Geopolitics

Horse Stable Murder-For-Hire Plot Grips Germany

Police say the main suspect paid someone to kill his girlfriend in order to cash in on an insurance policy to buy a stud farm.

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Ulla Reinhard

LÜBARS - The murder of 21-year-old Christin R., a familiar well-scrubbed face at the horse stables in this upscale town outside of Berlin, has left investigators untangling a web of intrigue that has captured the German public's attention.

For starters, this kind of carefully designed murder plot tends not to happen in these parts. Berlin District Attorney Michael von Hagen put it this way: "This was a perfidious, pre-meditated killing that took place in a solidly bourgeois, upscale milieu."

Police believe the main suspect is Robin H., the 23-year-old boyfriend of the victim. He is suspected of getting two other men and a woman to help carry out the killing, with one of the men isalleged to have killed Christin R. near the public swimming pool in Lübars – for the paltry sum of 1,000 euros. As reported, that is where a passerby found the body of the qualified horse groom in the early morning hours of June 21. An autopsy showed that the victim had been strangled.

Investigators believe the motive for the killing was a 245,000 euro life insurance policy that Christin R. took out in early June listing boyfriend Robin H. as beneficiary. The boyfriend, who runs a stable in Friesack, in Brandenburg, northwest of Berlin, is considered a talented horse rider. He had apparently been planning to use the money he would come into after his girlfriend was killed to buy a stud farm in Dorsten, North Rhine-Westphalia.

A "cold-blooded" murder

But because his scruples stood in the way of killing Christin R. himself, he recruited a 26-year-old friend – a young woman from North Rhine-Westphalia whom he knew from the riding circuit. She is then alleged to have asked her 23-year-old brother, who has a prison record, to help her. He in turn contacted a 22-year-old man he'd done time with, who agreed to kill Christin R. for 1,000 euros. Call it: "Murder, Outsourced..."

As Jutta Porzucek, head of the Berlin murder squad, briefed reporters at a press conference called on short notice last Friday afternoon, she repeatedly used the word "cold-blooded."

On the day of the murder, Robin H. contacted Christin R. and used a phony pretext to get her to go to the place near the swimming pool where she would be killed. He would meet her there, he said. According to police, Christin R. was by this time either scared or at least suspicious of her boyfriend, and she had moved from his horse farm in Friesack, back in with her parents in Lübars.

To avoid being alone with Robin H., Christin R. took a female friend with her along to the meeting. According to police, the hired killer was waiting at this location, hiding in the bushes, but he didn't proceed with the killing because of the presence of Christin R."s female friend. After Christin R. returned home, she got another call from Robin H. asking if they could meet again. This time, he said it was because a friend was interested in buying a horse from her.

The friend was the 26-year-old female accomplice whom Christin R. had already met through her boyfriend, and who she liked, according to police. Feeling safe because the presence of the other woman, Christin R. showed up for the second meeting. This time the killer kicked into action, strangling the victim from behind.

Police arrested Robin H. shortly after the murder. He is in custody and has denied any involvement, but doesn't yet know that his three accomplices have also been in custody since Thursday and have all reportedly confessed.

Read the original article in German.

Photo - reingestalter

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Coronavirus

Where Lockdowns For LGBTQ Meant Moving Back In With Homophobic Relatives

The confinement experience could turn brutal for those forced to live with relatives who would not tolerate a member of the family living their sexual orientation openly as a young adult. Here are stories from urban and rural India.

At a Rainbow pride walk in Kolkata, India

Sreemanti Sengupta

Abhijith had been working as a radio jockey in the southern Indian city of Thiruvananthapuram when the COVID-19 pandemic hit in March, 2020. When the government imposed a nationwide lockdown, Abhijith returned to the rural Pathanamthitta district , where his parents live with an extended family, including uncles, cousins and grandparents.

Eighteen months later, he recalled that the experience was "unbearable" because he had to live with homophobic relatives. "Apart from the frequent reference to my sexual 'abnormality', they took me to a guruji to 'cure' me," Abhijith recalled. "He gave me something to eat, which made me throw up. The guru assured me that I was throwing up whatever 'demon' was possessing me and 'making' me gay."


Early in 2021, Abhijith travelled back to Thiruvananthapuram, where he found support from the members of the queer collective.

Inspired by their work, he also decided to work towards uplifting the queer community. "I wish no one else goes through the mental trauma I have endured," said Abhijit.

Abhijith's story of mental distress arising from family abuse turns out to be all too common among members of India's LGBTQ+ community, many of whom were trapped in their homes and removed from peer support groups during the pandemic.

Oppressive home situations

As India continues to reel from a pandemic that has claimed more lives (235,524) in three months of the second wave (April-June 2021) than in the one year before that (162,960 deaths in March 2020-March 2021), the LGBTQ community has faced myriad problems. Sexual minorities have historically suffered from mainstream prejudice and the pandemic has aggravated socio-economic inequalities, instigated family and institutionalized abuse, apart from limiting access to essential care. This has resulted in acute mental distress which has overwhelmed queer support infrastructure across the country.

