A must-read. ( )

“You have everything you need. I can’t wait for people to see what I’ve known all along—that you’re amazing.”

We Have Always Been Here mi ha lasciato addosso un’enorme gioia, che di questi tempi non è male, e non perché racconti una storia priva di momenti difficili ed eventi traumatici, ma perché riesce a raccontare molto bene la meraviglia di scoprire e riscoprire la propria identità al di là di ogni muro di ignoranza, paura e intolleranza.

È una di quelle storie da leggere per ampliare le nostre conoscenze sulle diversità presenti nelle comunità musulmane, troppo spesso appiattite da una narrazione standard che oscura qualunque punto di vista non si allinei con l’idea che ci siamo fattз di loro: e quel che è peggio è che magari ci convinciamo di saperla lunga solo perché abbiamo sentito le stesse storie in così tante salse diverse che ci pare pure di essere diventatз espertз.

Il brutto di questo appiattimento è che storie importanti che farebbero sentire meno sole le persone incapaci di adeguarsi a quella narrazione rimangono incastrate e non fluiscono nel continuum che ci racconta e ci aiuta a definire i vari aspetti delle nostre identità. Habib cerca di metterci una pezza e raccontare la sua storia di musulmana queer.

Non solo: essendo anche (diventata) una fotografa, Habib è andata in giro a fotografare altre persone musulmane queer, raccontando anche un po’ di loro. Altre piccole storie che si aggiungono al patchwork: vi consiglio di andare a buttarci un occhio.

When I asked Zainab what advice she would give to young queer Muslims who are looking for support and community, her response gave me chills. I still turn to her words for motivation:

“We have always been here, it’s just that the world wasn’t ready for us yet. Today, with all the political upheavals in the Muslim World, some of us, those who are not daily threatened with death or rejection, have to speak for others. They have to tell stories of a community that is either denied or scorned. Together, through facing distinct realities, we should be united—united in the desire to be, in the desire to enjoy being free, safe, and happy. It is not going to be easy and one may never reach a reconciliation with oneself (or with religion), but at least we should care for each other. In face of the challenges, our sense of community and our shared aspirations for a better world should make us stronger.”

( )

One of those books that had been on my shelves for WAY too long before I finally read it, and then once I did I loved it so much I'm embarrassed by how long it took me to get around to it.

I really, REALLY loved this. as a queer Muslim memoir, yes, it contains the conflict and displacement and rejection that you would expect, but it is also SO FILLED with the euphoria of slowly finding/creating yourself, in a way that demonizes no one but fear.

An amazing book. ( )

Such a fascinating story. Samra tells of her young childhood in Pakistan, before her family emigrates to Canada to escape religious persecution. Her family belongs to a sect of Muslims out of favor in Pakistan.

Arriving in Canada, her family forces her into an arranged marriage at a very early age. She doesn't love her new husband, and in fact is so young that she continues to live at home until she's old enough to be a wife (Yikes!).

She manages to divorce this first husband. She attends college, meets and marries her second husband. While this marriage is her choice, she doesn't feel true to herself. As she begins to explore her true feelings and identity, she realizes she queer (her word) and attracted more to women. She finds the courage to leave husband two and live a more authentic life.

Over the course of her 20's she works hard to gain acceptance and embrace her full identity as gay AND Muslim AND brown AND immigrant.

She describes difficult times but the whole story is told with so much warmth and grace. There were a few parts that really stood out for me. When she discovered a mosque that would accept her as both gay and Muslim. And when she eventually reconciles with her parents. ( )

3.5 stars

Samra Habib was still a girl when her entire family came to Canada from Pakistan. They were a part of a minority group of Muslims who were discriminated against in their own country. As she grew up, she knew she didn’t see things the same as her parents and she did not want to marry her cousin in the arranged marriage that had been planned. In fact, she wasn’t interested in men at all, and thought she may be asexual. As an adult, she came to realize that she was, in fact, queer. And she learned how to reconcile that with her Muslim faith.

This was good. It did move quickly and it felt like it skipped forward fast in some cases. It was interesting to read about, though. Have to admit (though that wasn’t the entire purpose of the book!), I found the first half more interesting - the parts that focused on her trying to fit in after she immigrated. ( )