Society
New Biography Shows Why Coming Out Is Not as Simple in the Russian Context
March 10, 2026
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Rustam Alexander
Melbourne University and author of Red Closet: The Hidden History of Gay Oppression in the USSR
A new biography of famous Russian photographer Dmitri Markov has revealed that he was gay, sparking controversy. Historian Rustam Alexander argues that this case reflects the absence of thoughtful public discourse around gender and sexuality in modern-day Russia, which can be traced to the Soviet past.
In February, Freedom Letters, an independent Russia-focused publisher established in 2023 and based abroad, released The Life of Dmitri Markov, a posthumous biography of the Russian photographer. Its author, journalist Vladimir Sevrinovsky, disclosed a fact that had not previously been widely known to the public: Markov was homosexual. Sevrinovsky claims that including this detail was essential; otherwise, “the entire book would have taken on a saccharine tinge of dishonesty.” To justify his position, Sevrinovsky cites journalist and queer activist Karen Shainyan, who has argued, “a person – especially a distinguished one – no longer belongs solely to themselves after death. Any of their secrets become matters of historical and public interest… to keep silent about this enormous part of Markov’s life – a part that explains so much – would be a disgrace.”
The book immediately divided the public. On the one hand are those who agree with Shainyan and believe the disclosure of Markov’s homosexuality is justified because it helps normalize the discussion of homosexuality; on the other hand, there are those who argue that Sevrinovsky has effectively outed Markov posthumously, endangering his legacy and potentially complicating the lives of his surviving relatives. What Shainyan and ultimately Sevrinovsky are advocating is significant: addressing Markov’s sexuality can indeed be interpreted as counteracting queer erasure, the practice of excluding LGBTQ+ subjects from public history. Examples of this phenomenon in Russia abound. Consider, for instance, the well-known downplaying of Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality or the removal of scenes depicting Elton John’s gay life from the Russian release of the biopic Rocketman. Such queer erasure, according to scholars and activists, contributes to the systematic silencing of queer people.
The notion of coming out as a political act is informed by the Western experience, where the modern gay rights movement began in the 1960s, with the Stonewall riots often seen as its symbolic starting point. In those days, queer activists developed the idea of “coming out” as a liberating and ultimately socially transformative gesture. Coming out took place in an extremely homophobic environment: gay clubs were routinely raided and harassed by police, homosexuality was classified as a mental illness, activists were beaten and same-sex sexual acts remained criminalized.
Nevertheless, LGBTQ+ organizations in the West managed not only to survive but also to mobilize. Gay newspapers and presses emerged; protests were organized; lawsuits defending homosexual people’s rights were pursued; and the media, while often unsympathetic, remained outside of state control. In other words, the West (especially the US) was discriminatory and oppressive toward LGBTQ+ people, but it was not totalizing. This makes the context profoundly different from that of today’s Russia, and it would be naive to assume that the “coming out” playbook used in the West then will work similarly in Russia now.
The book immediately divided the public. On the one hand are those who agree with Shainyan and believe the disclosure of Markov’s homosexuality is justified because it helps normalize the discussion of homosexuality; on the other hand, there are those who argue that Sevrinovsky has effectively outed Markov posthumously, endangering his legacy and potentially complicating the lives of his surviving relatives. What Shainyan and ultimately Sevrinovsky are advocating is significant: addressing Markov’s sexuality can indeed be interpreted as counteracting queer erasure, the practice of excluding LGBTQ+ subjects from public history. Examples of this phenomenon in Russia abound. Consider, for instance, the well-known downplaying of Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality or the removal of scenes depicting Elton John’s gay life from the Russian release of the biopic Rocketman. Such queer erasure, according to scholars and activists, contributes to the systematic silencing of queer people.
The notion of coming out as a political act is informed by the Western experience, where the modern gay rights movement began in the 1960s, with the Stonewall riots often seen as its symbolic starting point. In those days, queer activists developed the idea of “coming out” as a liberating and ultimately socially transformative gesture. Coming out took place in an extremely homophobic environment: gay clubs were routinely raided and harassed by police, homosexuality was classified as a mental illness, activists were beaten and same-sex sexual acts remained criminalized.
Nevertheless, LGBTQ+ organizations in the West managed not only to survive but also to mobilize. Gay newspapers and presses emerged; protests were organized; lawsuits defending homosexual people’s rights were pursued; and the media, while often unsympathetic, remained outside of state control. In other words, the West (especially the US) was discriminatory and oppressive toward LGBTQ+ people, but it was not totalizing. This makes the context profoundly different from that of today’s Russia, and it would be naive to assume that the “coming out” playbook used in the West then will work similarly in Russia now.
