Borderlines

Same-sex family reunification

(originally published: December 1, 2025)

Finland: Homophobic gay Paradise

Finland is known as a country that respects the equality of the queer community. According to ILGA-Europe, Finland ranked fourth-best in Europefor gay-friendly laws and policies.

“According to Finnish law, everyone is entitled to be treated equally regardless of their background, gender or other characteristics. <…> Equality (yhdenvertaisuus) means that all people are equal regardless of their age, ethnic or national origin, nationality, language, religion or beliefs, opinion, disability, health, sexual orientation or any other circumstance connected to the person.” — InfoFinland. (n.d.). Equality and non‑discrimination

“…everyone in Finland can trust that their rights and the principles of gender equality, equality before the law and non-discrimination will be respected and that they will be able to improve their own lives” — Finnish Government. (2023). Government statement to Parliament on promoting equality, gender equality and non-discrimination in Finnish society.

But do Finnish laws really embrace equality and treat all people with equal respect? Can all same-sex couples marry and start a family in Finland?

Stories of some same-sex families who moved to Finland show a different reality. For example, Huseyin and Ruslan’s story reveals that, just like in the “uncivilized” countries they came from, Finnish laws still block some same-sex couples from marrying and starting a family — simply because they are a same-sex couple. This challenges the idea that Finland is fully “gay-friendly” and treats all same-sex families equally.

Important: Ruslan and Huseyin told Borderlines that they had written Amnesty International and the Free Movement network about their case. Amnesty verified that this was a violation of the right to family. Free Movement verified that the obstacle to marry in Finland was true.

On the next images, you will see the family story of Huseyin, a citizen of Turkey, and Ruslan, a Russian citizen, as told by them.

If official Finnish sources claim that LGBTQ+ people are equal to straight people, why do Finnish laws create so many obstacles for Huseyin and Ruslan?

The struggles they faced happened simply because they are a gay couple from homophobic countries.

Heterosexism is belief that only relationships between a man and a woman are valuable or “normal,” while relationships between two men or two women are seen as less valuable, “wrong,” or “broken.” Heterosexism isn’t just personal prejudice — it’s also built into laws and institutions (Herek, 1990; Kolehmainen et al., 2023). Historically, straight couples were allowed to be married while same-sex families were denied that right (Cortina & Festy, 2020).

Most of the countries still don’t allow same-sex marriage. Heterosexism from other countries also affects the rights of same-sex couples who move to Finland. Finnish laws about migrants are also shaped by these biases, so same-sex couples face discrimination both in their home countries and in Finland, their new home (Homanen & Alastalo, 2024).

Russia and Turkey deny same-sex couples to get married. Ruslan described what happened when he called the Digital and Population Data Services Agency (DVV) to ask whether he could get married in Finland:

“Then I called DVV and asked a worker if we could get married, because on the official page, it states “If neither spouse is a Finnish citizen or lives in Finland, they must … submit to the Digital and Population Data Services Agency a clarification on whether the legislation in their home country allows them to get married in Finland.” I asked about this, and the worker said it means exactly what I understood. And when I asked what to do, she just said, “wait for 5 years until you get citizenship then you can get married.” I was shocked with how condescending and hypocritical that sounded.”

Here, the DVV worker was most likely mistaken and advised wrongly – a same-sex couple of migrants can get married as soon as they get a type A permit. This could have taken less than 5 years at that time. Nevertheless, this illustrates how DVV workers can sometimes be incompetent in handling same-sex couples’ cases.

It clearly shows how Finnish laws can block migrant same-sex couples from getting the rights LGBTQ+ citizens of Finland have . This is an example of heterosexism at the structural level (laws and bureaucracy).

In Finland, heterosexism also hides in the Marriage Act:

“If neither the woman nor the man is a Finnish citizen and if neither is habitually resident in Finland, they have the right to marry before a Finnish authority only if the marriage is permissible under the law of Finland and if each of them has the right to marry in accordance with the law of the state whose citizen he or she is or where he or she is habitually resident, or in accordance with the law applicable in one of these states on the examination of impediments to marriage. An engaged person shall present a credible account of his or her right to marry under the law of a foreign state. (20.2.2015/156)“ — Marriage Act, part V, chapter 1, section (2)

In practice, this law discriminates same-sex couples who are not citizens of Finland or doesn’t hold a certain residence permit.

