about Queerism and Spirituality
Preface
There are many Egyptian queers who were raised in religious and conservative households. Such an uptight upbringing usually leads them to supress their identities and may impede their progress in their journey of self-discovery and acceptance. It is undoubted that spirituality is a cornerstone of many people’s lives; regardless of their creeds or sexual and gender identities, and the impact of one’s spiritual beliefs echoes through every other aspect of their life.
Much like any other segment of society, the LGBTQI+ community contains various layers of intersectionality; individuals who belong to several, different backgrounds, belief systems and mindsets. It would be completely unrealistic to pool everyone together under their sexual orientations or gender identities, as people are always much more than one label or another.
Working on this principle, Mesahat foundation has decided to dedicate its Sixth issue of Meemoirs to one vital segment of its community; spiritual/religious Queer people. Not only because of the immense influence of religions on people’s lives in general, but also because this holds true especially in our religion-oriented society. In this booklet, there are 10 documented stories of queer believers, who opened up about their process of self-acceptance and upholding a spiritual conviction. The stories depict a variety of sexual and gender diversities as well different faiths.
Meemoirs is a result of the documentation of oral narratives by Mesahat foundation for Sexual and Gender Diversity in the Nile valley area “Egypt and Sudan”. The project aims to document stories that include various life and human experiences of the LGBTQI+ community in many governorates in Egypt. In its series of releases, this content sheds light on marginalized groups of the LGBTQI+ community in hopes of being a platform for their voices to be heard. .
The Journey Shaaban
I am homosexual and gender-queer. My preferred pronouns are “they/them”, I’ve only discovered about my identity recently and that was when I chose my new pronouns. I was born into a Muslim family. Much like any average Egyptian family, we were moderate Muslims. I entered Azhar schools which made me focus on learning Arabic and the Quran. It wasn’t a bad thing in itself, except that I was surrounded by more religiously extreme people. That’s why I couldn’t start exploring myself and my sexuality until I changed schools in high school.
I only discovered the word “homosexuality” about 7 years ago, even though I’ve always found men attractive since I was young. I just never stopped to think about it, I thought it was normal since I didn’t even have a word for it. Shortly after I was introduced to the concept, I started battling with denial and thinking that I can change this by sheer willpower. I actually tried to change, but nothing worked. I remember trying to come to terms with this; I once whispered the words “I am gay” to myself in a mirror, my heart was on the verge of exploding from shock and fear when I heard myself say it.
That time, I thought I should choose my religion over my orientation. I was ready to fake it my entire life; get married, have kids and never act on any impulses. I told myself this was the right thing to do. Other moments, I would fluctuate to the other extreme end; feeling that I should abandon my religion and embrace my sexuality, since it’s the one thing that brings me real happiness.
Until I travelled to Saudi Arabia for pilgrimage 3 years ago, something changed then. I was standing so close to the Kaaba and I was in a deeply spiritual state. I broke down into tears and just pled to God he’d make me straight, so that I could stop lying to my family and living in hiding. At that moment, it was as if the proverbial light bulb went on in my head; God isn’t the problem. Here I am, a gay person, standing inside the holiest of all places and talking to God, and yet, I haven’t been struck by lightening or anything.
It’s not our religion’s fault, it’s on those who weaponize religion as a means to supress their children and sow the seeds of self-hate in anyone who stands out. It’s on those who cannot accept the fault in their mindset and can never let themselves change. I thought to myself: “Why can’t I be both? Muslim and Gay?” And this was when my journey towards reconciliation started.
It’s difficult for people to believe that a practicing Muslim can also be an actively gay person, that’s because the stereotypical view on Islam has been quite hostile towards homosexuality. Nonbelievers think that I believe in something that condemns me to eternal suffering in Hell. I think back to the time before I knew the word “gay” and learned about it being a sin, I would’ve continued thinking that there was nothing for me to fix or fear God’s wrath for. I would’ve been a devout Muslim as I continue fancying men. But now, I am worried about my future. What will the future hold for me? Will I marry a man? How can I announce something like this to my family? And if I hide, when I reach the expected age for marriage and my family starts pressuring me to find a girl and get married, what will I do then? Do I abandon them and live on my own? I kept struggling for 3 years until I realized that there would be no peace unless I stop bidding each side of myself against the other and just accept both in tandem. During the past 2 years, I ‘ve been very selective of the people I surround myself with. I refuse to be around those who put me down or doubt my faith. At the same time, I can’t be around anyone who’d condemn me for my sexuality.
My friends now are supportive queers, who aren’t necessarily spiritual but they don’t deny me the comfort of being one. I expressed my fear that God may not approve of me to a friend once, and she reminded me that God expected his most devout followers to sin, and that’s why the Quran is full of verses on forgiveness and wiping the slate clean. So what if I am sinning? What if this is my only sin? How am I different from the rest of his followers? Why wouldn’t I be worthy of redemption while they are?
There’s this verse in the Quran that has always been close to my heart, it says “and if my servants ask thee about Me - behold, I am near; I respond to the call of him who calls, whenever he calls unto Me.” It makes me feel that I am not alone, and that God is always there, a prayer away. I now believe in God’s mercy and compassion, and I know that he loves and supports me. I now lean on religion and God for support in the struggles of my life. It helped me reach an answer to many problems I’ve faced in my life. I know at the end of the day that nobody’s life is perfect, and nobody can have all their questions answered and their worries alleviated, but at least I feel I am not alone in the face of all of it.
I remember something a friend once told me, he said: “How come God- in his infinite wisdom and justice- create something that he would later denounce?” Ever since then, I believed that God knew what’s in my heart, and that’s what he will hold me accountable for. I was no longer scared of him or viewing him as an authoritarian figure that only exists to punish me.
Reaching this level of peace and acceptance was an uphill battle, one during which you don’t even think that there’s an end or a final resting destination. You just believe that this will be your whole life from that moment onwards. If I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t choose to be straight or spare myself the journey that I went on. I am now a queer activist and I am enthusiastic about change. I know that this is another long journey and we are nowhere near the finish line. But I won’t let that deter me.
I wish I can bring others from the community to the point I am in at the moment. I would love for all the queer individuals out there to take the step and start their own journey.
Faith and Queerness Mariam
I come from a relatively religious family; not overly zealous nor secular. During my teenage years I thought I was a homosexual. That was before I was introduced to the more complex spectrum-like nature of romantic, sexual attraction and gender. It’s been very challenging to try and define myself, and even more so because of all these thoughts and tendencies are forbidden in my religion. I was a practicing Muslim; I prayed, and I fasted. I had no other struggles with religion except the one with my own self. During my 20s I was convinced that this was God’s test for me; it was my ticket to heaven since I practically have to suffer through my life. But later I started to see how unfair this sort of “test” is, if it existed. I took a scientific approach to this problem and I saw doctors and took the medications they recommended, but nothing changed. Reaching this dead-end made me feel more at peace with myself. I’ve tried all the tools I had at my disposal and nothing worked. God says in the Quran “On no soul doth Allah place a burden greater than it can bear.”, so even our religious sensibility dictates that we won’t be punished for something we didn’t choose and can’t change. It’s not like I was fine with who I am first time I discovered it, and I’d put no effort to change. I also believed back then that there was a clear distinction between having urges and acting upon them. I made my peace with my internal feelings and I felt so confident about my convictions that not even the greatest religious scholar can sway me. After that, I figured that I couldn’t live my life celibate and that it was irrational of me to ignore my human needs. Even the people who don’t ever have sex outside of wedlock have marriage to look forward to, but what do I have to satisfy my needs?
