Queerness traces all walks of life, landing at intersections of culture, nationality and ethnicity. Wherever you’re from in the world, you carry a unique slice of these signposts of identity and bring them forward to your community. Marwan Kaabour represents this notion to the fullest.
The London-based artist, author and designer explores and celebrates queer narratives in Arab history and popular culture via Takweer, a platform he founded in 2019. Tired of what he saw as his Arab counterparts attempting to define their identity via European ways of thinking, Takweer looks within the vast tapestry of Arabic stories to reveal incredible depth in their queer communities. Their work has been featured by the BBC, The Guardian, Gay Times and has led to radio shows on Kiosk Radio and NTS. Kaabour has also edited a book, The Queer Arab Glossary, featuring essays from leading queer Arab artists, writers and activists. With identity placed firmly at the centre, Kaabour and Takweer are placing an important light on what it means to be Arab and queer.
We spoke to Kaabour to learn more about Takweer, finding himself on the dancefloor and why he skips Pride Month celebrations altogether.
What does Pride Month mean to you?
Marwan Kaabour: To be honest I’m not a Pride gay. Before there was a Pride flag, the Gay Liberation Front flew the North Vietnamese flag, which to me encapsulates the genuine spirit of Pride: combative, radical and uncompromising. Pride today has been diluted into a commercialised, commodified and glorified marketing campaign. I tend to skip most Pride celebrations and conserve my energy to Trans Pride, which holds some of that revolutionary spirit. It’s a beautiful space where you see progressive politics from Trans rights to Palestinian liberation in dialogue.
Tell us about Takweer, what inspired its creation and how it has been building that community?
Takweer was born out of a frustration of seeing my queer Arab peers anchor their sense of identity in Eurocentric ideals. There is nothing wrong with learning about and from international landmark moments in queer history, but what about our stories? What about our heroes and martyrs? Our tragedies and victories? Our queer pop references? I wanted to create an accessible archive of queer narratives in Arab history and pop culture that can help connect the queer with the Arab. I was able to provide a bilingual, well-researched, well-curated and a visually appealing page that the community instantly embraced and engaged with. Based on the hundreds of people who would show up at every event for Takweer or The Queer Arab Glossary, I think the platform built a solid and passionate community around it.
What kind of stories do you hope to continue to tell via Takweer and even offshoots like the book The Queer Arab Glossary?
We keep talking about exploring the full-spectrum of things: gender, identity, sexuality, love, etc. Somehow though, all we end up learning about are stories that happen in the West. It makes up less than 10% of the total population of the world. So we’re only learning about a small part of queer history and queerness in general. My work aims to expand on that history in order to expand our understanding of what it is to be queer and non-normative. I took it upon myself to add the Arab dimension to the story. I hope others do the same across the Global South.
What are some of the key learnings you’ve taken about the queer Arab world from the work you do?
Ever since the post-9/11 war on terror, there’s been a dominant narrative being parroted about Arabs being innately backwards, homophobic and sexist. Not only is this statement racist, but it is deeply problematic and quite frankly untrue. Don’t get me wrong, we have a long way to go to undo the harm that our own state authorities and communities, compounded by residual colonial laws, have unleashed on the queer community. But this is not unique to the Arab world. What my work has taught me is that Arab history is brimming with instances that challenge normative understanding of gender and sexuality, and that we’re a lot more fluid than people give us credit for. Arab culture is immensely more camp than Western culture.
“I wanted to create an archive of queer narratives in Arab history and pop culture that can help connect the queer with the Arab.”
As a proud representative of queer communities, how important is the dance floor to you?
The dance floor means the world to me. My very first night-out was to the legendary queer nightclub Acid, just outside Beirut. It was on that dance floor that I learned about and broadened my understanding of the complex and beautiful diversity of the queer community. It was also there that I experienced love, joy and heartbreak. As someone who adores dancing, it was dance floors at queer clubs where I got the chance to stomp, jiggle and twirl to my favorite tunes. Dance floors teach us a lot about life, in ways that conventional education from school or society fails to.
What would you say is the impact of queer communities on modern nightlife around the world?
Queer people are the beating heart of nightlife and culture as a whole. As a community who by default exists outside of the norm, we learn how to be imaginative and innovative with the way we operate in life, so it’s no surprise we have been at the forefront of cultural production.
How do you summarise the role of parties and the dance floor in cultivating these communities?
Nightlife is the natural home for queer people, away from the prying eyes of society. It allows us the freedom to be in community with each other and to be genuine in a way that most non-queer spaces fail. We have been central in shaping nightlife, and so those in positions of authority in those spaces have the responsibility to take care of us.
How do you think queer communities are informed by what happens in music and culture today?
I think music is like oxygen for queers. A big chunk of our identity is shaped by the music and culture we consume. Friendships and bonds are formed on dance floors or on the basis of the shared love of a particular artist or genre. But it’s also not a one-way street, more of a dialogue, as I feel a lot of cultural production feeds off of queer culture or tries to win it over.
What would you say are some of the best or up and coming queer parties or events right now?
Although not exclusively a queer party, nothing comes close to Unfold. I have the best time each and every time. I’ve also been enjoying Club Are and the occasional parties the amazing duo at Smut Press put on.
What do you see more or less of in your city’s queer nightlife scenes?
I’m mostly based in London, so I would like to see less airport-style security, less biceps, less fixation on becoming the next Berghain, and more focus on providing a dance floor that is joyous and more club owners with progressive politics.
What is one nightclub or party that everyone needs to go to once in their lives?
With the rate that nightlife venues are closing down, I’m worried we won’t have much left for a lifetime. But to answer your question, I would’ve said Berghain, but their politics are sketchy, so I will go with Unfold.
What have been the most satisfying parts of engaging with queer nightlife scenes for you?
I feel I’m my most vulnerable when I’m at the club, which can be very beautiful, but it also places you in situations or emotional landscapes that are unfamiliar, which might be scary, but ultimately change you to the best. I find that deliciously satisfying.