You might wonder: why does heterosexism still exist in Finland? Finnish citizens can marry freely regardless of the partners’ genders . So why can’t migrants like Huseyin and Ruslan?

The difference comes from certain beliefs in Finland. Homonationalism is when some people believe that their nation’s protection of LGBTQ+ rights as proof that it is modern, progressive, and morally superior. In contrast, countries where such rights are not protected are viewed as “backward” or “bad.” As a result, discriminating laws and policies against migrants from supposedly “homophobic” countries, including queer ones, are considered justified (Puar, 2007; 2013; El-Tayeb, 2011; Lugones, 2023).

Homonationalism can be found both in laws and society. Ruslan accuses Finnish society in general:

“…they [people in Finland] only care about Finnish people or those whose same-sex marriage is allowed. Finnish gay couples can marry without a problem, but not migrants. And those queer migrants who can marry in their home countries can marry in Finland too – but not us. This is nothing else but a betrayal.”

Huseyin blames Finnish activists:

“We contacted many organizations, such as Seta and Amnesty to get support, but no authority really acknowledged or supported our relationship during that time. Seta told us that they only deal with situations happening inside Finland and that they couldn’t help us, even though our case was clearly connected to Finland. It felt like we were treated as if our relationship didn’t matter, like strangers, not as a real couple trying to build a life together.”

Some people forget that there are queer people living in the countries they call “homophobic” or “bad”. Thus, some feel okay with unfair laws, such as blocking same-sex marriage for migrants, out of fear that “foreigners” might fake being a gay couple to enter Europe. These laws protect Finland’s political image and diplomatic interests, instead of insuring safety and dignity of non-European same-sex couples. Such policy clearly goes against Finland’s own promise that everyone should be treated equally, no matter their background, gender, or sexual orientation.

Since the part of the Marriage Act that governs non-citizens of Finland isn’t apllied to Finnish same-sex couples, the law discriminates only LGBTQ+ migrants, but not LGBTQ+ Finnish citizens.

Non-European LGBTQ+ people often get less recognition, fewer rights, and face more problems in Finland than their European peers. This is connected to European colonial history and has been studied by sociologist Aníbal Quijano (2007).

Coloniality of power means that even after colonialism officially ended, the ways Europeans organised power, knowledge, and social hierarchies still shape the modern world. It’s the ongoing influence of colonialism: some people — especially white, European, Western people — are still seen as more “advanced” or “civilized,” and they get to decide what happens to others, whom they see as people “worse” than “us”.

“We got to know that Portugal and Denmark can register your marriage even if you are not a citizen or a migrant with a residence permit. I wrote one Danish service, but they answered: “Technically, we are happy to make you married, but Denmark doesn’t let you in, especially if they know you’re coming here to marry”. We felt trapped and completely crushed.” — Ruslan

Ruslan meant that Denmark wouldn’t give a visa to his partner so that they could marry there.

Visa policies show coloniality of power. They rank countries — and the people in them — based on ideas of safety, trust, or “civilization,” echoing old colonial hierarchies. Since these policies are made by people, they reflect how some of them think about others: there are those who “deserve” to come to Europe or the EU easily, and who don’t (van Houtum, 2022).

(van Houtum & Lacy, 2020)

Huseyin and Ruslan’s struggles aren’t just paperwork problems — their case shows a system that prefers European queer people and excludes non-European ones. Visa rules, embassy practices, and marriage recognition laws prioritise Western, “desirable” queers and block LGBTQ+ people from non-European or “homophobic” countries. Despite official claims, Finland does not treat all queer people equally — its laws remain homophobic toward some migrant LGBTQ+ couples.

Huseyin and Ruslan’s struggles aren’t just paperwork problems — their case shows a system that prefers European queer people and excludes non-European ones. Visa rules, embassy practices, and marriage recognition laws prioritise Western, “desirable” queers and block LGBTQ+ people from non-European or “homophobic” countries. Despite official claims, Finland does not treat all queer people equally — its laws remain homophobic toward some migrant LGBTQ+ couples.

Living with a broken promise

Some people in Finland trick people abroad into coming to Finland by promising something valuable, often money. But those promises are broken when the person comes to Finland, and instead they find their life is being controlled by the person who invited them here This is called human trafficking, and in Finland it’s punished according to Chapter 25 of the Criminal Code.