I was an atheist for nearly a year; it was a phase of intense anger. I was primarily pushed to this by the fundamentalist rhetoric of Islam. I thought to myself that if faith was truly what these people describe it to be, then I had no use for it. But since I am a spiritual person at heart, I found atheism a rigid and extreme idea as much as the ISIS doctrine. The nihilistic view of life that says that there’s only this life with nothingness before and after; that the world is just and happens to be what it is, with no rhyme or reason, all of this sounded more depressing to me than the possibility that I might die and end up in Hell for being a sinner. My readings in philosophy taught me that there’s no intrinsic virtue or default morality, and the only source of regulations in this world could be derived from laws, human rights and ideologies that people should choose to adopt. But looking at how reality works, rules are made to be bent or broken all the time and the existential perspective on life just makes it tougher and bleaker. This phase of cognitive dissonance started to subside when I first read Muhammad Abdu ’s book on Theism, which tackles the idea of God itself aside from religions or rituals. This reading helped me distinguish between religion and religious rhetoric at a given point of time and place, and that one religion can accommodate a multitude of sects and schools of thought. To him, faith was an acquired ideology rather than an inherent gift. He didn’t glorify being born into one religion over another; all what matters is one’s candid search for truth, regardless of whether they arrived to it or not. This is such a fresh and rational perspective on faith and bears no similarity with the fundamentalist perspective. So I was ready to accept that not one section of a faith can be representative of all of its believers, and I had the right to have my own convictions whether other Muslims like it or not.
Having faith for me isn’t about a source that dictates what’s right and wrong. It’s an answer to so many existential questions that nothing else can answer for. Things like: what’s the meaning of life? Or how come we all just die without any sort of consequences for the lives we lived?
The history of humanity is filled with injustices and transgressions. How can we accept that those who wronged others are going to meet the same fates as those whom they wronged? How can it all amount to the same thing in the end?
And why are we to be born and have to witness all these struggles just so that we can go back to nothingness again? There can only be one meaning for this life; if something else comes after it.
There are some people inside the LGBTQI+ community who are so anti-religion that they deal with my faith with such contempt and ridicule. I get bullied a lot for it, even though I would never dream of mocking someone for being an atheist. I would never think that I have the right to berate someone on believing that this whole world just happened by chance. Yet people have the audacity and entitlement to come ask me “How are you Muslim and queer too?”
I get a lot of disapproval and judgement for my faith, and this has been triggering at a few moments. First of all, nobody puts the least effort to be civil or respectful in any discussions. I mean I think of myself as an open-minded person, I understand the anger behind making a few jokes about something or dissing a Sheikh. I understand that this resentment is directed towards a certain narrative and a kind of people above all else. I don’t find it personally offensive in any way to hear someone says that they don’t believe in the existence of God. But what I find jarring is being around a person who starts cussing God and calling him the worst possible names, while always starting his sentences with: your God is...
When I asked him to stop because I didn’t feel good hearing this, we went on a pointless casuistic debate over freedom of speech and expression. Well of course, you’re free to express your opinions on your own platform and I have no right to stop you. But I don’t think this applies if I am sitting with a friend watching a film or eating something. This is just inconsideration and entitlement. And at the end of the day I was all within my rights to choose to withdraw from these people for my own wellbeing. I can just get up and leave.
This is a layer of aggression that usually goes unnoticed in our community; people shaming other people for following a religion, even if under the guise of innocent humor. It is weird how we manage to reject each other over our differences even though we are chastised by the entire society for the same thing.
This attitude is the reason why I feel alienated among people in the community. Sometimes it feels like we are propagating the same stereotypical views that were forced on us by the bigger society, and if anyone of us doesn’t comply, we do get shunned inside our circles. It’s not about who believes and who doesn’t, it’s about people unwilling to be mindful of each other’s thoughts and feelings. People who aren’t hung up on the religions’ views on homosexuality, to them it’s about making those believers feel small and idiotic for their beliefs and deny them the peace and refuge they sought in them.
One thing I am so proud I was capable to achieve was being fine with uncertainty. We as people tend to seek absolute truths, throw around blanket statements and take our own beliefs too personally. If someone has an opinion, then he must fight for it tooth and nail because they don’t just “think” it; they “know” it. Although there’s nothing else around us that exhibits that degree of absolutism; not religion, history, politics or even science. Yet people react so defensively to the unknown, they can’t sit with questions that have no definitive answers. But I’ve gradually taught myself to accept this. I used to never accept “I don’t know” for an answer, I’d rake my brain thinking, analysing and theorizing until I had something I could stand behind. I see how pointless this is now. I had a friend in college once tell me “Look at you; no job, no responsibility, no struggles, and you appointed yourself in command and brought a throne to the top of the world for you to sit and nitpick at it.
You can’t analyse life before you’ve lived it. Only when you live it, you’ll develop a better understanding, a clearer view and a stronger feeling towards it. You can stand still and keep trying to find answers to questions that other people spent ages on, lived and died without answering. Or you can go out there and experience life and let it humble you. Let it teach you to be more tolerant of others’ mistakes because you know we are all doing our best with the information laid before us at any given point.” And ever since then, I’ve learned to say “in fact” less and “I think” more.
It has been long since I last tried to lay down my progress as it unfolded, and now that I did, I feel very proud of how far I’ve come. I am thankful to my circumstances and to the mercy my God has shown me. I’ve been through many adversities in my life, nevertheless, I have an unwavering belief that it always could have been worse. I am aware of my privileges that enabled me to seek more knowledge beyond standard education, and in turn receive more peace and closure. I am thankful for the social circles I’ve been in and the time I’ve been given, as all of this has allowed me to grow as a person. I feel relieved for letting all of this out, especially the part about the persecution of queer believers inside our community. It’s an issue that hits a nerve for me and I am happy we finally get to tackle it now.
A Difference Abdullah
I loved to pray and listen to the Quran since I was a child. My favourite chapter is the one that tells the story of the prophet Joseph. I used to listen to it so many times I actually memorized it. Our home usually plays the Quran rather than music, and I do too as a force of habit.
I first discovered my sexual orientation when I was in primary school. I would instinctively fool around with other boys at school. Nothing too serious, just some things that could be filed under “child play”. I didn’t understand the implications, I just did as I felt. But even then, I knew that whatever this is, it wasn’t something to I am a proud Muslim. I was born and raised in a home that tries to be as consistent as humanly possible with religious rituals. I have 2 sisters and I am the youngest. We had some financial difficulties before I was born, so much so that there aren’t any early pictures of me as a baby. I was told that our situation got better after I was born, I was told the wrinkles on my forehead when I was born spelled out the name of the almighty; Allah. My father landed a good job on my second day on Earth and since then, they never denied me anything I asked for. My father was a loving and hard-working man. I loved him and appreciated him since I was a child, but we grew even closer when I grew up and got a job. I could then understand how tirelessly he worked and how much he sacrificed for us. We became very close during his last years alive. My mother is a saint who loved us unconditionally and did everything she could for our sake. My sisters and I love her to death.
