,000 Kazakhstanis demanding restrictions on public LGBTQ representation. 

The resurgence of homophobia in many former Soviet nations, including Kazakhstan, is certainly shaped by Russia’s current aggressive anti-LGBTQ+ policy. Yet it is also rooted in the Soviet past and in how effectively (or ineffectively) these societies have confronted that legacy. Though the post-Soviet countries all inherited Soviet-era homophobia, the ways in which that it has evolved and manifested itself within each national context differ significantly. 

During the Soviet period, homophobia was not enforced in the same way across the country. Some regions monitored and punished it more heavily than others. In certain republics, it was treated chiefly as a religious offense; in others, as a criminal act; and in yet others, as a medical condition. In many cases, these approaches overlapped.

Differences in how male homosexual acts were treated became increasingly visible in the final years of the Soviet Union, and these differences only sharpened after its collapse. In Ukraine, for example, the sodomy law was abolished in 1991 with visible support from local officials, who recognized that gay rights were an important part of the broader human rights agenda. In Russia, where a relatively active gay rights movement had emerged, as well, officials from the Ministry of Justice openly debated repealing the sodomy law. Though President Boris Yeltsin did not comment directly, government representatives worked toward repeal, and in 1993, Russia quietly abolished its sodomy law. 

Elsewhere in the former Soviet space, decriminalization took place gradually. Latvia abolished its sodomy law in 1992, Lithuania in 1993, Belarus in 1994 and Moldova in 1995. Most Central Asian republics also eventually moved in this direction: Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and Tajikistan in 1998. In the South Caucasus, change came later: Georgia and Azerbaijan decriminalized sodomy only in 2000, and Armenia in 2003. Though these changes were done largely reluctantly, at least legally (what is legal and what is not in these countries is, of course, an entirely different issue), queer people were left alone. Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan became the exceptions, retaining their sodomy laws. 

Overall, it seemed like the overwhelming majority of former Soviet nations embraced the notion of forging a society free of homophobia. The problem was that, by repealing sodomy laws, politicians were effectively washing their hands of the issue and responsibility. Now, the ball was to be in the court of local activists and queer people themselves. But in societies in a state of flux, where democratic institutions were slowly being built after Soviet rule or had never been created at all, fighting against lingering homophobia was an uphill task. There was not much time, either, as it would turn out. Thus, homophobia that had never gone away began to surface in other, “modern” forms, rather than in new sodomy laws.

Russia passed its federal “gay propaganda” law in 2013. Similar proposals soon appeared in Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan, though they had limited success. After an interval of nearly a decade, the next wave of proposed homophobic legislation began to appear, triggered by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and intensifying anti-LGBT policy from 2022. This time, these initiatives were successful: Kyrgyzstan adopted its own version of the “gay propaganda” law in 2023, and Georgia followed suit in 2024. Kazakhstan now looks set to go down the same path. 

Since independence, Kazakhstan has been a very promising post-Soviet country in many ways. Though Tokayev and his predecessor, Nursultan Nazarbayev, have ruled the country as autocrats, they have not been as ruthless as Putin, and under their rule, Kazakhstan pursued development and good relations with the West. It has cultivated an image of an open, reform-minded and internationally engaged state, as seen in the OSCE Summit in Astana and Expo 2017. 

In terms of LGBTQ life and rights, Kazakhstan became the most progressive country in Central Asia and, especially in the wake of the Ukraine war and Russia’s ramping-up antigay campaign, an attractive destination for many queer people from Russia. It was far from a haven, sure, but there were no “gay propaganda” laws, and its biggest city, Almaty, harbors a relatively vibrant gay life. Local activists, while still at real risk of attacks and discrimination from the police and their compatriots broadly, have built numerous networks for psychological support, entertainment and community engagement. Nascent Kazakhstani independent media outlets have raised issues around queerness. 

Most Kazakhstani LGBTQ+ efforts have understandably focused inward, supporting community members, creating safe spaces and ensuring basic protection. The same pattern was seen across many post-Soviet countries, including Russia. But because in these contexts queer communities were largely denied a wider public voice, little work has been done to demystify queer identities or aesthetics for the population, particularly in Kazakhstan, where homophobic views inherited from Soviet norms and older generations predominate. It is thus unsurprising that the formal justification for opposing so-called “gay propaganda” appears to have emerged from below rather than from above.

In other words, the enduring legacy of Soviet homophobia – its persistence in the minds of both officials and ordinary people – remains the deeper issue, which ought to be confronted, reinterpreted and ultimately dismantled so homophobia does not reappear in new forms. This requires not only activism but also sustained support from national governments and the international community. After all, as mentioned above, Kazakhstan was on the brink of taking a homophobic turn in 2018, and it was in part international human rights pressure that prevented it. Whether such efforts will succeed this time remains to be seen.