Reclaiming Language

AFEEF: Using your own glossary, which phrase describes you best? Aka how do you identify?

MARWAN: It would be unfair of me to choose only one, so I’m going to go with a couple. I identify as a ṭubjī, which is used in Lebanese dialect in the same way as faggot. Ṭubjī comes from Turkish Ottoman and refers to the person whose job is to operate a cannon. I also identify as Shawwaya, which is Arab for grill rack, and is used in Moroccan and Tunisian to refer to a gay man who is versatile, because just like meat on a grill rack, you’d need to flip him over every now and then!

AFEEF: Other than the phrase you identify with, what were other favorites that you learned in the process?

MARWAN: I love all the words that refer to water, like sāyiţ (Palestinian; watered down); qāyiso-l-mā’ (Morrocan; has been touched by water); māyi‘ (Kuwaiti; liquid); markhūf (Tunisian; loose or swaying); amongst a few others. These words are itended to belittle men who are effiminate or gay, by highlighting the way they sway while walking, or the fact that they have “limp wrists”. Despite the derogotary connotation, I find the use of water as a metaphor to refer to queer people as deeply poetic and beautiful. Just like water, queerness is a limitless, boundless, ever-changing and morphing thing.

AFEEF: Why is documenting queerness in the Arabic speaking world important to you?

MARWAN: Understanding one’s own history, whether on a micro personal scale or a macro national/international scale, allows one to learn and grow. Otherwise we end up getting stuck in versions of the truths that lack much needed context and nuance. As a queer Arab person, I found it difficult to find accessible records and literature that I saw myself in. As someone with experience and skill in storytelling and visual communication, I decided to take matters into my own hands. So I started Takweer [Kaabour’s online platform], and that allows me to better understand myself and how queer Arabs are situated across our own history. It also allows the queer Arab community to engage with the project, which contributes to community-building and re-enforcing the bonds that exist between our sense of queerness and Arabness. I also hope it adds much needed complexity to the dominant eurocentric notion of queerness.

AFEEF: What gave you the idea for this book?

MARWAN: Takweer is an Instagram page I created that serves as an ever-expanding archive of queer narratives in Arab history and pop culture. The knowledge that I accumulate in my research and the exchanges I have with the page’s followers also serve as a space for new ideas to develop and be fully realized. I would often come across queer Arabic slang during my research, or would spot it in the comments or in the DMs by Arabic-speakers who spoke different dialects from my own. Generally speaking, I have always been interested in language and the multifaceted nature of language and meaning, so I started to develop a curiosity exploring the entire linguistic landscape surrounding queerness in the Arabic-speaking region. In the spring of 2020 I put a call-out on Takweer, asking the page’s followers to submit words and terms used to identify someone who is queer (or perceived as queer). I expected a few dozen responses, but I ended up compiling a few hundred entries insead. That’s when I knew I needed to dedicate more time to develop this project properly.

AFEEF: What was the methodology? How did you make this thing come together?

MARWAN: The project was collaborative and participatory at every stage. The research process was in three phases: The submissions phase, whereby Takweer followers (and others who were made aware of the call-out) would submit words and terms they are familiar with in their own dialect. I then collated and categorized the submissions across an extensive spread sheet. This was followed by the interview phase, where I would have one-on-one interviews via Zoom or in-person with a group of people from of the Arabic-speaking countries. The interviewees varied in age, socioeconomic class, locality and in the way they identified across the queer spectrum. I would go through the list of the collated entries with each person and discuss its use, familiarity, meaning, etc. Each interview would inform the descriptions as it would either confirm, negate or add to the existing text, and by doing so adding additional context and nuance. Finally, in the editing phase, I invited Suneela Mubayi to come on board as the glossary’s editor. Suneela’s incredible knowledge of the Arabic language and queer histories allowed her to add much-needed historical, linguistic and cultural context to each entry.

It was important for the methodology to be organic and participatory to best reflect the fluid nature of the subject matter: dialect and queerness. There are several examples of existing slang glossaries and queer slang glossaries, but to my knowledge this is the first project to use such a methodology.

AFEEF: Tell me about the illustrations and what role they serve?

MARWAN: As soon as I decided on creating a printed glossary, I knew I wanted it to be illustrated, just like the old glossaries I used to come across as a child. It’s one thing to illustrate a bird species or a chair, but it’s another to visualize abstract concepts like a Dudaki (Iraqi dialect; wormy one; derogatory term to refer to gay people) or a Nagafa (Egyptian dialect; chandelier; refers to a flamboyant and/or effeminate man). That gave us the chance to imagine these queer characters, who are joyful and at ease with their sense of queerness. I immediately thought of Haitham Haddad’s brilliant skill in creating beautifully complex and relatable characters in his art. The brilliant illustrations Haitham produced allowed us to populate the queer Arab imaginary with these wonderfully eclectic characters that can open up the space for us to dream.

AFEEF: What compelled you to include essays?

MARWAN: An earlier iteration of the project was just an illustrated glossary. When I started exploring the idea of publishing it as a book, I wanted the findings of the glossary to be expanded on and given more dimensionality. I also wanted to open up the space for additional voices from across the Arabic- speaking region, and whose perspectives and experiences are different to mine. The glossary is a record of the lexicon surrounding our queerness, and the essays provide us tools to think through the themes that the glossary explores: queerness, dialect, Arab identity, language, etc. and each essay does that in a uniquely thought-provoking way.

AFEEF: What do you hope people take away from this work?

MARWAN: I hope queer Arabs are able to take pride and learn from a project that centers their experience and humanity at its core. I hope queers in general get to widen their perspectives on a non-eurocentric experience. I hope the general Arab public gets to see queer people as an inseparable part of the fabric of Arab communities, and not some kind of foreign import. I hope Westerners who claim to care about Arabs are able to see how queer and Arab identities have co-existed since the dawn of time, and despite our challenges, we are proud of being Arab. I hope linguists learn from the creativity and wit of queer Arab slang. And I hope for the world to see our humanity, with all of its facets and contradictions, in the face of the zionist death machine that wants to annihilate us.

AFEEF: What have you taken away from this work?

MARWAN: I learnt that nothing is singular. Whether its queerness, language, gender, slang, Arab, etc. these are all notions that encapsulate a multitude of meanings, interpretations, contradictions and experiences. Attempting to overly define or limit any of them would ultimately lead to their demise. Accepting these multiplicities, and allowing for things to change and constantly morph is what keeps life exciting and rewarding.