As I grew older, those acts felt less normal and more forbidden. I didn’t even have the solid knowledge of this being a sin in religion because I wasn’t aware of what it is called.
In high school, I became aware of how religion views such acts. The inner struggle started then because I knew that my attraction to males was a grave mistake, yet I couldn’t simply turn it off. I used to combat my feelings by praying more regularly and ignoring everything else. But by the time I reached college, my attraction to the same sex has cemented itself as a part of my identity, my interests and my behaviour.
My relationship with God went through peaks and valleys during this stage. I couldn’t sustain either situation and I was unhappy with the instability. But I was glad that I was at least trying. Back then, I had nobody around who was like me, so there was nobody to talk to or confide in. I felt estranged and alienated. I felt alone, left to face the struggle within. This inner battle was the main reason why I created a Facebook account. I wanted to find people like me not for sex, but for a sense of belonging. When I met people from the community, I finally felt seen. I stopped thinking about the religious impact of who I am and just started to enjoy having friends. I dismissed the struggle. It never went away completely; it just became easier to tolerate.
I met a lot of people through social media, but I ended up making just a few friends and meeting my lover. We have been together for 5 years; we understand each other and we make each other happy. We also make each other better people. He isn’t a believer like me.
He is a firm atheist but he respects me enough to respect my beliefs. Our differences are actually better for us because they teach us to accept one another unconditionally.
I believe that my religion unequivocally views my orientation as a major sin. I am aware of it and I don’t have an answer to how come I can be both. But I am both. I am a practicing Muslim and I am gay. It is known that praying doesn’t stop people from sinning, they are expected to make mistakes but still work to maintain a relationship with their God. Sinners are expected to pray and do good so that God would absolve them. So why should I exclude my sexuality from this common rule? I didn’t choose my sexuality, I can’t change it, I believe I am a sinner, but I also know that I am a believer.
I still yearn for praying in a Masjid, I still visit places of worship to pray. I still feel overcome by happiness and overwhelmed with peace when I am there, especially when I am alone. I still feel inner peace when I walk into a Masjid, so much so that I do it without the intention to pray. I’d be walking around feeling heavy, and I would just walk into God’s house and instantly feel his peace and love washing over me.
I love my God. I know he’s with me and I can’t do without him. I repent and ask for his forgiveness when I sin. He created me, he loves me and looks out for me. When we drift apart, I know he’s waiting and that I can run to him and talk to him about how I feel. I yearn to talk to him, and I believe he listens. Why should I leave his side, then?
I have been given a good family, a good job and a loving partner. I have been through problems and I came out fine. I have felt his guidance and support in many instances in my life. I have felt his love in the struggles he sent my way; maybe as a test or maybe to repent and endure. I always believed that things would turn out to the better, and they did. I owe God a lot in my life and I feel I must reciprocate that love.
It’s a fact of life that humans come in different ethnicities, identities and beliefs. As a gay Muslim, I might stand out among the majority of gays as well as muslims. Some people might feel discomfort towards my beliefs. But they are mine, and I am comfortable with them.
All things said, I want to tell whoever reads my story to just stick to whoever loves you the way you are. Don’t let those go, as you’ll always need them and you’ll always find them.
The Struggle Remon
As far back as I can remember in my childhood, I was in church. My mother is extremely religious and so is my entire family. I was raised in the church, we attended mass regularly and read the bible practically every day. My older brother is a deacon in church, and I followed suit by the time I was 5 years old. This wasn’t particularly a choice I made, but l am thankful for my presence in the church at that age. Where I come from, the church offers a level of education and care that was simply not available anywhere else. I owe a lot of my knowledge and intellect to it. But in Upper Egypt, where I am from, having the slightest bit of alternative thoughts would make you a blasphemous freak; my parents thought I was an atheist because I believed in weird things such as women’s rights. There were things in our religion that I believed were myths and were just there for their metaphorical value, therefore one doesn’t need to believe in them literally.
All our discussions led them to make assumptions about my faith, but none of their assumptions held water when they saw my spiritual connection with God. The struggle originated when I knew my sexual orientation was a sin. In my mind, I had to choose; God’s side or the sin’s side. I couldn’t accept myself and stay close to God. I wasn't well-informed about my orientation either; I thought it was a phase, bound to disappear as I get older, but it never did.
I remember once the news was out about legalising gay marriage in the USA, our priest was furious about the decision. He ranted about allowing deviants to revel in their sins and I could feel myself getting more terrified by the second. I thought God was about to smite me in his house. I was too young to analyse the situation correctly, all I knew was that l related somehow to those deviants, which makes me as cursed as them.
As I grew older, I waited for my tendencies to disappear, for my struggle to resolve itself. But by the time l reached college l understood that nothing about this was going to disappear on its own. I started researching homosexuality a bit at college. But my biggest trigger was the 2017 Mashrou’ Leila incident. My curiosity grew and I started to actively research what scientists and scholars say, inside and outside of Egypt. I sought any form of treatment or relief, but there wasn’t any. I felt like I had tried my best, and there was nothing else in my powers to do but to accept myself and believe that God would do too.
The struggle was aggravated by me being a deacon. I was responsible for tutoring the younger generations and it made me feel guilty. I felt like a hypocrite wearing my deacon attire while remembering what I do in bed. I didn’t want to be superficially religious; I wanted to be truly close to God, to practice what I preach. I didn’t know whether God accepts me as I am or curses me for it. I knew I couldn’t stop being who I was, but I found no peace with it.
Yet I was sure that God knows me and is the most aware of my pain. He knows how he created me, and he knows that I truly desire to be on his side. I knew he wouldn’t ask me to change something beyond my means to change. But I don’t know exactly what he’s asking of me instead!
I try to avoid the struggle. I stay away from any religious discussions about homosexuality. I don’t read any verses that talk about the topic or approach their interpretations. I heard about alternative interpretations to many verses in the bible, since it wasn’t written in Arabic originally so there’s some room for inference when translating. But I felt it’s better for my peace of mind not to try and reconcile the two things.
Yet I feel lucky for being born into Christianity while I am queer. Our religion is unequivocal about the consequences of judging others. “Judge, and you will be judged” it said. It also says “love your enemy”. So, you can’t judge others and you can’t love others conditionally or condemn them for being different. Our religion is tolerant of sinners, but it doesn’t stop us from rejecting the sin itself. All the talk of mercy aside, believing that I would ultimately be cast in hell is disturbing, to say the least.
I now cite parts of the bible whenever I am shoved into a debate about sexuality, since the instructions are clearly against the condemnation of others, even if they were sinners. I used to adopt a more scientific, progressive approach in my argument, trying to cite modern science as my evidence. But I soon learned how unfruitful this could be. People aren’t going to see anything beyond what reinforces their original beliefs; therefore, it is pointless to try. Sometimes dangerous even.
I feel more understood inside the LGBTQI+ community than I am in the church community. Even though we disagree on quite a few things, I feel more comfortable around those who’re like me. I don’t need to explain a lot of things, and I can easily meet people who are well-informed and unbiased. At church, I have to choose my words carefully, I have to censor myself more and hide parts of myself in order to get my message across.