Speaking to queer collective representatives across India, I learned that the heightened levels of distress in the community was due to longstanding factors that were triggered under lockdown conditions. Family members who are intolerant of marginalized sexual identities, often tagging their orientation as a "disorder" or "just a phase", have always featured among the main perpetrators of subtle and overt forms of violence towards queer, trans and homosexual people.

Calls from lesbians and trans men to prevent forced marriages during lockdowns.

Sappho For Equality, a Kolkata-based feminist organization that works for the rights of sexually marginalized women and trans men, recorded a similar trend. Early in the first wave, the organization realized that the existing helpline number was getting overwhelmed with distress calls. It added a second helpline number. The comparative figures indicate a 13-fold jump in numbers: from 290 calls in April 2019-March 20 to 3,940 calls in April 2020-May 2021.

"Most of the calls we have been getting from lesbians and trans men are urgent appeals to prevent forced marriages during lockdowns," said Shreosi, a Sappho member and peer support provider. "If they happen to resist, they are either evicted or forced to flee home. But where to house them? There aren't so many shelters, and ours is at full capacity."

Shreosi says that the nature of distress calls has also changed. "Earlier people would call in for long-term help, such as professional mental health support. But during the pandemic, it has changed to immediate requests to rescue from oppressive home situations. Often, they will speak in whispers so that the parents can't hear."

Lack of spaces

Like many of his fellow queer community members, life for Sumit P., a 30-year-old gay man from Mumbai, has taken a turn for the worse. The lockdown has led to the loss of safe spaces and prolonged residence at home.

"It has been a really difficult time since the beginning of the lockdown. I am suffering from a lot of mental stress since I cannot freely express myself at home. Even while making a call, I have to check my surroundings to see if anybody is there. If I try to go out, my family demands an explanation. I feel suffocated," he said.

The pandemic has forced some queer people to come out

Sumit is also dealing with a risk that has hit the community harder than others – unemployment and income shortage. He's opened a cafe with two other queer friends, which is now running into losses. For others, pandemic-induced job losses have forced queer persons from all over the country to return to their home states and move in with their families who've turned abusive during this long period of confinement.

Lockdowns force coming out

According to Kolkata-based physician, filmmaker and gay rights activist Tirthankar Guha Thakurata, the pandemic has forced some queer people to come out, succumbing to rising discomfort and pressure exerted by homophobic families.

"In most cases, family relations sour when a person reveals their identity. But many do not flee home. They find a breathing space or 'space out' in their workspaces. In the absence of these spaces, mental problems rose significantly," he said.

Not being able to express themselves freely in front of parents who are hostile, intolerant and often address transgender persons by their deadname or misgender them has created situations of severe distress, suicidal thoughts and self-harm.

Psychiatrist and queer feminist activist Ranjita Biswas (she/they) cites an incident. A gender-nonconforming person died under suspicious circumstances just days after leaving their peer group and going home to their birth parents. The final rites were performed with them dressed in bangles and a saree.

"When a member of our community asked their mother why she chose a saree for someone who had worn androgynous clothes all their life, she plainly said it was natural because after all, the deceased 'was her daughter,'" Biswas recalls.

The Indian queer mental health support infrastructure, already compromised with historical prejudice, is now struggling

David Talukdar/ZUMA

"Correctional" therapy

In India, queer people's access to professional mental healthcare has been "very limited," according to community members such as Ankan Biswas, India's first transgender lawyer who has been working with the Human Rights Law Network in West Bengal.

"A large majority of the psychiatrists still consider homosexuality as a disorder and practice 'correctional therapy'. It's only around the big cities that some queer-friendly psychiatrists can be found," Biswas said. "The pandemic has further widened the inequalities in access to mental health support for India's LGBTQ community."

Biswas is spending anxious days fielding an overwhelming amount of calls and rescue requests from queer members trapped in their homes, undergoing mental, verbal and even physical torture. "We don't have the space, I just tell them to wait and bear it a little longer," he said.

Medical care is dismal

Anuradha Krishnan's story, though not involving birth family, outlines how the lack of physical support spaces have affected India's queer population. Abandoned by her birth family when she came out to them as a trans woman in 2017, Anuradha Krishnan (she/they), founder of Queerythm in Kerala who is studying dentistry, had to move into an accommodation with four other persons.

Isolation triggered my depression

"I am used to talking and hanging around with friends. Isolation triggered my depression and I had to seek psychiatric help." Living in cramped quarters did not help with quarantine requirements and all of them tested positive during the first wave.

What is deeply worrying is that the Indian queer mental health support infrastructure, already compromised with historical prejudice, is now struggling, placing more and more pressure on queer collectives and peer support groups whose resources are wearing thin.

During the 10 months of the first wave of the pandemic in India in 2020, Y'all, a queer collective based in Manipur, received about 1,000 distress calls on their helpline number from LGBTQ+ individuals. In May 2021 alone, they received 450 such calls (including texts and WhatsApp messages) indicating a telling escalation in the number of queer people seeking help during the second wave.

As India's queer-friendly mental health support infrastructure continues to be tested, Y'all founder, Sadam Hanjabam, a gay man, says, "Honestly, we are struggling to handle such a large number of calls, it is so overwhelming. We are also dealing with our own anxieties. We are burning out."

Sreemanti Sengupta is a freelance writer, poet, and media studies lecturer based in Kolkata.

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