Living the intersectional life: how to be gay and Muslim
The struggle for LGBTQ rights for people in communities of faith is far from over; for some, it has only just begun.
The 11th of April 2020 should have been a day of celebration, and one for the history books. ‘ImaanFest’, the first-ever LGBTQ+ Muslim Pride festival, was due to take place in East London. The streets were to be lined with activists and allies from the queer Muslim community and beyond. Talks, workshops, queer Muslim films, and a mini-exhibition of LGBTQ+ Muslim history were planned. In the evening, there would be food and entertainment. One of those attending would have been trans activist Asifa Lahore, Britain’s first out Muslim drag queen.
Alas, the event wasn’t to be because of COVID-19 and has been rescheduled to December. But the necessity and significance of the first Muslim Pride for the community are as pertinent as ever. To British-Iraqi drag performer Amrou Al-Kadhi, the festival is an opportunity to show that two seemingly opposing identities can, and should, exist peacefully side by side. Speaking in a press release, Al-Kadhi said: “ImaanFest, Muslim Pride, is the perfect counter-narrative, revelling in the joys of queer Muslim identities, and giving us the chance to make our own space.”
For Al-Kadhi, their gender identity as non-binary is not in opposition to their identity as a Muslim. But for others within both the LGBTQ+ and the Muslim community, the relationship is more fraught. Existing at the intersection of these two minority groups — both of which continue to face discrimination and persecution from wider society — can be an ongoing struggle. The continuous strain can have devastating consequences for some LGBTQ+ Muslims.
For some, the two identities are strictly mutually exclusive. A telling example occurred in 2017, when the radio network LBC addressed a Muslim gay marriage. While presenter Maajid Nawaz was discussing the topic, a Muslim man called up and said he was pro-gay rights, but also stated that one could not be both gay and Muslim. “If you’re gay,” he said, “you can’t call yourself Muslim! It’s like saying ‘I’m a vegetarian’ but then say ‘I’m going to eat piri-piri chicken’.”
Someone whose very existence disproves the absolutist caller is Mufseen Miah (29), a British-born Bengali Muslim and a gay man. He was born to first-generation immigrant parents from Bangladesh. For the last few years, he has been on a journey of self-discovery following the rejection of his sexuality by his family. On his Twitter account, he announced earlier this year: “Last week I quit my family, and I’m happier for it.” Today, he lives as an “out and proud gay man” in London. During his limited spare time, he volunteers for London Pride, where he was appointed Director of Finance in 2019.
Growing up in the seaside town of Brighton, which, coincidentally, is often referred to as the ‘gay capital’ of the UK, Mufseen was the youngest of seven siblings. His father was the chairman of the local mosque. Mufseen describes his upbringing as “fairly conservative Muslim.” A lot of his childhood centred around the mosque: “After school, we would go to a two-hour reading class where we would learn Arabic so we could read the Koran.” Mufseen reflects on how little time he had as a child to relax and enjoy himself. He speaks of how his parents would limit his friends to children he met at the Mosque and excluded those from white British families. This was not due to religious bias, but for fear of the unknown. “As first-generation Asian immigrants, they didn’t know how I would be influenced if I spent too much time with Western families.”
Although he advocates that the Bangladeshi community is loving, Mufseen kept his emotional distance from family and friends during his childhood and early adulthood. He explains why he didn’t connect with friends from the Mosque: “My mind was wired differently as a queer person. Unlike others, I was always sceptical and questioning of blind faith because from a young age, I felt different, and I knew I liked the same sex.” Mufseen grew up with the fear of being rejected by his community for his sexuality, which took a significant toll on him. With a heavy heart, he reflects on the pain that he went through. “It’s a lot for a child to think about at that age, it’s pretty heavy when you think about it; most cis-hetero children are just enjoying their youth.”
“I felt like I was in survival mode all the time, but I knew it was worth it. What was the alternative? I couldn’t submit to a straight life, but I did want to make my parents proud of me.” Mufseen recalls how it changed his behaviour and caused a downward spiral: “I contemplated self-harm and suicide, which I acted out in tantrums or depressive moods.”
Mufseen’s behaviour is not uncommon in people who experience continuous repression. Psychologist Fiona Boyle explains the severity of having to live a double life. Having a personal identity that is different from your social identity, “often manifests into psychological disorders such as depression and anxiety. Living a double life exacerbates the risk of these disorders and the severity.” This can have long-lasting negative effects on a person’s mental health. Symptoms include, but are not limited to, “addiction, depressive episodes, panic and anxiety, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and suicide.”
Fiona advocates the importance of LGBTQI+ communities: “People in these situations will often have to seek out their ‘social group’. The incongruence between their personal identity and social identity can be lessened if they change to a more accepting, like-minded social group.” However, she stresses that “People must seek support to reconcile any psychological fractures. Regardless of their families’ ability to manage any social identity conflicts, the person must know that they are valued and loved for being their unique self.”