It’s been a long journey; from looking at my orientation as a mortal sin all the way to rejecting religion’s entanglement with it. I don’t believe there is a clear or accurate description of Christianity’s true stance towards homosexuality, simply because nobody actually has the tools to know.
I am now fine with it, although sometimes I’d feel jealous I wasn’t born heterosexual; that I wasn’t spared the struggle, the journey and the fear. I wished I had understood myself a bit earlier, accepted myself a bit earlier. But l believe that my God is there for me, and that he loves me unconditionally. He died for my sins and he still loves me.
He loves me because I am trying, I sin and then I try not to. And that is enough. I pray to God; I supplicate lovingly not fearfully. And when I call his name, I feel peace inside.
I truly believe in the importance of religions and their role in regulating our lives and soothing our souls. It softens our roughest, most edges. It gives us peace and brings us solace. As a believer, I comfort and support in identifying with God and believing in him.
All I can tell anyone who’s going through something similar is: trust that you’re not alone, that God loves you and that nobody has the agency over God’s love for you.
Trust in your own strength; as God wouldn’t put you through a predicament without granting you the strength needed to overcome it.
Getting to Know God Gonathan
years old, I started struggling with this until I reached 21. I didn’t understand why God would make me this way, and I wondered how I will be held accountable for something I didn’t choose. So many questions were stuck on my mind and I had no answers for them. So, I decided I had to really get to know him before I make any conclusions. There weren’t that many churches in my hometown so I couldn’t learn a lot. But when I arrived in Cairo, I had more chances to visit a lot of churches and seek more knowledge. I met a lot of people and attended many lectures. It was pretty clear to me how the church’s community views homosexuals, or non-conformists in general. But I was able to make a distinction between people’s beliefs and God’s words. I kept on attending more lectures and ended up going to school of theology. I studied the Christian theology in depth; I learned Hebrew and Greek, I read manuscripts. In all honesty, my ultimate goal was finding out, truly, and for my own self, whether I had a problem or not. I wasn’t aiming at becoming a clergyman or anything.
My graduation project was about Biblical translation and specifically on the old-as-time predicament of Saint Paul and the old testament mention of homosexuality. At that time, I dedicated myself to the church and shut off my sexuality. But the results of my research actually led me to truly accept myself. Maybe before then I hadn’t been fully at peace with it, but not after I did. I also stopped shutting my sexuality off; I met people and I went out with them.
During my time serving in the church, I became quite popular. I had a keen eye for anybody who seemed a non-conformist of any kind, and I always tried to befriend them.
I knew the kind of things they hear from everyone; their family, the church, and their partial understanding of the Holy words. When the time is right and I feel that our friendship was close enough, I’d come out to them. I was met with a range of reactions; some people disapproved and called me a hypocrite for being a gay who hold a mic in the church, while others felt relieved and begged me to explain to them how their feelings aren’t sins. But the word about this got out to the fathers at the church, and I was sent to a disciplinary hearing.
I was then denied coming to that church ever again. After that I served in a few other places in 2012, but things always seemed to hit a natural dead-end when my sexuality gets out in the open.
Personally, I don’t mind my sexuality. I don’t doubt that God doesn’t either, all I wonder about is why God would let me be stigmatized by others for as long as I live. You know, even my mother doesn’t mind, yet my father is a homophobe. They have been separated for a long time now and my mother keeps telling me that God loves me just the way I am. She is the reason I ever thought that God may be on our side and that there maybe another way to look at all of this. She told me that God loves his children; even those of them who sin. And I may be a sinner, but so are those who lie. No sin is greater than the other, and if a liar can hope for forgiveness, so can I. She was the only one who stood up for me against my homophobic siblings too. I owe my mother a lot, including where I am at now.
Even after all of this, I still had some doubt left in me. Even if it’s not a sin, maybe it’s wrong from another perspective. I decided to see a psychiatrist; a good, Christian one. And so, I went to one, he listened to everything I had to say and then asked “So what’s the problem?” I told him that simply I can’t accept that I am gay. This decent doctor replied: “Well I am sorry to tell you this, but I am afraid there’s no cure for it, and you really have nothing to do but to accept that.” But I was at a level of despair I tried to take my life around that time. Then I was put in touch with another friendly therapist whom I started seeing during that bout of depression.
I used to have this aversion towards reading the bible, because the Arabic verses were unequivocal about the fate of those who “lie with a male”; they were banished from Heaven. Yet, there were all these verses about God loving all his creatures equally. I couldn’t help but think of this as a little schizophrenic; so he loved us so much that he died for our sins, but he’d punish us for them too. But as I studied theology and read the original Hebrew and Greek manuscript, I was shocked to find no trace of any of these verses about homosexuality. This was the time I became truly Christians. God’s love in the bible is demonstrated as unconditional. So there’s no ethnicity, colour, creed or sexuality that he denounced. I had to dig deeper on the Sodom and Gomorrah story. It didn’t add up with my new beliefs about God. When I researched this topic, I discovered some huge differences in the original texts. For example, the Book of Ezekiel didn’t go anywhere near sex when it mentioned the sins of the people on Sodom and Gomorrah. There is no mention of homosexuals or those who Paul the Apostle refers to as “effeminate” in the Greek manuscripts of the Bible. All the original manuscripts were written in Greek or Hebrew; and they were the ones from which the Arabic translations were derived. But it is evident that the translation process was colored by an Eastern, misogynistic tint.
My journey to these conclusions has been tough; a lot of internalized stigma, social exclusion and fear of heavenly punishment. That’s why I take it upon myself to try to spare others the same struggles. That’s why I am vocal about my beliefs and I use nothing but actual religious text as proof of my ideas, and that’s why no priests were able to prove me wrong in a conversation. I want to get to all the Christian Queers out there and tell them that God loves them just the way they are and takes no offence in what they do behind closed doors with their consenting partners. It’s possible that in the beginning I used to spread my message in some very dangerous and self-destructive ways, but now I am more calculating, and more aware of the tools of digital security that enable me to protect myself and be outspoken at the same time.
I’ve had such a rough upbringing; discovering who I am and coming to terms with it was no easy feat. Although I had my mother’s support all the time, I still had a lot of adversity to contend with. My first experience serving in the church was very traumatic; I still remember it down to the last horrific details. I remember being called a sexual deviant and being accused of poisoning the minds of the Christian youth. I was looked down on by those who supposedly represent God in this life, and my resentment towards them made me resent God at some point for making me gay in these surroundings.
All this trauma made me feel obligated to make sure no other queer individual- Christian or not- is left to go through this alone.
I love myself; even when my depression and suicidal tendencies were at their worst, I used to tell myself that I was a survivor; a hero, for enduring all what I had to endure. I used to feel some sort of likeness to Saint Paul, even though he could easily be viewed as a homophobe. Much like him, I felt that my calling was to let people know about God and his infinite love for them, no matter if they’re gay or straight.
This’s been the first time I talk about my journey as a religious queer. Although parts of it hurt, I am glad I let it all out.
My Religion, My Choice Layl
In my late teenage years, I was told during a casual conversation with my mother that homosexuality was forbidden in religions. I hadn’t known that earlier. My mother dealt with the fact like it was a given that I already knew. When I asked her why, she basically said because the society won’t allow it. I had mixed feelings about the facts that were laid to me. It didn’t make much sense to me to view homosexuality as unnatural, but it’s what everybody else believed so I needed to believe the same thing. It’s a usual phase for anybody who discovers that they are non-conforming in any way, they always doubt themselves first. That’s why I dove into the religious interpretations available about homosexuality but none of them resonated with me.