But as sociologist Sara Ahmed (2004; 2012) writes, states can also trick people with false promises. Ahmed explains that this happens when a state wants to show people how “good” it is – for example, in terms of diversity. When this “branding” is the main goal and no real change happens, people get tricked by the false hope that they will become equal and included.

Finland lures queer people living in bad and dangerous conditions in other countries by promising them the “liberal freedom” to be themselves. But this can be a false, homonationalist promise.

In other words, the state promises queer freedom only to its citizens or people living in the West – but not others. In following their dream of freedom, other queer people get trapped, betrayed, and hurt.

The story of Ruslan and Huseyin (names changed) – and many other queer couples who faced similar problems – started not in Finland, but abroad, in Russia, Turkey, Kazakhstan or other “homophobic” countries. They looked longingly towards Finland and another “gay-friendly” countries from the outside.

Ruslan described his life in Russia:

“In Russia having a same-sex family is dangerous and scary. Anyone can beat you, call the police, police can beat you or imprison you. Even if you didn’t do anything – they’ll make something up. They bring illicit drugs and claim that they got them from you. They demand money and threaten that if you don’t give they’ll tell others about you. But now after the war started and they adopted many other laws, it’s just illegal to be seen as a gay couple – they’ll claim you’re spreading terrorism. You will be imprisoned for that and die in the prison because there they’ll kill you for being gay. And then there are nationalist and far-right activists and they deliberately search for lgbtq people and beat them, record their beatings”

Huseyin echoed Ruslan’s fear:

“Only two of my friends knew about my relationship. I definitely didn’t feel safe being open about it. My relatives are very conservative, and they only found out about my situation after I moved to Finland. If I had still been in my home country, I’m certain I would have faced violence and strong family pressure. They would have tried to force me to marry a woman because, in their eyes, my relationship would bring them ‘shame’ if others found out.”

In our post about queer asylum seekers from Russia, Borderlines wrote about how queer people in the post-Soviet countires feel constant unsease, a “climate of hate” which means that anyone – a relative, a police officer, a neighbor – can turn violent against you (Novitskaya, 2023). Researchers and NGOs show that this is true not only for post-Soviet countries, but also Turkiye, parts of Africa, and parts of Asia (see the section “the climate of hate towards LGBTQ+ people” in References).

When Ruslan looked abroad, he noticed Finland in the media and on websites related to LGBTQ+ rights and migration.

In 2022, the government coalition was led by Sanna Marin, who also visited Pride. Every year, Helsinki Pride turns Helsinki into a colorful festival, with politicians, authorities, companies, and NGOs showing how they support queer people’s right to be equal. Official statements from the government and public services also claimed that LGBTQ people will be treated with dignity.

Ruslan describes the image of Finland that he saw on the Internet and heard about from others:

“I moved first. I had a medical diploma, and I thought it would be easier to move through work. I also imagined Finland as an example of equality and justice, and I wanted to bring both my husband and my parents here. I imagined that if I told people about my life they would empathize and accept me without questions – especially because I myself shared the ideals of human rights and equality. <…> “I thought that Finland would of course allow us to marry – because where else can we do that? We are victims in Russia and Turkey, and Finland as a country of democracy, human dignity, and justice would understand and offer marriage to people like us. And we would have the same rights as anyone else here – both queer and straight couples.”

Many other queer migrants have similar hopes when they move away from dangerous countries. They see how Finland, or the US, as you’ll see next, are painted in “gay-friendly” and “liberal” tones, how LGBTQ+ people are free there, and they start to hope that they will get that freedom, too. Sociologist Alexandra Novitskaya interviewed several queer people who came to the US from post-Soviet countries (2025). Tata, from Russia, simply said that: “I have come to this country to be happy.”

She explained:

“There’s this American Dream and all that. I hope that my American Dream will come true soon too. <…> I started thinking about the future, about how and where I would like to grow old. After all, despite my sexuality, I would like to have kids. I started thinking of how I could make it happen. In Russia, I never had thoughts like this. I only thought about surviving.”