In order to find a social group that values you, you don’t have to stay where you are. London is home to the largest LGBTQ population in the UK. It has a history of welcoming diverse cultures from across the world. Mufseen explains how he found new friends and a ‘chosen family’ in the city. “I’ve been fortunate to have built some long-lasting friendships with other queer people in the city. I found many of my LGBTQ+ friends through volunteering for Pride or through social media. A handful of which I would consider a ‘chosen family’, which means these are friends who I have a close relationship with and we actively support each other and listen to each other. There’s a mutual respect that exists that I never had with my actual family.”
Support for the LGBTQ+ Muslim community is needed globally. In the UK, there are two specialised charities: Imaan and Hidayah. For Shelina, founder of Hidayah, this charity is needed now more than ever. “Not only do we go through the standard LGBTQ+ struggles, those of us who are non-white also have to deal with the constraints of our culture.” Hidayah offers WhatsApp groups and monthly events in six locations across the UK, including London. They also conduct workshops for schools and universities, as well as one-to-one support where needed. “We act as a social support group for LGBTQ+ Muslims”, says Shelena.
For Mufseen, the problem wasn’t so much his wider faith community but that of his familiar inner circle. “As a Bangladeshi Muslim, family is very important to me. There’s a well-known saying in Islam: ‘heaven is at your mother’s feet’, which means if you’re a good son, you’ll be rewarded in the afterlife.” He kept his sexuality hidden from his family. Still, He knew he couldn’t delay coming out if he ever wanted them to be at his wedding with his long-term partner. “I came out to my entire family when I was 24, and I told them: ‘I’m with him’. It felt easier to say it this way than to say: ‘I’m gay’. Also, I didn’t know the appropriate word for gay in Bengali.”
After confiding to his parents about his sexuality, he faced precisely the reaction that he had expected. His father turned angry and suggested his son should “leave his boyfriend and marry a woman.” Meanwhile, he recalls that his mother was so heartbroken that she cried for weeks. The reaction hurt him a lot, but also made Mufseen realise that his parents had great difficulty understanding what it means to be gay because of their cultural background: “The gay scene in Bangladesh is very underground still and never spoken about, so when I came out, my parents had no reference points on what this meant.” According to Shelina, the fact that some Muslim parents are first- or second-generation immigrants plays an integral part in this: “Our parents went through a lot to live here, in search for a better life for us. That’s why it can be a shock for them when their child comes out as gay.”
After coming out, Mufseen still had contact with his family, which was unexpected. However, it did not come without a cost. In an interview with the BBC earlier this year, he stated that: “Every time I go to my family it feels like I’m reduced to being a closeted kid again for a few days. That’s a really damaging thing for me because it really affects my self-confidence.” Three years after a “strained” and “strange” relationship with his parents and siblings, Mufseen had to leave his family in December 2019. He realised that “having a toxic relationship is worse than having no relationship.” This decision was not something he took lightly. He talked about how important family bonds are within Asian culture, but this is something that he needed to do. “I’ve spent years compromising who I am in order to protect their feelings. And if they would like to establish a relationship in the future, then that’s okay.” On a final point to the BBC, he stressed that if his family do want to become a part of his life again, “They will have to reconcile my life with their beliefs and their culture.”
“LGBTQ Muslims are on the receiving end of abuse from every part of our alleged community.”
“Being a person of colour, LGBTQ, and being a Muslim means that the intersectionality is obviously huge and is problematic sometimes,” says Shelina. She discusses how racism is strife within the LGBTQ community. It is mainly displayed in gay clubs and on apps such as Grindr (a gay dating app). This is backed up by Mufseen, who has experienced racism and racist attitudes throughout the community. “The primary place where I experience this is on a dating app and social media (Instagram), where men are very open about how they do not like black or brown people ‘as a sexual preference’. This attitude is very invalidating to people of colour and unfortunately is commonplace.” Shelina stresses that “LGBTQ Muslims are on the receiving end of abuse from every part of our alleged community. This can be because of your ethnic minority (being black or Asian), or for your religion as the LGBT community is notoriously anti-religion. By other Muslims, you are discriminated against because you are gay. You feel like you don’t fit in with the communities that you are meant to belong to.”
Shelina and Mufseen’s experiences are, unfortunately, no exceptions. According to a survey conducted by Stonewall, more than half of BAME LGBT people face discrimination within the LGBT community (51%). Moreover, LGBT people of a non-Christian faith were more likely to have experienced a hate crime or incident than LGBT people in general with almost a third experiencing this in the last 12 months.
It is no surprise that LGBTQ Muslims need a safe space and have people around who are understanding of them. This is why events such as ImaanFest are crucial. Not only does the festival highlight the fact that there are other LGBTQ Muslims, but it also hopes “to make progress in Muslim communities and change behaviour towards LGBTQ people,” Mufseen says. “It helps LGTBQ Muslims connect with others who have had similar life experiences, which is really valuable because we grow up feeling so isolated and disconnected.”