Besides, all what religion talked about didn’t touch on my gender identity in any way. I didn’t feel personally rejected by religion. Belief is a lot more beyond the different opinions and interpretations about what’s right or wrong. There’s always one’s connection to God; something no other human or religious scholar can gauge. There’s also one’s instinct and spirituality. All those things make it impossible for other people to deem anyone a believer or not.
At some point I approached Islam as if I was new to it. I started reading about its fundamentals with fresh eyes. I also read the old testament. I did this mainly for research; I’d read and take notes, learn more and form my own opinions. At 14, I chose to be a Muslim regardless of the fact that it was the religion I happened to be born into.
At that time, I was surrounded by many religious and cultural diversities and I had the space where I could change my beliefs and face no stigma. So I wasn’t pressured into anything, it was a matter of principle and actual conviction.
I am a quiet and observant person, I used to even take notes of my discussions with mum, we’d talk about everything, including gender and sexuality. It was around that time that I discovered my gender identity although I didn’t have a word for it then. It was clear to me that I wasn’t fully male nor female, I am something else; could be both, something in between or neither. I just knew it and I didn’t care to dissect it even further. I’d known that I am into girls already, but that was one thing I didn’t disclose to my mother. I was able to communicate my gender expression to her, but I never straightforwardly talked about my sexual orientation. During that time, I read somewhere that girls who are found out to be lesbians are grounded in their homes, so I did just that. I didn’t have that much of a social life back then and I genuinely thought this might be the remedy. But it wasn’t, I stayed home but my homosexuality didn’t go away. I used to look at the sky and wonder whether what I am doing makes sense or not, whether there was an actual cure or not. It was also around that time that I travelled to KSA to do Umrah. The first thing I prayed for once I arrived was please God, at least make me bisexual, give me a window where I cannot be a homosexual. That or show me a sign that I am fine the way I am! It was a moment of faith and surrender; I have unburdened myself from my dilemma to the only saviour I believe in. The matter was now in the hands of God.
I am well aware of what Muslim scholars would deem me to be. But I worship God, not the scholars. I know I went to God’s house and I asked him, and I believe that I have a firm connection with my creator. No other third party can shake that connection between us. I view religion- much as anything else human- as something experimental, malleable, and up for questioning. I don’t believe that blind faith without wonderment is what God seeks of us. All things considered; I don’t view religion as a matter of debate either. I don’t have to convince anyone of my idea of Islam nor be convinced by someone else’s. it’s such a delicate, personal thing to talk about, and there’s no need for us to. I don’t remember that I was ever curious to know what my friends’ religious beliefs were. It’s just not something to talk about, in my opinion.
As a person suffering from anxiety, I taught myself yoga as a means to bring calmness, and I couldn’t help but notice the connection between yoga poses and the body movements in prayers. It made me consider praying from another angle; rather than a duty to check off, I saw it as a spiritual state that one enters. I started to become more spiritual, to let myself be open more to my feelings as much as my thoughts. More importantly, I started forming my own ideology and arriving to my own interpretation of what God asks of us.
I remember something that happened years ago. I was with a cousin, and we were both around 7 years old. She had a little drawing in a notebook and when I asked her what it was, she told me that it was God and that she tried to imagine how he looked and this was what came up. I wondered back then if we could draw God, imagine him.
I still don’t know how to grasp something as big as the almighty. Yet from a philosophical point of view, God for me is the embodiment of all the virtues that we as humans aspire for. There’s no justice or mercy on this Earth, not enough anyways, true justice and mercy are His qualities. And when we commit an act of kindness or justice, it’s God’s manifestation inside of us.
My experiences with intimacy reassured me that I am a lesbian; I am not into men sexually and I do get attracted to and desire women. I simply accepted this fact, which can be the end of the world to other religious people, but not to me. Therefore, when it came to my gender identity, it was definitely a softer blow. There’s no clear mention of gender diversities in religions, not favourably or otherwise. And when I finally met people from the LGBTQI+ community, I thought I reached the point of total acceptance and openness. Only to find out later on that I might be wrong. The judgement this time came from my religious beliefs; I was told by a friend in the community once “How come you’re both queer and religious? You’re an adulterer in the eyes of your religion” I explained to her that this was her own interpretation and not mine. I figured it was everyone’s choice to understand things the way they do, and that I should refrain from discussing my religious views in the queer and activist circles just to avoid needless adversity. I also understood that I can never fully commit or belong to one certain identity or crowd. I didn’t want to bid my religion and my identity against each other. And what if I did? Who wins? I know that people can’t denounce their identities no matter how hard they want to, so should we just forsake our beliefs instead? I didn’t see a reason why I should be making a choice between these two things.
Every social circle I affiliated with has added something to me, without fully taking over my identity. I relate to so many different things and none of them above the other. The queer circles taught me to be brave and outspoken,
nevertheless, I still don’t fully fit in there. On the other hand, I don’t fit in with a heterosexual crowd either; not for long, at least. My beliefs are mine and my journey is mine alone, and so I don’t expect others to understand. I keep this in mind whenever I am met with disapproval, I don’t pay it back in kind. Rather, I try to think about where the other person is coming from, I try to understand what makes them resort to aggression and I try to stay mindful of my privileges in any context I am in. I feel that my beliefs have made me stronger, wiser, more tolerant and caring.
I never thought I’d be able to meet all the people and go through all the experiences I did while I am still in Egypt. I never thought I’d find someone that would later be my partner. I feel grateful towards every person I’ve encountered; whether it ended well or badly. I am proud of the social circles I formed with community members or allies. It was a breakthrough for me to meet people who don’t care about my sexuality and were never pushed to treat me differently because of it.
I am also proud of what we’re doing right here, that we get to document our existence, our beliefs and our spiritual connections. We get to say that we’re here, we’re queer and we’re believers. Maybe in 10 years’ time, a young queer will stumble upon something like this and rest assured that they’re okay, that they don’t have to battle with feelings of being lost and hypocritical. I hope one day I get to introduce this to my students in college and tell them: here, the oral narrative of Egyptian queers from years past.
Oxygen Asser
I have had a very simple upbringing. My father wasn’t extremely religious or uptight, but he cared about religion enough to send me to participate in Quran recitals since I was 10. I found out about my sexual orientation when I was six years old. There was an older guy who once saw me playing with some other boys and approached me, mentioned the name of a family member and asked if we were related. I said we were. He said that relative was looking for me and that we should go together. Once he put his hand on my shoulder, I became very aware of how sexually aroused I was. I knew when I was walking with him that this was a ploy, and nobody was actually looking for me. I still went along with him. It was the first time I had any sexual activity with a guy, it wasn’t the last though. We kept on meeting willingly.
I knew exactly what we were doing and what it meant, there was no doubt in my mind that I’d be cast to eternal hell because of it. It was too much guilt and pressure for a child to bear, but I did. I had no profound understanding of God’s true merciful nature or the notion that good deeds can erase the bad. I could only think of all those words drilled in me since I was a child; that nothing but Hell is waiting for me as a result of giving in to my deviant desires.
