Glittering minarets, jungle-canal villages and the shimmering steely surface of an oil-rich monarchy all form the exotic backdrop of Brunei Darussalam, yet beneath the façade lies a story rarely told: the quiet, furtive lives of LGBTQ people living under the shadow of draconian laws. In the tiny sultanate, queerness is lived in whispers, coded glances and secret chats — the Malay term menyembunyi (to hide) takes on a daily gravity.
According to a recent feature in EDGE Media Network, the country is as “less a destination on the standard rainbow map and more an act of daring” for the queer traveller — and by extension for queer Bruneians themselves. That sense of daring reflects the legal terrain: same-sex sexual activity is explicitly criminalised for both men and women under secular and Islamic (Syariah) law. In theory, men found engaging in “liwat” face death by stoning; women convicted of “musahaqah” may face years in prison, whipping, or heavy fines. While a moratorium on executions exists, the laws remain on the books and can be applied at any time.
The cultural context is powerful. The national ideology of Melayu Islam Beraja (Malay, Islamic, Monarchy) enshrines a conservative worldview where gender non-conformity, same-sex intimacy and public queer identity are considered deeply at odds with the state’s vision of society. In this framework, many LGBTQ people practise what one interviewee described as living inside a “pink bubble”: invisible, careful, always alert.
Activism exists, though it is exceedingly modest. The grassroots initiative The Brunei Project, founded in 2015, organises discreet gatherings such as the first unofficial observance of the International Day Against Homophobia in Brunei, and uses encrypted messaging to maintain community amidst threat. At the same time, major human-rights bodies continue to flag the situation. The Human Dignity Trust notes that “transgender people may face prosecution under a provision criminalising ‘posing as the opposite sex’,” in addition to same-sex intimacy being illegal.
For individual queer Bruneians, this means choosing between silence and risk. The EDGE article records one gay man’s fear: the chat room is not safe. A mis-step could mean arrest or public exposure. Social life is minimalist: queer people rely on cafés with international clientele, subtle signals, encrypted apps and private house-parties rather than visible “gay scenes”.
Most troubling is how the international world sometimes overlooks small states like Brunei. Earlier global outrage arose when, in 2019, Brunei’s Sultan announced the extension of a moratorium on capital punishment — which, while positive in one sense, still left the legal regime intact and operable at the discretion of the monarchy. The United Nations described the code as “cruel and inhuman” while international celebrities pressured boycotts of hotels linked to the Sultan.
Yet, change may be inching forward. While there’s no formal public debate, the very presence of queer narratives — like travel-writers documenting hidden lives, local activists whispering hope, and the global LGBTQ movement keeping Brunei on its radar — suggests subtle shifts. One traveller’s reflection: “The complexity of Brunei’s soul,” she writes, “is matched by the resilience of those who love differently.”
For the wider Asia-Pacific region, Brunei may serve as both a warning and a mirror. A warning that legal invisibility and cultural erasure can coexist with modern engineering and wealth; a mirror in reminding us that queer legal reform is not simply about decriminalisation, but about everyday dignity, visibility, and the right to hidup dengan jujur (live honestly). The queer person who hides in Bandar Seri Begawan is not alone — but the cost of visibility remains high.
In a world increasingly attentive to LGBTQ rights, Brunei reminds us that freedom can be silent, small, and hidden behind closed doors — and that sometimes, the greatest act of courage is simply being.
Oh honey, the death penalty for a kiss? In 2025? Hellooo, World? Someone please update the calendar in those gilded palaces, because some parts of Brunei — and let’s be honest, too many corners of our beautiful but stubborn Asia — seem stuck somewhere between the Stone Age and a medieval morality play. And while the rest of the planet is busy discussing queer marriage, gender-neutral bathrooms, and fabulous K-pop idols wearing eyeliner, a single kiss between two consenting adults can still get you whipped, jailed or worse. Bigots in power, listen closely: humanity has moved on. The future has arrived. You’re late to your own century.
Spicy Auntie has seen enough of these sanctimonious guardians of “morality” who clutch their pearls at two men holding hands, but look away when corruption eats their institutions alive. They preach “family values” with one hand and sign repressive laws with the other. They talk about maruah (honour) and adat (custom) as if love — pure, consensual, human love — were a threat to civilisation rather than the very thing that makes civilisation worth preserving.
Let’s also burst this little fiction that Brunei is alone in this nonsense. Across Southeast Asia, we still have politicians ready to pounce on queer bodies to score cheap moral points. They criminalise what people do in their bedrooms, but fail to criminalise exploitation, inequality, or violence. And they dare call themselves leaders? Please. Leadership is creating a society where people can live without hiding; where no one has to whisper their love like it’s a crime.
But let me tell you something the sultans, the ministers, the moral police and the keyboard bigots cannot erase: queer people have always existed in Brunei, in every kampong, in every mosque community, in every office tower. They exist quietly, gracefully, often invisibly, but they exist. And they know joy — even under threat. That, my darlings, is resistance. That is power.
To my queer friends in the Sultanate: resist, resist, resist. Resist by loving each other. Resist by surviving. Resist by building your clandestine networks, your safe rooms, your encrypted chats. Resist by refusing to believe that a law can decide your worth. History is on your side, even if the present feels suffocating.
And to the bigots in power: Auntie has a simple message — the future is already here. You can delay it, punish it, censor it… but you cannot stop it