The Russian regions that are banning "gay propaganda"

This legislation essentially prohibits the public discussion of homosexuality. The British press is

This legislation essentially prohibits the public discussion of homosexuality. The British press is depressingly silent.

By the week's end, the St. Petersburg Assembly hope to make it illegal for any person to write a book, publish an article or speak in public about being gay, lesbian or transgender. Campaigners are currently attempting to prevent such a move. It's too late for Arkhangelsk and Ryazan, those regions already having criminalised what is termed "gay propaganda".

It would be easy to be unaware any of this was happening -- considering the complete lack of coverage it has gained from mainstream British media. The Bill is now said to be stalling -- though as a result of "technical difficulties" in applying the law, rather than foreign pressure. When referring to a law that seeks to bind the mouths of minorities, there's a bleak irony in our own press falling silent -- particularly since they are doing so willingly. This is not Russia, where the murders of outspoken journalists go unsolved and independent media outlets are shut down. The British press has the freedom to report this news but simply chooses not to. As his ruling party sought to continue on its path to wipe out "unapproved" voices, the story that filled the news was Putin being jeered at a sporting event. Nothing else appeared to matter, the Russian-reporting quota filled by the image of the PM posturing his way into a martial arts ring.

Slowly but surely -- and without much notice -- regions of Russia are hoping to pull off their most brazen attempt yet, taking a national crisis in freedom of speech and aiming to fully silence a specific group. What they are seeking to criminalise is not even active dissent, but simply a divergence from the "norm" that the authorities are desperate to protect.

It's apparent with the quickest glance at what is being proposed. The exact wording of the law prohibits the so-called propaganda of "sodomy, lesbianism, bisexualism and transgenderism, and pedophilia to minors." In comparing consensual adult acts to child abuse, it is in fact the Regional Assemblies that are attempting propaganda, exacerbating the general public's fear of "homosexual perversion".

It was only in 1993 that homosexuality was de-criminalised in Russia. Eighteen years isn't much time to overcome a culturally engrained history of arrest and torture. The first gay pride parade in Moscow was banned and same-sex relationships were deemed "satanic" by its Major. Gay rights activists are making huge strides, though, and it cannot be underestimated how detrimental laws like this are to the fight for progress.

The proposal waiting to be passed in St. Petersburg contradicts every law, convention and decree Russia has signed up to -- from their own Federal Law to the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It also contradicts basic logic, demanding (as it does in practice) the ability to exclude under-18s from events running in open public places. This is, of course, all part of the tactic: the authorities are making it impossible for anyone to promote ideas of tolerance to any sort of audience.

If they can't come for you for the relationship you're in, they come for you for the words that you write and the things that you say. As another Russian region votes on whether to bring out the gag, the British press should look at the silence falling from their own lips.

Frances Ryan is a freelance writer and political researcher at the University of Nottingham. She blogs at Different Principles and tweets@frances_ryan

Frances Ryan is a journalist and political researcher. She writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman, and others on disability, feminism, and most areas of equality you throw at her. She has a doctorate in inequality in education. Her website is here.

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Inside a shaken city: "I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester”

The morning after the bombing of the Manchester Arena has left the city's residents jumpy.

On Tuesday morning, the streets in Manchester city centre were eerily silent.

The commuter hub of Victoria Station - which backs onto the arena - was closed as police combed the area for clues, and despite Mayor Andy Burnham’s line of "business as usual", it looked like people were staying away.

Manchester Arena is the second largest indoor concert venue in Europe. With a capacity crowd of 18,000, on Monday night the venue was packed with young people from around the country - at least 22 of whom will never come home. At around 10.33pm, a suicide bomber detonated his device near the exit. Among the dead was an eight-year-old girl. Many more victims remain in hospital. 

Those Mancunians who were not alerted by the sirens woke to the news of their city's worst terrorist attack. Still, as the day went on, the city’s hubbub soon returned and, by lunchtime, there were shoppers and workers milling around Exchange Square and the town hall.

Tourists snapped images of the Albert Square building in the sunshine, and some even asked police for photographs like any other day.

But throughout the morning there were rumours and speculation about further incidents - the Arndale Centre was closed for a period after 11.40am while swathes of police descended, shutting off the main city centre thoroughfare of Market Street.

Corporation Street - closed off at Exchange Square - was at the centre of the city’s IRA blast. A postbox which survived the 1996 bombing stood in the foreground while officers stood guard, police tape fluttering around cordoned-off spaces.

It’s true that the streets of Manchester have known horror before, but not like this.

I spoke to students Beth and Melissa who were in the bustling centre when they saw people running from two different directions.

They vanished and ducked into River Island, when an alert came over the tannoy, and a staff member herded them through the back door onto the street.

“There were so many police stood outside the Arndale, it was so frightening,” Melissa told me.

“We thought it will be fine, it’ll be safe after last night. There were police everywhere walking in, and we felt like it would be fine.”

Beth said that they had planned a day of shopping, and weren’t put off by the attack.

“We heard about the arena this morning but we decided to come into the city, we were watching it all these morning, but you can’t let this stop you.”

They remembered the 1996 Arndale bombing, but added: “we were too young to really understand”.

And even now they’re older, they still did not really understand what had happened to the city.

“Theres nowhere to go, where’s safe? I just want to go home,” Melissa said. “I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester.”

Manchester has seen this sort of thing before - but so long ago that the stunned city dwellers are at a loss. In a city which feels under siege, no one is quite sure how anyone can keep us safe from an unknown threat

“We saw armed police on the streets - there were loads just then," Melissa said. "I trust them to keep us safe.”

But other observers were less comforted by the sign of firearms.

Ben, who I encountered standing outside an office block on Corporation Street watching the police, was not too forthcoming, except to say “They don’t know what they’re looking for, do they?” as I passed.

The spirit of the city is often invoked, and ahead of a vigil tonight in Albert Square, there will be solidarity and strength from the capital of the North.

But the community values which Mancunians hold dear are shaken to the core by what has happened here.

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