All the guilt and fear of God’s wrath inside me was too much to take, so I started directing it towards the guy I was involved with. I once hid a knife under my shirt because I wanted to kill him for revenge. To me, he was the reason I was going to hell. In my mind, he hurt me and awakened this sinful part of me which would have remained dormant.
I didn’t have the words for it but in hindsight I understand that I blamed my homosexuality on him. I hated and blamed him, I hated myself too. But I could never stop doing what I was doing.
I started to go back to all the Quran verses that I memorized without fully understanding. I wanted to understand the root of my fears and guilt. What was also helpful is that I went back to reciting the Quran when I was 13. During this phase, I started to learn about the verses’ interpretation not only the verses themselves. I started to pay closer attention to my actions, since hitting puberty means the start of being accountable for your actions in front of God, unlike when I was still a child.
At this stage in my life I was being bullied at school, I was a handsome boy, with soft and thick hair. I would get harassed by groups of people in class. I internalized their violence, I believed it was me who brought it upon myself. I thought people were innocent and it was my appearance that pushed them to take these actions. I realised that the only way I could be accepted and respected while looking the way I did is if I gave off a conservative, religious vibe.
Indeed, the change in personality has made my peers become more respectful of me. They stopped harassing and bullying me. I can’t tell at the moment how true my intentions were; was I really becoming religious or did I just need to look the part? All I know is, I didn’t hate what I was doing. Being religious did save my life at that stage. Since then, I have become truly religious. By the end of college, I have memorized the entire Quran. It has become like a shield to me; A supply of Oxygen when everything is suffocating me.
Even when I would get urges, I knew that keeping my connection alive with God was enough to keep my tendencies at bay.
I can’t claim that I fully accept myself. But I have learned how to reconcile my beliefs and my orientation. I have reached a different outlook on Islam’s position regarding Homosexuality by the time I reached 30. I believe that God isn’t going to hold me accountable for my orientation.
There’s a verse in Quran that talks about how God has created the human soul and inspired within it both the good and the bad. So, it’s been God’s choice to grant me the sexual orientation I have. It’s not for me to debate it or change it if it’s how I was created. To God, being hetero or homo is basically irrelevant. Since being isn’t part of the accountability equation, it’s the doing. I learned the difference between having desires and succumbing to them. My conviction now is that God doesn’t reject my identity and neither do I; what’s actually forbidden is the act itself. It’s not one of the mortal sins such as adultery, but it is still sinful. In Islamic law, there’s no clear penalty set for humans to execute on homosexual sex, unlike adultery or slandering women, each of which has a set number of whiplashes as a punishment in Sharia Law. The story about the prophet Lut and his people has been misinterpreted by everyone; those people were punished by God- not other mortals- for other sins far different from homosexuality. Therefore, I don’t believe that this story sets a precedent for God’s wrath on homosexuality.
I have heard many scholars mention the Lut people story as a cautionary tale against homosexuality. They do, however, dismiss the fact that those people committed the ultimate sin; which is rejecting and deserting a messenger from God. Such a transgression invalidates the fact that they are my equal, and therefore the claim that I would end up in the same hell as theirs.
I try to be good to others around me. I don’t hurt them; I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I have never been in a relationship so that there would be no expectations of me. I don’t abandon anyone or disappoint anyone. There is so much conflict inside of me, I find myself wondering if there is a way to do a sin right. I sometimes wonder if marriage would make sex less of a sin. I am torn between guilt and deprivation. At least, I am fighting my urges.
I talk to God about this dilemma, I know there is no human being that can help really make sense of my religion and my homosexuality. And so, I resort only to God. I know he listens, and he feels everything I am going through, I know he’s omnipotent and can alleviate all my pains. I still go back to the Quran, which has always been my lifeline, my oxygen tank, when I am drowning. I don’t feel abandoned by God.
Safe Haven
I was a student at Al Azhar schools, which meant being of a strictly religious background. At primary school, I had the entire Quran memorized and studied Hadith in preparatory school. Religion to me wasn’t a subset of my life; it was my life. As a kid in primary school, I took it upon myself to be God’s mouthpiece with everyone I know. At that age, I hadn’t hit puberty yet and I was unaware of any kind of sexual tendencies towards boys or girls. I wasn’t traumatized or harassed at a young age, on the contrary, I led a very healthy life where I was both religious and academically bright.
But early on in prep school, I found myself attracted to my friend Mohammad and not Sarah. This was the beginning of a long struggle; how on earth am I feeling this way?! How did I let myself feel that?! Coming from an upbringing that unequivocally dictate that that’s a major sin
I couldn’t take this lightly. I was heavily influenced by the Salafi movement taking over the media at that time, and so the struggle in me was intense. I was so scared of my feelings, I stopped standing in the 2nd line during group praying so that I won’t be distracted by noticing someone I fancy. I even quit an entire Masjid altogether because of a certain guy I had feelings for. I couldn’t bear the fact that this person crosses my mind as I pray, as God is my witness at that moment.
After that, I fell in love with a boy whom I met outside school. It was something that I of course never expressed; I only maintained a close friendship with him. I did all I could to stop myself from having those feelings, and I directed all my efforts towards God. The weird part was that the closer I am to get, the bigger the hold my sexual tendencies have on me.
Youssef
I was ridden with feelings of shame and hypocrisy. How can I reconcile preaching God’s words in one instance, followed by meeting this boy and fancying him the way I did? I just can’t. I kept feeling torn apart until I hit a breaking point by the end of prep school. I decided to let go of both; I tried to copy my peers and initiate relationships with girls. I tried and tried, and I always failed to feel any attraction towards women. I realized that I wasn’t being hypocritical towards my religion, this time, it was about my sexuality. So, I just reverted to resorting to religion. I studied more and delved deeper into the teachings of my religion. I was adamant to find the solution there and pretty confident that that was God’s test and he’s ought to lift it off me one day soon. The situation never got better, and my mental agony kept getting worse. The cycle of trying harder and failing more was never broken until I met someone. We exchanged looks for a bit, but I was never going to approach him. He actually approached me, and we started talking. This was the first sign of relief I had since the start of my struggles. Then he told me that he loved me. I was shocked to know that there were others like me. We got closer and started a relationship that lasted for 3 years. Did I forget all what my religion taught me? No idea. But that didn’t mean that the tug war inside me had subsided , it actually seeped into my relationship with him. At that point, I started to study a very specialized area of religion; authenticity evaluation of the Hadith through the science of wounding and rectifying. It’s such a complex discipline in religious studies and I dove right into it. I even entered and won contests in this field with Al Azhar. During that time, I surrendered to my own truth; I knew I tried to like women and go against my nature and I knew I failed.
So I had nothing else left but to accept my orientations. I figured that the only thing that would stop me from feeling like a fraud could only be found in the teachings of my religion. But at that time I thought that nothing in Islam leaves a room of doubt about homosexuality being a sin.