Another queer migrant, Karina, from Kazakhstan, echoed Tata:

“I like, for example, that everything here is permeated, America is permeated, first, with the air of freedom, in every meaning of this word, yes, freedom, and it is permeated with some air of the American Dream. <…> But for me, moving to America was never for economic reasons. <…> But it is precisely to be who you are, and not try to crawl back in the closet. This is kind of an ideal country for that. And I also like that every, absolutely every movement regarding some, well, opportunities, of going beyond stereotypes or labels was born precisely in America. Starting with feminism, and LGBTQ rights, to even this idea of queer. All these meanings and attempts to destigmatize, to go beyond a label forced upon you, this is where it all began.”

With such an image of Finland that Ruslan found on the Internet and heard about from others, Ruslan “expected that before marriage, Huseyin would be able to come here, to the maximum of days allowed as I visited Turkey. I imagined it like this: Huseyin will come as my partner and we will marry here, and then he’ll apply for a family-based residence permit.”

Huseyin wrote:

“Before marriage, we first wanted to live together as a couple in Finland, but the Finnish authorities required us to have lived together abroad for at least one year. We didn’t meet this requirement because my husband was living in Russia, and when we met, it was just before he moved to Finland. This rule felt strange and unfair to us.”

Importantly, Russia doesn’t allow Turkish citizens to enter its territory without a visa, and the homophobic climate of hate puts queer couples under threat (Embassy of the Russian Federation in Malaysia, n.d.). Conversely, Turkey allows Russian citizens to stay in the country without a visa, but only for 60 days per visit and for 90 days in total within half a year (Republic of Türkiye, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, n.d.). This prevented Ruslan and Huseyin from living together continuosuly.

After Ruslan came here, the couple faced a different, absurd reality hidden behind the “gay-friendly” and “liberal” branding. A state that claimed to protect LGBTQ+ rights restricted their family life. A state that claimed to value “the family” created barriers to forming one. The bureaucracy demanded proof of love, then rejected the proof as insufficient. The couple ran into obstacles, which made them doubt whether Finland really is the way it appears from outside. Even though Ruslan was in Finland, he and Huseyin faced more and more obstacles as time passed. In order to reunite as a family, the couple had to make their way through a labyrinth of both geographical borders and “paper borders” – borders not on a map, but in bureaucracies, something that you can’t go though even when you’ve crossed a geographic border (Wyman, 1968). In Ruslan and Huseyin’s case, these borders pierced through one of the most intimate parts of life – love and family, separating the couple from each other (Kocher, n.d.).

“My picture of Finland as a country of justice and equality had already been crushed then. I also got to know that my parents couldn’t come to live with me either. And especially my dad – because I’m not marked in his passport as his son (he is my officially stepdad) – and he can’t even visit Finland as my dad. <…> We couldn’t unite [with Huseyin]. Finland rejected the partner visa for Huseyin first – they said something like “there is not enough proof that you are a couple and that Huseyin has enough finances for the trip”. — Ruslan

Then we decided to get married in Finland, but Finland didn’t allow that either, because they required my husband to have an A-type residence permit. At that time, he only had a B-type permit, so we didn’t meet their criteria again. <…> It was a huge disappointment. We were already struggling with many other problems, and this was just one more painful obstacle. <…> Heterosexual couples generally don’t face the same obstacles. They are usually able to get married in their home countries, which gives them an advantage and makes the process easier.”. — Huseyin

“We contacted many organizations, such as Seta and Amnesty, to get support, but no authority really acknowledged or supported our relationship during that time. Seta told us that they only deal with situations happening inside Finland and that they couldn’t help us, even though our case was clearly connected to Finland. It felt like we were treated as if our relationship didn’t matter, like strangers, not as a real couple trying to build a life together.” — Huseyin

“We got to know that Portugal and Demark allow you to marry even if you are not a citizen or a migrant with a residence permit. I wrote to one Danish service but they said that “technically we are happy to make you married, but Denmark won’t let you in if they know you’re coming here to marry”. We felt trapped and completely crushed.” — Ruslan

Eventually, the couple found a way past the borders so that Huseyin could come to Ruslan. But it wasn’t unconditional. Their love had to be bought, printed on paper, and checked. The couple was lucky to have enough resources – but far not everyone can pass through such borders.

