It was 2013 when Carlos Velasquez arrived in Dublin from Venezuela, a country whose downward spiral now sees it on the brink of economic and social collapse. Here he speaks to Aoife Moriarty about being the target of both verbal and physical abuse. Photograph by Hazel Coonagh.

Venezuela is one of the most dangerous countries in the world, with a homicide rate of 58 per 100,000 inhabitants reported in 2015. It is also extremely corrupt, with the recent re-election of President Nicolás Maduro considered rigged and regular violent protests breaking out on its streets. But even aside from its current crisis, being gay made life virtually impossible for Carlos.

Carlos knew he was gay from the age of 16, when he felt romantically attracted to another boy at his local church. “I went to the priest for confession. told the Father that loved this guy and he said, ‘You need to stop the relationship with him, spend time with girls’. But was always around girls! love girls and all of my best friends were girls. The other guy had confessed the same thing, and the father split us up so we were doing different masses at different times, but began meeting up with him outside church and we started a secret relationship.”

Five years ago, Carlos was working at a company in the city of Valencia and studying for a marketing degree at night. He regularly participated in protests supporting presidential candidate Henrique Capriles, who ran unsuccessfully against Nicolás Maduro in the April 2013 election.

“I started receiving calls when people found out about my homosexuality,” he tells me. “Because with me, it’s obvious. They would attack me in the street. They would laugh at me, take a rock and throw it. was always running. This is just normal in my country.”

Carlos changed his route to work and to university, but the problems continued. “When would come back from university... this gang of guys were always very focused on the opportunity to verbally attack me.”

The police were not interested in helping. “The police just laughed at me because I’m a homosexual. It’s very ridiculous to these guys. They would just say something like, ‘Aah, that’s teenagers’.

“After that, went to live with my grandmother to get away from these people. My grandmother didn’t know anything about what was happening. She just thought it was to do with my job, that it was nice was coming to live with her. During this time, didn’t tell my mother anything about my homosexuality because didn’t want her to be worried. Every day in Venezuela gay people are attacked. It’s a bad life, you know? was living the life of a gypsy. Living with my aunt, my uncle, my cousin, in different places. Because didn’t feel safe. Then these people called the house phone and my grandmother got very worried.”

Things came to a head when a local petty criminal physically attacked him on a neighbourhood street: “I defended myself. But my grandfather said, ‘I don’t want this in my home’.”

Carlos was forced to move once more to the town of Bejuma, 30 miles away, where his mother, two sisters and brother were living at the time. “I started my life again. found a job in representative sales. found friends, knew everybody in the town.”

Although things started out promisingly, the same issues followed. “There were a group of ‘Chavistas’- bad people,” he says. “They didn’t like me because supported the opposition leaders. They asked me why I’d come there and told me should move away from Bejuma.”

One evening, on his way home from visiting friends, he was attacked by the driver of his mototaxi - a standard mode of transport in Venezuelan towns. “The motorbike driver put a gun to my back and said, ‘I’ll kill you’.” Against the odds, Carlos managed to run away. “It’s the reason my father knows I’m gay. told him what happened. He said, ‘Okay, why didn’t you tell me before?’” So Carlos went to live with his father for a year. “After moved again, felt very broken in my heart. wasn’t eating. It was so bad. My father said, ‘You need to stop this. You need to find another job’. In the end, friends suggested go abroad to improve my English and that was the reason went to Ireland. It was the only country where had access to an English course.”

Carlos arrived in Dublin in October 2013. But the Venezuelan government didn’t send the grant money for his course as expected. “It was difficult. had no money for food, nothing. But found support from friends here.”

He was eventually able to pay his student fees that winter, but in February, Eden College, where he was due to attend, lost its accreditation and ultimately closed down that April. “I didn’t know what to do, had no money and had no course.” It was then that Carlos became seriously ill. “I thought, ‘Maybe it’s the flu. Because couldn’t sleep, had no energy’. My friends were like, ‘You don’t look well, you’ve got very slim. You need to go to the doctor.’ But had no money. My friend Gabriele, he’s an angel in my life and I’ll never forget that he helped me.”

The GP told him he had tuberculosis, a disease which has seen a recent resurgence in Venezuela. “He told me, ‘You need to go to the emergency department at St James, because if you don’t go, you will die.’”

At the hospital, Carlos was given information about a support group for LGBT immigrants run by the Irish Refugee Council. As a result of their help, he started the process of seeking asylum in Ireland. He gained refugee status and a permit to live in Ireland after one year at the Balseskin Reception Centre in Finglas. “Today live in a very safe, beautiful apartment in Stoneybatter with my partner,” he says with a smile. “I love it here. wouldn’t go back.”