Until I stumbled upon a book that tackles sexuality and religious rulings on it; a subject that has never been spoken about before. I was shocked to find a religious scholar deal with such a thorny subject like this so comfortably. The writer even referred to some scholars- who were an untouchable bunch- as people of the religious “craft”. He said that they had an insatiable tendency to forbid things that were never truly forbidden by religion. This was my introduction to alternative religious interpretations that weren’t as strict as the ones I’d been used to. One book led to another, and I found out that I’ve only been stuck into the Salafist view of Islam, which isn’t by any means the only view available. This realization, coupled with meeting other homosexual people who seemed to accept themselves, led me to start questioning my old views. A gay guy once made an analogy that stuck with me; to him, preferring men is something similar to liking the colour green or being a big fan of Shawarma; it’s a matter of preferences, something you don’t need to justify or defend. And even if you wanted to, you just can’t. As simple as that.
Nevertheless, I still had my religion to contend with. How can I dismiss the story of the people of the prophet Lut? How about the Quran verse that says: "You approach men with lust instead of women? No, you are a people who go beyond the limits."? Or the Hadith saying: “If you find anyone doing as Lut's people did, kill the one who does it, and the one to whom it is done.”?
I wondered how would God- in his infinite justice- punish us for something we can’t control? Something we never asked for? Should I denounce religion to accept myself? I took some space from religion in order to see clearly and to be more at peace, and I started to listen to more open-minded people. As I was introduced to these fresh views, I discovered that there is no need for a struggle between my religious beliefs and my sexuality. The paradox is simply not there; most of the prophetic sayings that forbid homosexuality are either weak or fabricated, and what the Quran says about the Lut people has been simply misconstrued by religious scholars.
Those people have raped, robbed people and abused the prophet sent to them, they have been accused by some many transgressions yet all what the scholars fixated on was sexual misconduct. The Lut people were actually married, and the actual sexual misconduct they committed was non-consensual sex. God sent them a prophet to teach them goodness, whom they abused. Then he sent them a final test in the form of strangers arriving to town, a test which they failed. And that was the true reason that brought upon them God’s wrath. However, the prevailing interpretation came from the overly strict scholars, those who are obsessed about regulating people’s lives and boxing them in under the pretence of religious rulings. This is even more evident when we observe the age of Islamic enlightenment, there were popular homosexual figures, such as: Abu Nawwas, who lived his life known for his homoerotic poems, and was never threatened or sentenced to death. Interestingly enough, I didn’t come up with those views myself, they are well-established interpretations that have been made a long time ago, albeit not by Arab scholars.
And now, thank God, I’ve ridden myself any feelings of guilt or hypocrisy. I accept myself completely; I pray and preach God’s word and I am in a committed relationship with my husband to be. If we ever leave the country, we’ll get officially married and adopt children.
I’ve been told I was an idiot for being Muslim and Queer. I’ve been told that these two things simply don’t go hand in hand. I always try to explain my point of view, but if I hit a dead-end, I remind them that they aren’t the ones that I’ll answer to on Judgement day. Regardless of what whoever says, I still want to pray to God, ask for his mercy and pray for his heaven. I still want to do what my religion requires of me, and I still want to hold hands with my lover, hug and kiss him, and do my prayers together with him. Because I love him, and because I know that the God I worship is infinitely fair and merciful.
I accept myself as a Queer Muslim. I accept all views and interpretations excepts the fundamentalist ones. I know that God won’t create millions of people in a certain way only so that he could punish them. In fact, I believe that I only accepted myself because of my faith in God’s wisdom and justice. My conviction that God wouldn’t create something for nothing is what made me at peace with being different. God has created a few infertile people among the millions who can have children, same way he created homosexuals among the heterosexuals. It’s all part of his plan, and we have nothing to worry about or question. I hope that the rest of my community refuse to take religions at face value and actually dig deeper into what their religions say, they’d be surprised with what they find.
Acceptance
When I was 15 years old, I hadn’t yet identified as a Transman, I thought I was a lesbian girl. I didn’t know about transgenderism. I felt guilty for my orientation and my actions because I knew they weren’t normal or acceptable. I couldn’t love myself or others. I was ridden with guilt and thoughts of being a sinner in God’s eyes. So I spiralled into depression and started having panic attacks and psychosomatic symptoms. This went on for three years until I decided that I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to stop acting on my sexual orientation and start getting closer to God. I started researching the subject by the time I went to college and began to make my own opinions and accept my individuality. I read about homosexuality being found in nature among animals, and I used to talk to my brother about my findings. Yet he always discouraged me, telling me that I shouldn’t listen to those who justify homosexuality as this information is fake and contradicts with our religious teachings. I felt lost and torn between both sides, but I couldn’t fully succumb to one side without paying attention to the other.
My father helped me go through this, as he was an opponent of radical Islamic views. He introduced me to some Islamic scholars whose views kind of contradict with the mainstream ones. He paved the way for me to learn about alternative, more enlightened interpretations of religion. Between all my various readings, I started to formulate my own views on things, which helped greatly with my guilt and self-loathing. . .
It became very clear to me how nonsensical it is to think that God would create us in a way that he’d later condemn. There was no reason to believe that he would so cruel as to create us in order to punish us. Believing in God’s justice, I knew that he would never hold us accountable for something we didn’t choose and couldn’t control. I learned that in order for me to be in harmony with the world I am part of, I have to accept myself the way I am. The world was created on the basis of diversity, and it’s around us wherever we looked. We only start to stray away from the path of goodness when we reject our differences and hate each other for them.
If I am to label myself, I’d call myself a theist. I believe in God, but not the ones portrayed by scholars and sheiks. He’s much bigger than how he’s portrayed; the only problem is that people tend to easily accept and never doubt the reality they’re presented with. They view me as a sinner, but I know that I felt God’s existence around me when I asked for his help. I know that he’s all merciful and tolerant of his creations, beyond the limits of our imagination. And because we can’t grasp it, we had to contrive our own image of what God is like. . .
Thankfully, I am at a point where I accept myself the way I was created. I am what I am regardless of what people think. God wants us to love ourselves and never be ashamed of what we are, he wants us to think and create a better world for ourselves and others. The only struggle is in our acceptance of each other, not in Gvvvod’s acceptance of us. For us to get there, we have to take our time and question so many givens that we thought we had.
Discovering my true identity has changed me greatly; I am a bit more socially isolated as I haven’t come out as a Transman in all of my social circles. It’s made me a quiet person, someone who’s very selective about what to share, especially when I am surrounded by people who I know aren’t very tolerant. But it’s made me more understanding of the elusive nature of gender identity and more accepting of things I thought I would never be able to make peace with.
In my closer social circles, among friends for example, I’ve become more expressive of my identity and more eager to share the knowledge I’ve gained. I’ve unabashedly came out to my friends as Trans, and I didn’t worry or fear for a second that I may not be accepted or appreciated by them. I owe my current inner peace to the previous struggles I had, which led me to look deeper into my religions, sexuality and gender identity. And I am now proud of who I am and how far I’ve come. My self-acceptance stems from inside, no matter what other people may think.
Technicolor Dye Ayman
I come from a strongly religious background. Since I was 9, I used to get sent to the Masjid next to our home to recite the Quran, much like my siblings, under the instructions of our father. But unlike my siblings, it wasn’t long before I strayed from that path. You are supposed to feel at peace when you set foot into a place of worship, to get a sense of kinship. I never felt like I belonged. I used to take a corner and stay in it, away from the rest. When I put on the white Jellabiya, I would feel like I was being forced into blending in. I gradually severed ties with the Masjid crowd, but one thing I couldn’t get out of was Friday prayer. Looking at the Imam, I used to wonder why he was hoisted up on a literal pedestal, looking down on us and frantically screaming at us about Heaven and Hell. I used to wonder about God’s mercy whenever the Imam told us about all the atrocities God has in store for all the unbelievers. Where is Allah’s divine name “the Merciful”?