“My parents found us some business that helps same-sex couples to get married. We sent them an email. They came up with a plan with getting married in Mexico, in a safe state there with a safe judge who would do that for us. We had to pay about 6,000€ for the marriage plus 2000€ for the flights. We didn’t have this money, so my parents helped.“ — Ruslan

“It was really expensive, but we had no other option. This was the only way for us to make our marriage possible, since Finland didn’t give us the chance to marry there. <…> We felt happy because we were finally able to get married. But at the same time, it didn’t fully feel like a real celebration of love. It could have been so different, so much more meaningful, less expensive, and less emotionally exhausting. Instead, it felt like something we had to buy or complete just to be together legally, rather than something our love was naturally allowed to lead us to.” — Huseyin

With one border crossed, the struggles didn’t vanish. More obstacles and requirements arrived with the process of family reunification. This, too, felt conditional for the couple. A state that claims to value “the family” again created barriers to forming one. The absurdity of these borders was in the income requirements. Those implied that “love is only for thiose who have money.” In addition, if before the future of their family depended on getting marriage from a faraway office, now it was at the mercy of an employer.

“After we got married, my husband had to change his job and move to another hospital, because Migri required him to have a higher salary in order to apply for family reunification. I always think of it as if my husband had to “buy time” just to be able to be with me as a family. It’s a really strange and unfair system.” — Huseyin

“The point is, amanuenssi salaries are really low, I had a little above 1600 €/ month, and family reunification demanded that the gross salary would be at least 1700€/month. At that time, I had no savings – everything went to the marriage in Mexico. So I had to change my work to something higher-paid. I was literally forced to do it. I only had a type B [residence permit], and they were short-term from 6 months to a year. Even family reunification felt under threat because of those B type permits. The bureaucracy in Finland is super slow, and I was always afraid that by the time they take our application in Migri my residence permit will already have just 2-3 months left. I learned to distrust Migri and thought: they wouldn’t accept family reunification for my husband for only 3 months. So I had to beg my employer to give me at least a year-long contract.“ — Ruslan

“I sent it to DVV and I remember it went to Rovaniemi, where all marriage registrations are processed. Huseyin and I were anxious – will they accept our marriage? And then the new struggle started. There was a QR code on that certificate and they couldn’t read it. I spent half a year writing a head specialist in DVV, the marriage company that we paid to, the court in Mexico, and the Mexican embassy. Eventually the Mexican embassy wrote some paper saying that our marriage certificate is true and correct and sent it to Rovaniemi. Then after some time they finally registered us as married.” — Ruslan

“Family reunification also felt scary. They sent us a pile of forms online that we had to fill in – they asked for “proof” that we are a couple. We were supposed to attach all our tickets for visiting each other, photos, write our story, etc, etc. We were afraid: what if they won’t believe us this time? We even contacted a specialist to just be sure that we do everything right. That’s how anxious we were then. <…> I had to collect and organize all the details of our relationship, our story, photos, and other evidence, and turn it into a kind of personal document to prove that our relationship is real. We also had to provide many official papers, including bank statements and other personal documents about me. I also had to attend an interview at VFS Global in Turkey. The whole process was emotionally exhausting and made me feel like I had to ‘prove’ our love just to be together. <…> I felt like we had to prove our relationship – even after we got married. <…> It was obvious that they didn’t believe our relationship at first. They asked for so many documents and proof, which made the whole process much harder for us. It really felt like we were treated as if our relationship was fraudulent until we could prove otherwise.” — Huseyin

Just like Ruslan and Huseyin, Tata, who moved from Russia to the US, also faced a cascade of struggles and obstacles. Alexandra Novitskaya describes those in her study (2025):

“Tata who originally applied for asylum together with her partner, had experienced immigrant precarity on more than one level: her relationship ended in a bitter breakup, so she had to restart her asylum application by herself, which turned out to be financially costly, forcing her to continuously work overtime to afford the immigration attorney’s fees, all the while enduring depression, loneliness, and isolation. On top of all that, the USCIS asylum processing queue reversal in January 2018 pushed Tata’s application, which had been filed before the reversal date, to the back of the application backlog, adding years to her waiting for the asylum interview.“

Borderlines asked Ruslan to imagine his experiences and paint it. He also enhanced his painting with AI. We asked this so that you, our readers, could better feel what the tricked queer migrants feel and how they see Finnish authorities.