Dmitry Markov
Julia Lisnyak / Wikimedia Commons
Julia Lisnyak / Wikimedia Commons
Unfortunately, the stakes of queer activism are much, much higher in today’s Russia. LGBTQ+ “propaganda” is criminalized, and the Russian Supreme Court’s highly ambiguous ruling designating the LGBTQ+ “movement” as extremist has created a legal landscape in which virtually any expression of queer identity can be prosecuted. Media is censored, courts function as cogs in the state repression machine, most politically active opponents of the regime have been forced to flee abroad and the country is at war – all of which gives the Russian security services wide latitude to interpret and weaponize the law as they see fit. The ban on so-called LGBTQ+ extremism is so vaguely defined, and its enforcement so arbitrary and grotesque, that the seemingly straightforward tactic of “coming out” is unlikely to work as it once did in the West. Instead of fostering visibility or solidarity, or both, it is far more likely to backfire, exposing individuals and their families to real danger.
Yet the Western experience is still valuable – if applied with great care and compassion for everyone who might be affected. When discussing an artist’s sexuality in the Russian context (assuming this is done ethically), for example, it is not enough to state that he was homosexual. Far from it. For Russian audiences, the significance of one’s sexuality in one’s biography needs to be demonstrated and spelled out. Unlike in the West, where decades of scholarship have demonstrated that sexuality shapes creativity, themes and artistic gaze, this assumption does not exist in Russia. Informed, nuanced public conversations about sexuality are not common and usually raise eyebrows and cause confusion. That is precisely what Sevrinovsky’s mention of Markov’s homosexuality did. Markov’s sexuality was not meaningfully integrated into the narrative of his life; it does not explain, illuminate or contextualize anything. In fact, it seems like a hasty “add-on,” rather than a thoughtful argument.
Russia’s current reluctance and inability to engage in open, nuanced discussions of sexuality is deeply rooted in its Soviet past, of course. During the Soviet era, public conversations about sex were rare and largely confined to specialists – so-called “sexopathologists.” Male homosexuality was criminalized and reduced to a mere sexual act. Soviet dissidents failed to embrace feminism and none openly identified as gay. In fact, Yelena Bonner, the widow of Andrei Sakharov, openly stated in 1991 that she was “completely indifferent” toward gay people.
What, then, is to be done if coming out is not an option? The answer is simple: discourse. Not discourse at an individual’s expense, not forced visibility, not outing; what is needed is the hard, slow work of researching, contextualizing, problematizing, challenging and disseminating knowledge. This is what will eventually shift public consciousness around the issue. But that will not happen overnight in a society where political freedoms are curtailed and public debate is heavily policed.
Scholars and public intellectuals who engage with the issues of sexuality and gender must remember that the concepts which feel obvious to them are not obvious to most Russians. Many of their compatriots even consider the word “feminism” to be offensive. These ideas must be translated into an accessible language. Research must move beyond the confines of academia and reach the public sphere. Only then may people understand sexuality historically, critically and empathetically, without the personal cost that comes with coming out in today’s Russia.
Yet the Western experience is still valuable – if applied with great care and compassion for everyone who might be affected. When discussing an artist’s sexuality in the Russian context (assuming this is done ethically), for example, it is not enough to state that he was homosexual. Far from it. For Russian audiences, the significance of one’s sexuality in one’s biography needs to be demonstrated and spelled out. Unlike in the West, where decades of scholarship have demonstrated that sexuality shapes creativity, themes and artistic gaze, this assumption does not exist in Russia. Informed, nuanced public conversations about sexuality are not common and usually raise eyebrows and cause confusion. That is precisely what Sevrinovsky’s mention of Markov’s homosexuality did. Markov’s sexuality was not meaningfully integrated into the narrative of his life; it does not explain, illuminate or contextualize anything. In fact, it seems like a hasty “add-on,” rather than a thoughtful argument.
Russia’s current reluctance and inability to engage in open, nuanced discussions of sexuality is deeply rooted in its Soviet past, of course. During the Soviet era, public conversations about sex were rare and largely confined to specialists – so-called “sexopathologists.” Male homosexuality was criminalized and reduced to a mere sexual act. Soviet dissidents failed to embrace feminism and none openly identified as gay. In fact, Yelena Bonner, the widow of Andrei Sakharov, openly stated in 1991 that she was “completely indifferent” toward gay people.
What, then, is to be done if coming out is not an option? The answer is simple: discourse. Not discourse at an individual’s expense, not forced visibility, not outing; what is needed is the hard, slow work of researching, contextualizing, problematizing, challenging and disseminating knowledge. This is what will eventually shift public consciousness around the issue. But that will not happen overnight in a society where political freedoms are curtailed and public debate is heavily policed.
Scholars and public intellectuals who engage with the issues of sexuality and gender must remember that the concepts which feel obvious to them are not obvious to most Russians. Many of their compatriots even consider the word “feminism” to be offensive. These ideas must be translated into an accessible language. Research must move beyond the confines of academia and reach the public sphere. Only then may people understand sexuality historically, critically and empathetically, without the personal cost that comes with coming out in today’s Russia.
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