How come I can find it in me to forgive those who once did me wrong, while our omnipotent creator can’t stop holding grudges.
During Quran recitals in primary school, our teacher would hit anyone who didn’t memorize their part, promising them ample time in Hell. That was what stuck with me; the promise of damnation, not the hitting. In hindsight, I wonder if those who couldn’t recite the Quran do go to Hell, does that mean that God needed this teacher to come save us all from Hell?
I stopped wondering a while later, since none of my questions had satisfactory answers. I discovered my sexual orientation in high school, by accident, when I fell in love with another boy. I couldn’t identify back then if that was love, so of course nothing ever happened between us. When I felt sad that I wouldn’t see him again, I realized what that feeling was.
I made a fake social media account to start discovering myself, I used the account to talk to the guys I was crushing on. This was a period of self-discovery and sexual activity; I started doing phone and online sex stuff with a lot of other gay guys. I think a lot of men used my young age and inexperience to their advantage, and I am now much more mature and less sexually driven. Yet, at the peak of my sexual revolution, I was still quite religious. I had an Arabic teacher who gave me and my friends private lessons. He was considered a Sheik himself, and we looked up to him and felt close to him enough to call him uncle. He wasn’t like the other religious extremists I had encountered. He was more spiritual, he used to time our lessons based on prayer times, he’d take us all to go pray together and listen to some Quran by a reciter who was known for his soothing voice and lyrical delivery. I could see how our Sheik listens to God’s words with his heart rather than his ears. That made me see Islam in a more tolerant light. But it pushed me to confront my contradictions; between prayer and Quran, and sex and lust. I felt lost.
I started to pray to God to help me get over my “affliction”, our teacher told us about the extraordinary value of the first prayer of the day, which takes place a few hours before sunrise. I used to wake up at the dead of the night to do this prayer, cry and talk to God and beg for his salvation. I got nothing.
By the time I entered college, I had known I was gay and there was no way out of it. Seeing boys wearing something other than school uniforms used to excite me. This led to the struggle inside me getting more intense. I couldn’t date girls and I couldn’t give in to my instincts and pursue boys. I was being constantly tortured by my own thoughts. I hoped God would put the incentive in me to pursue a girl instead. I had no sexual attraction towards females, yet I tried to fake it until I make it. I convinced myself that I was into a girl and tried to push myself to like her, maybe I’d magically become normal. Needless to say, magic isn’t real, I just ended up hurting her.
Then I met a bisexual guy, with whom I spent the best 9 months of my life. But of course, he was nowhere near accepting himself. He used to remind me that our time together condemns us both to hell. I used to tell him that he could leave if he wanted,
I couldn’t stand him thinking I am the reason for his eternal demise. And so, I let him go, and he did really go. I had my first heart attack back then, and my anger and hatred towards religion hit its highest point. I hated myself and my life. Religion was the root cause of my misery, yet I couldn’t tell which one of us is crooked; God's commands or me. Countless times, I screamed at God asking him why he created me the way I am, why the indifference towards my suffering, where the way out is. I thought I loved him but I could feel my love towards God diminishing every time I ask those questions and hear no response.
I found a blog online that tells a different interpretation of the story of the prophet Lut and his people, which is the essential story for any Muslim when it comes to viewing homosexuality as a mortal sin. I also read up on the theory of evolution and other scientifically-proven truths that contradict with and invalidate a lot of what Islam considers givens.
That’s how I started to let go of religion and truly believe that the creator of this universe is a lot more beyond a few lines in a rulebook. I saw a more holistic view of what makes a good person; maybe I am a better person than my friends who are seemingly religious, but are compelled to sin in private or harm other people who don’t fall within their world view. I knew as a gay, non-Muslim person who never sought to inflict pain on others, I am more worthy in the eyes of God than them. What makes a good person? Someone who follows a creed he was born into? Or someone who excelled in a science and made discoveries or inventions that benefited the entire human race? Who’s more worthy of an eternity in heaven? The self-righteous preacher who follows a set of rituals and repeats some words that someone said 1400 years ago? Or the inventor of the Polio vaccine? Won’t the thousands of lives he saved redeem the scientist from the consequences of not being born on the right side of the planet?
I didn’t dismiss the idea of a higher entity completely; I don’t have an answer to who created the universe or what caused the big bang to happen. I became convinced that a higher being does exist, but he isn’t necessarily going to interfere in my life the same way Islam led us to believe. I understood that God and spirituality don’t need to be confined into the mold of monotheistic religions. I knew I could walk into a church, a mosque, or a public square even and feel God’s existence because it is within me. His existence is within me and I don’t need no clergy or preachers or middlemen to get me to sense his presence. God isn’t a torturer
isn’t the sadistic vindicator that religions painted him to be. He is all forgiving, all merciful, all knowing. And most importantly, he knows, loves and accepts every single one of his creations, as diverse and infinitely complex as they are.
All the violence, hate and vengeance that we associate with God is from our own creation. We just chose to see God in the most reflective way of ourselves.
There is an underlying conflict between religions and homosexuality. To be at peace, one of them must go. I would’ve never accepted myself had l continued to believe in Islam as the one true doctrine. And I still see my struggle reiterated with other people in our community. I denounced religions because I denounced violence and hate, whether that directed towards others or myself. For me, to survive, I have to love myself and be kind to it, since nobody else in our society is ready to do such a thing.
I found my peace in becoming irreligious, while I understand that other queer people can reconcile religion with their orientation. I just didn’t feel the need to jump through hoops and battle through self-loathing to hold on to a conviction. I no longer want to uphold the image that society forced on me, like how it forced me to get married just so I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. From an ethical standpoint, how valid is this marriage? All I know is it appeases those around me.
I heard a quote once when I was young that stuck with me. El Sadat- an ex-president of Egypt- once said “Fill the world with the hymns of peace”. I still believe that this is the only solution. I still believe in love and forgiveness as the greatest virtues of a human being. I find myself nostalgic for old love songs where the singer forgives their lover even if they broke their hearts. Nothing about vengeance or payback, like the songs nowadays are. I believe in God, and I believe in love and that’s why I am queer. I am queer and so l can love. I feel alienated from people around me, who are so quick to yell and fight. I find myself calm and peaceful among them. And that feeling has made all the difference to me.
I may be viewed as an atheist by many people because of my views on God and religions. But I know I am not, I am a believer, whose God is better than theirs. I won’t change my beliefs and l won’t fight any pointless wars. There is a saying “pick your battles” and I do that very well. I know when what I say matters and I know when to value my own physical and psychological well being over marching into empty crusades with a bunch of fundamentalist terrorists.
And above all else, l value my inner peace. When I was still conflicted, l had anguish and suicidal tendencies inside of me all the time. It took years for this to change. Instead, I now have nothing but peace inside. I know that on Earth, heaven is inner peace, and in the afterlife, it’s still inner peace, and not flowing wine and virgin women. The whole . .
