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A review by laurel00
Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H
emotional
informative
reflective
medium-paced
4.5
The thing that I loved the most about this was being able to connect and relate to someone who, in general, has lived a life that was extremely different from my own.
Growing up in a very white community, islamophobia was very rampant, and even as I became more and more detached from the people I grew up around and found more queer community, I kept a certain disdain for religion as a whole. It's hard for me to see queerness and religion as being able to coexist and I have often equated religion to a hatred of my queer community. If you are like me, and have been for the most part vehemently atheist, and you have trouble seeing religion as something that is not, by nature, homophobic, I think this is a perfect read.
It was beautiful to see the ways in which Lamya finds love and friendship and community through groups or organizations specifically for Muslims, the ways in which those very relationships grow and develop through their understanding of and conversations about Islam, the ways in which many of her non-queer Muslim friends were able to, in an act of love, learn about queerness so as to make her feel more accepted and comfortable around them.
There's also a bit of a habit, especially in groups of white feminist queers, to forget all the criticisms we have of our own families, environments, governments, etc. and judge Arab, Middle Easter, South Asian, Muslim communities for those same things, as if it is a criticism unique to those spaces. In this memoir, Lamya reflects on a lot of the difficulties growing up queer in a Muslim, South Asian family and Arab country. And while it would be easy to point to these things and say "See? The stereotypes are all true!", reading this helped shape two important facts: 1- just because there is misogyny and homophobia that is perpetuated in a certain environment does not mean that there are not people within those groups that fight against those issues and stand up for themselves and their communities, and 2- those same issues are rampant in non-Muslim countries, and you cannot allow internationalized bigotry to be justified by this misrepresentation.
Lamya complains about the social pressure to get married that forces many women in unhappy and sometimes dangerous marriages; arbitrary gender rules like having to wear makeup or closing your legs in public; heteronormativity and the heartbreaking and complex reality of having to stay quiet about your queerness around your family so that you can protect yourself while not necessarily losing those relationships; the feeling of not being able to fully relate to your straight friends no matter how much else you have in common because your queerness affects so many other aspects of your life and paints the way that you view the world. These are all issues I have to face coming from a white European background and, contrary to what my supposedly "progressive" Western country wants me to believe, they are not unique to communities built around Islam.
There are so many things I learned from this too that made me deeply sympathize with Lamya. The chapter where she describes her "toxic relationship" with the United States, as someone who struggles to keep up with the immigration administration of a country that is full of racism and bigotry, in contrast to the toxic relationships that some of her South Asian or Arab friends or family members are in because "where else can they go?" was so heartbreaking and beautifully written.
Not only do I absolutely recommend this, I think it's a necessary read for white queers especially. It helps further understand intersectionality, and see the ways in which so many queer spaces feel unwelcoming towards Muslim queers for the still rampant and unchecked islamophobia that exists within those circles. It gives a great insight into the relationship that many queer Muslims have with their religion, so that you never have to pester a Muslim person IRL with the oh-so invasive question: "How can you be queer and still be Muslim?". And above any lessons you may learn from this memoir, it is in and of itself a stunning piece of literature that deserves so much praise and success. I'm so happy I got the chance to read this and deeply appreciative of Lamya for having put her story out there in the world.
Growing up in a very white community, islamophobia was very rampant, and even as I became more and more detached from the people I grew up around and found more queer community, I kept a certain disdain for religion as a whole. It's hard for me to see queerness and religion as being able to coexist and I have often equated religion to a hatred of my queer community. If you are like me, and have been for the most part vehemently atheist, and you have trouble seeing religion as something that is not, by nature, homophobic, I think this is a perfect read.
It was beautiful to see the ways in which Lamya finds love and friendship and community through groups or organizations specifically for Muslims, the ways in which those very relationships grow and develop through their understanding of and conversations about Islam, the ways in which many of her non-queer Muslim friends were able to, in an act of love, learn about queerness so as to make her feel more accepted and comfortable around them.
There's also a bit of a habit, especially in groups of white feminist queers, to forget all the criticisms we have of our own families, environments, governments, etc. and judge Arab, Middle Easter, South Asian, Muslim communities for those same things, as if it is a criticism unique to those spaces. In this memoir, Lamya reflects on a lot of the difficulties growing up queer in a Muslim, South Asian family and Arab country. And while it would be easy to point to these things and say "See? The stereotypes are all true!", reading this helped shape two important facts: 1- just because there is misogyny and homophobia that is perpetuated in a certain environment does not mean that there are not people within those groups that fight against those issues and stand up for themselves and their communities, and 2- those same issues are rampant in non-Muslim countries, and you cannot allow internationalized bigotry to be justified by this misrepresentation.
Lamya complains about the social pressure to get married that forces many women in unhappy and sometimes dangerous marriages; arbitrary gender rules like having to wear makeup or closing your legs in public; heteronormativity and the heartbreaking and complex reality of having to stay quiet about your queerness around your family so that you can protect yourself while not necessarily losing those relationships; the feeling of not being able to fully relate to your straight friends no matter how much else you have in common because your queerness affects so many other aspects of your life and paints the way that you view the world. These are all issues I have to face coming from a white European background and, contrary to what my supposedly "progressive" Western country wants me to believe, they are not unique to communities built around Islam.
There are so many things I learned from this too that made me deeply sympathize with Lamya. The chapter where she describes her "toxic relationship" with the United States, as someone who struggles to keep up with the immigration administration of a country that is full of racism and bigotry, in contrast to the toxic relationships that some of her South Asian or Arab friends or family members are in because "where else can they go?" was so heartbreaking and beautifully written.
Not only do I absolutely recommend this, I think it's a necessary read for white queers especially. It helps further understand intersectionality, and see the ways in which so many queer spaces feel unwelcoming towards Muslim queers for the still rampant and unchecked islamophobia that exists within those circles. It gives a great insight into the relationship that many queer Muslims have with their religion, so that you never have to pester a Muslim person IRL with the oh-so invasive question: "How can you be queer and still be Muslim?". And above any lessons you may learn from this memoir, it is in and of itself a stunning piece of literature that deserves so much praise and success. I'm so happy I got the chance to read this and deeply appreciative of Lamya for having put her story out there in the world.