Shaneel Lal: ‘Soul-crushing’ plight of Gaza’s queer people

Police guide the Palestine protest as it continues to march down Queen Street. Photo / Alex Burton

OPINION:

Queer Palestinians are defying the old trope that queer people do not exist in Gaza with their fight not only to live but also to be remembered.

Queer people are diverse. What unites us despite our differences is our shared fight for liberation. Many times queer activists in the Western world have recited the saying that none of us are free until all of us are free. I feel that more strongly now than ever as I read the stories of queer Palestinians begging the world to see their plight for freedom.

I started reading the anecdotes of queer Palestinians on Queering the Map, a platform that collects geotagged stories of queer people around the world. There are no timestamps on the messages, making it difficult to tell when they were posted but they tell the story of queer Palestinians nonetheless.

What I read was soul-crushing.

A message geotagged in Jabalia read: “I’ve always imagined you and me sitting out in the sun, hand and hand, free at last. We spoke of all the places we would go if we could. Yet you are gone now. If I had known that bombs raining down on us would take you from me, I would have gladly told the world how I adored you more than anything. I’m sorry I was a coward.”

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Another message geotagged in the north of Gaza read: “Idk how long I will live so I just want this to be my memory here before I die. I am not going to leave my home, come what may. My biggest regret is not kissing this one guy. He died two days back. We had told how much we like each other and I was too shy to kiss last time. He died in the bombing. I think a big part of me died too. And soon I will be dead. To younus, i will kiss you in heaven.” [sic]

No one is saying Gaza is a haven for queer folk. I don’t believe any such place exists in the world, but for Palestinians to make progress on queer rights, they need to be alive. I do not doubt that queer Palestinians were building resistance underground so one day they would be able to live freely as their true selves in their home, but there is no longer a guarantee they will live, and if they do, they will live in their home. The hope for freedom is dwindling as the promise of death becomes more real.

Among the heartbreak were messages that made me giggle. A message geotagged near Gaza port read: “A place where I kissed my first crush. Being gay in Gaza is hard but somehow it was fun. I made out with a lot of boys in my neighbourhood. I thought everyone was gay to some level”.

The fear of being killed and forgotten without ever being given the chance to live freely is a lonely and suffocating reality for queer Palestinians. As an Indian and Fijian, I feel a sense of spiritual homelessness when I look back to the history of my people and find so much is missing. Queer Palestinians are desperate not to be relegated to the history books, but as the fabric of Palestinian society is being ripped apart, it is incumbent on us to stop the erasure of queer Palestinian voices.

My heart is with queer Palestinians. We may not know each other, and we are seas apart, but they feel like my people, and I feel deeply their struggle for freedom. As they persist, I leave with a final message from Queering the Map, which says, “Know despite what the media says, there are gay Palestinians. We are here, we are queer.”