Guest Post: The Attacks on LGBTQ+ People in Norway Turned Me Into an Advocate
Group of people marching with various rainbow and Trans pride flags. In front: General Secretary from Salam, an organisation serving queer Muslims. Begard Reza (left) marches beside the leader of Steatornis, Maria Puenchir. Credit: Shahram Kiani.
By Maria Puenchir, Member of the Diversability Leadership Collective
Content Warning: terror attacks, trauma, ableism, racism, destabilisation of human rights movements.
I didn’t think I'd revolutionise the Norwegian disability rights movement, yet here I am.
I’m an artist and human rights activist, and a partially sighted echolocator. I never anticipated that I’d be supporting my communities through a terror attack against queers in Oslo, Norway on 25th June 2022. Yet here I am, contemplating existence in white spaces whilst facing erasure from Norway's queer and disability histories.
Terriorism and Attacks on Queer People
On 25 June 2022, two people were killed and twenty-one people were wounded in a mass shooting in Oslo, Norway. In other words, a terror attack. The terror attack took place at locations associated with Oslo's queer communities – London Pub and Per på hjørnet. It happened the night before the planned Pride parade in Oslo.
I wasn't at the exact location where the shootings took place. I was, however, deeply involved in the nationwide response to this terror attack. The night it happened I was unwinding with friends at a huge queer event in Oslo, and had lost them. When the shootings began, I got a message from a friend saying there had been a shooting nearby, we were leaving, and that they were trying to find me. Evacuation happened easily, but my friends had to search for me when I couldn't find my exit. In the months since, I've been acutely aware that their compassion knows no bounds.
Resurrecting from Pain
The police recommended Oslo Pride cancel the official pride parade, which they did. Meanwhile, the Oslo Reclaim Pride collective knew people would show up the next day regardless, and gathered for a solidarity march during the daytime of June 25th. We kept police in the loop, they were present at the march, and we invited minorities up front. I'd conferred with a disabled refugee about what to wear before heading out. I refused to give up entirely on my rainbow outfit – which later became an iconic dress. We had made a plan for what to do if there were any attacks on us while we marched.
Initially, it was unclear if the disability community could participate. We feared that going against police recommendations would pose legal trouble. We wondered whether the route was flat and if people with assistants could attend. Nonetheless, people gathered quickly and we had to be resourceful. We found a loudspeaker, and a friend volunteered to be our sign language interpreter. Navigating in the busy crowd was challenging for me. I lost sight of my friend amidst the blur of people who wanted to hug, people in tears, phone calls, and rapid-firing off accessibility demands. I was so sad when we'd lost sight of my friend and our sign interpreter – Ingrid Thunem, a notable disabled queer who has furthered disabled people’s rights to sexuality through their advocacy and research.
After assessing necessary accommodations, I signed off on the accessibility on the march route. The media was initially chased away, but most remained throughout the march. During the march I held onto Begard for dear life. We were in front to ensure that everyone kept a steady pace and did not walk too fast. We marched beside a diverse group of people – muslims, people of colour, Indigenous peoples, and disabled comrades. We devised a crowd control system and provided snacks and water. Additionally, we held another solidarity march the following Monday, 27th June where we also had police protection. I and Begard were on the front line of that one too, and this one has a picture that was posted on the BBC News instagram.
Group of people marching with various rainbow and Trans pride flags. This is from the march to the site of the cancelled solidarity event, 27th June. Courtesy of Getty/Reuters on BBC News. Maria leads wearing honey-yellow linking arms with Begard in maroon.
The Aftermath
The knowledge I have must be shared, and conversations I’ve started must be had publicly. It's too much for one singular organisation or one singular person to be a focal point. Nevertheless, it's been monumental and revolutionary.
That the narratives of dead people are required in exchange for minimal change is a tragedy.
In the time following the terrorist attacks, I and other queers attended meetings with the Norwegian government. There were pushes to get the Norwegian government to secure accessibility. For example, Norway’s National Police Directorate has been advised that they don't have laws to protect disabled citizens who face threats as an everyday ordinary occurrence. There have been various panel discussions, and my work was recognised by the Ministry of Culture and Equality. My organisation even bade the government get their act together and secure accessibility – and then, we were erased.
Large queer organisations rewrote history. They arranged their own Rainbow March without publicly recognising the solidarity marches the Oslo Reclaim Pride collective held. Shortly thereafter, the Norwegian government unexpectedly announced: how queer organisations are funded would be changing. Some organisations who had earmarked funds directly from the Norwegian state budget would need to re-apply.
Amidst this, a young queer disabled muslim stood accused of having lied about what happened to them during the terror attack. Lateral violence from within the queer community ensured that the narrative that developed was that Salam has used this person's story to gather sympathy and funding. In October, there were warnings against Salam alleging a culture of fear and a lack of financial control. They were investigated by their funding bodies, who found no evidence of foul play. Ableist speculation rose sharply, alienating and harming disabled queers who were not in the public eye. Many feared they were too disabled to belong within the queer community, and too queer for the disabled community. Friendships fell apart due to intra-community suspicion.
My role has been to mediate alongside the larger disability community. Work was done behind the scenes to reduce ableist narratives. My mediation and work has let isolated marginalised disabled queers survive. Currently, white figureheads within the queer community do not recognise their own ableism. One white queer writer laughed when I reached out to them privately to tell them that the way they wrote is harmful to disabled queers.
I am exhausted by the erasure, the suspicion, the terror attack itself. Additionally, lateral violence and queerphobia in the Norwegian disabled community revealed itself when a trans woman with body integrity dysphoria came out. Transphobia is rising and disabled queers specifically are denied agency, humanity, and patience.
An Ask and The Path Forward
As we attempt to press forward from tragedy, I am seeking any academic papers on disabled people's mental health in the wake of a terror attack as well as firsthand accounts. I want to know how other governments and civil societies respond to the needs of its disabled populace.
Terror attacks and mass shootings are not common in Norway. I have no experience working through this trauma, and my community expresses demands for academic texts and opinion pieces addressing the matter. This will assist us even though disability rights are under pressure and public opinion is changing. Cooperation helps us heal and prevail through erasure and suspicion, and as we forge ahead I hope that sharing my experiences can start a conversation that ultimately benefits disabled people.
About Maria Puenchir
Maria Puenchir (they/them) is a disabled, queer artivist based on the Norwegian side of Sápmi. Their life is dedicated to explaining why accessibility matters to laypeople. In Norway, they’re most known for their work with Steatornis, an organisation that bridges disabled and abled existence to further inclusivity in the arts sector. You can follow their work over at Instagram.