Ruslan and Huseyin’s story hasn’t finished. They are still in Finland, trying to solve new problems. There are many other similar stories showing how a state can lie to those who hope to build their future here. For Ruslan and Huseyin, it’s a story of betrayal:

“It felt like betrayal. It really hurt me.”

He tells about the “price” he feels he has to pay off:

“I lost my work, and we are at risk of becoming undocumented. And it feels like the price for family reunification: you either live undocumented together, or I live with a residence permit, but alone, separately from my husband. We chose the first, and now we pay the price for it.“

This “price” is what Finland can offer in return for having trusted the ideal, false picture of a “gay paradise” Finland.

Huseyin feels bitter about another harm – stolen time that could have been spent for building their lives as a family instead of struggling with bureaucracy. He also tells how the authorities turned a hopeful promise to build a happy family into a mourning for their lost future:

“It stole so much precious time from our life together, and that’s something I can never forget or forgive. If Finland had allowed us to marry here without obstacles, our life would have been very different. We could have built happy memories in Finland and felt that the country accepted us and valued us simply as human beings. We could have focused on our life together instead of constantly struggling with bureaucracy and proving our relationship. Unfortunately, we didn’t have that chance, and it left us feeling hurt and overlooked.”

Just like a human trafficker, tricking people into a “good life” and then controlling them, Finland also promises “freedom” and “human rights” to queer people, but then forces them to obey harsh immigration rules, controls their work life, blocks their family life, and demands money in return for letting them live together.

From homonationalism to queer justice

Unfortunately, Borderlines hasn’t found any grassroots activist groups or NGOs that directly focus on the problems of family reunification for queer families. This silence (Kleinman et al., 1997) within activist circles is itself a form of harm: those who are affected by the state are not seen, heard, or even acknowledged. Because people remain silent about these issues, the state and society receive no challenging messages or demands, and the harm continues.

Meanwhile, queer families affected by homonationalist policies do have clear views on what should be changed. For example, Ruslan wrote:

“Migri should recognize the fact that <…> people start relationships at any stage of their life and they can’t always “cohabitate at least for 2 years” – because it’s dangerous or because immigration laws of different countries prevent that – like in our case, Turkey and Russia. <…> Same-sex couples are already discriminated by their [forced queer families’] home countries – Finland should stop discriminate them additionally. This requirement, “If neither spouse is a Finnish citizen or lives in Finland, they must … submit to the Digital and Population Data Services Agency a clarification on whether the legislation in their home country allows them to get married in Finland”, should be removed for same-sex couples.”

Yet, such demands are often ignored. Why?

At the state level, as we already described in the first post, homonationalism is at play. This means that only (some) Finnish and Western LGBTQ+ people are valued, while LGBTQ+ people from other parts of the world are labelled “homophobic” and “untrustworthy”. Their dignity and rights are dismissed. This is especially evident in the current climate of hostile anti-immigrant rhetoric.

Within activist circles, homonationalism also exists, even if it does not always stem from conscious belief. It can take the form of homonationalism by outcome: activists may hold values that oppose homonationalist ideas, yet their practices still exclude LGBTQ+ migrants in Finland.

Borderlines spoke with a queer migrant activist who expressed deep dissatisfaction with the way queer spaces in Finland exclude migrants. He stated that Seta groups do not demand LGBTQ+ justice for migrants out of fear of losing government funding. In his view, many activists believe that defending migrants’ rights is something the government would disapprove of.

We cannot verify whether this fear is justified. However, it is true that Seta relies on government funding:

“Seta finances its activities with support from STEA, the Ministry of Education and Culture, and municipalities <…> Seta supports the activities of its member organisations through annual grants.”

STEA in Finland stands for the State Endowment for Health and Social Welfare (Sosiaali- ja terveysjärjestöjen avustuskeskus), a government body that grants funding to various organizations for activities promoting health and social well-being. It works under the Ministry of Social Affairs and Health and is responsible for handling grant applications, managing payments, and monitoring the use and outcomes of the funding. 

A Seta member organization, Rainbow Families ry (Sateenkaariperheet ry), published a political program on their website, which states that

“Rainbow families receive protection in Finland and can move freely from one state to another.”

However, based on the published document, the program does not include any clear advocacy for equality in queer family reunification between EU and non-EU citizens, nor does it address the obstacles to same-sex marriage in Finland:

Rainbow families face inhumane situations when moving or travelling within Europe. <…> In the context of family reunification, possible rainbow family relationships must be taken into account, as they are highly likely to have no legal status in the country of origin.”

This inaction, stemming from dependency on the state, contradicts the NGO’s own commitments. It contributes to the homonationalist paradox of Finland as a “gay haven”:

“Those in power, in particular, must recognise their responsibility and understand that discriminatory speech cannot be accepted under the guise of apparent tolerance: tolerating differing opinions is desirable only as long as it does not violate the dignity and rights of others.”

According to research, this problem is not specific to Seta, LGBTQ organizations, or even Finnish NGOs. It is a common issue for many NGOs that rely on public funding (Banks et al., 2015; Parks, 2008; Kelsall et al., 2023). Through the conditions attached to funding, the state can influence which goals and topics an NGO pursues and which it avoids. Often, the state silences initiatives that conflict with the priorities of dominant groups in government. This renders social movements “tamed” and less radical.

As a result, unjust systems and structures persist or are only minimally changed. In the case of LGBTQ+ injustice, changes occur only along the homonationalist lines defined by the Finnish government itself.

This neglect isolates queer migrants, weakens solidarity with them, and causes harm:

“I felt lonely in Finland. <…> talking to others felt useless – they were all talking about their families, how they spent time together, what they do – and I could only tell about separation, trauma, and loneliness. I already tried first – but I felt people don’t understand, don’t wanna talk about this or just become pity of me. And no one wanted to change anything in Finland. So I just abandoned this idea to make friends.” – Ruslan

“Seta told us that they only deal with situations happening inside Finland and that they couldn’t help us, even though our case was clearly connected to Finland. It felt like we were treated as if our relationship didn’t matter ,like strangers, not as a real couple trying to build a life together. <…> it was as if we were not considered valuable or worthy of the same rights just because we are from outside the EU. <…> We were completely left alone to figure everything out by ourselves.” – Huseyin

Some may argue that even though the state’s homonationalist ideology is clear, the Finnish government places LGBTQ+ NGOs in a difficult position: they must choose between advocating for Finnish queer people (and excluding queer migrants) or risking loss of funding and potentially failing to defend queer dignity more broadly.

However, this dilemma—queer citizens versus queer migrants—is false. For example, the European Commission against Racism and Intolerance (ECRI) published a report in 2025 stating that public officials, politicians, and ordinary people in Finland increasingly use hate speech, targeting both racial/ethnic minorities and queer people. Additionally, a study by the Police University College (Unlu et al., 2025) found that hate crimes in Finland are increasingly motivated by both race/ethnicity and queer identity. Across the Global North, the rise of far-right politicians often goes hand in hand with opposition to both immigration and LGBTQ+ rights (Murib, 2025; Weeks & Allen, 2023).

Even if an organization chooses to focus only on the rights of queer citizens, this would not ensure long-term security and dignity. Research shows that when the state and society begin to label one social group as a threat, over time, other groups are often labeled the same way (Diez, 2023; Eroukhmanoff, 2018; Farinha & Youngs, 2024). Today, immigration may be framed as a “national security concern”; tomorrow, it could be the “rainbow movement.” The label of threat spreads, gradually encompassing more and more people.

This situation is not unsolvable.

In order to resist state influence, an NGO should switch to funding from other donors, at least partly. Some activist groups, such as In-Sight Collaborative, have even proposed strategies to resist any donor influence and navigate the tension between funding and justice. One such strategy is trust-based philanthropy.

Trust-based philanthropy is an approach that aims to reduce the power imbalance between funders and nonprofit organizations. Rather than focusing solely on money and spending reports, it encourages donors to build equal and respectful relationships with the organizations they support. This approach is guided by shared values and mutual trust between the NGO and the philanthropist. It allows funders and organizations to work together collaboratively, rather than forcing projects to conform to rigid donor requirements.

Until the change is achieved, NGOs should be open and transparent about their limits and reasons for this. That doesn’t deny the responsibility for providing help either through opening services for queer migrants or through collaborations with other NGOs, which do that.

How to cite this article (APA style):

Borderlines. (2026, May 30). Closed Esatern border: broken families. Available at: https://borderlinesfi.blog/en/2026/05/30/same-sex-family-reunification/ (Accessed: your date)

References

The climate of hate toward queer people:

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