Research

IInterview

A Conversation with a Queer Muslim from a Pakistani Background

Growing up in a Pakistani Muslim environment, conversations about sexuality and gender rarely happen openly. Religion is present in everyday life through prayer, fasting, family expectations — but topics like identity, attraction, or desire often remain unspoken. Because of this silence, many queer Muslims grow up trying to understand themselves alone. Faith and identity can begin to feel like two separate worlds, and sometimes even like they are in conflict with each other.

As part of my research for Badhosh, I started speaking with people who grew up in Muslim households and later began questioning how religion, culture, and social expectations shaped their understanding of themselves. This conversation is also part of that research.

The person I spoke with grew up in a fairly religious Pakistani family. From the outside everything looked normal — school, family gatherings, prayers, Ramadan routines. But deep inside he was dealing with questions about identity that he didn't yet have the language to explain. For many years, he believed the feelings he had were something that needed to disappear.

What followed was a conversation about faith, fear, desire, and the long process of understanding oneself.

Interviewer: Sharjeel — Participant: Anonymous

Can you describe what your childhood was like growing up in a Pakistani Muslim family?

Religion was always present in my childhood. We prayed regularly, fasted during Ramadan, and there was always a clear sense of what was considered halal and haram. But most of these teachings came through fear rather than explanation. The focus was often only on what is wrong and what is sinful. As a child you don't question these things. You simply grow up believing that certain behaviours are acceptable and others are not.

When did you first realise that you might be different from people around you?

Probably during school. At that time I didn't fully understand sexuality, but I started noticing small differences between myself and other boys. The way I expressed myself, the things I was interested in, even the way I spoke. Gradually I began to feel that perhaps I was a little different. At first it was confusion, but eventually that confusion slowly turned into fear.

Did religion make that conflict stronger for you?

Yes, definitely. When you grow up hearing that certain things are sinful, you begin to question your own thoughts. There were moments when I would ask myself whether the feelings I had were morally wrong. Sometimes I would pray that these feelings would simply go away. At that time it felt like something inside me needed to be fixed.

Did your family ever notice anything about your behaviour?

Not directly, but there were small comments. Things like the way I spoke or the way I carried myself. Someone would casually say, "don't walk like that" or "what will people think". These comments might seem small, but they stay with you.

Did you ever experience harassment or bullying?

Yes, especially in school. Kids notice difference very quickly. Sometimes it was verbal jokes, insults, people copying the way I spoke. Other times it was more subtle, like being excluded from certain groups. But honestly the hardest part was the loneliness. It felt like there was no one I could talk to openly.

What about your dreams growing up?

When I was younger my dreams were simple. I wanted a good career, stability, maybe even a family someday. But as I grew older and started questioning my identity, those dreams became more complicated. Some of those dreams didn't disappear entirely, but imagining them became harder.

Did you ever question your faith during this time?

Yes, many times. For a long time I felt like faith and identity were in conflict. But eventually I realised that the fear I had wasn't necessarily coming from faith itself — it was coming from how religion had been explained to me. When I began exploring spirituality on my own, I started seeing faith differently.

In what way did your understanding of faith change?

I started to see faith as something personal rather than something controlled by community expectations. One verse from the Qur'an that stayed with me is: "Ya ayyuhan-naasu innaa khalaqnaakum min zakarin wa untha wa ja'alnaakum shu'ooban wa qabaa'ila lita'aarafu." For me, that verse always felt like it was talking about understanding and diversity — that people are created differently so they can know and understand each other.

Do you think conversations about sexuality and faith are possible in Muslim communities?

They have to be. Silence only creates more fear. When a topic is never discussed, people assume it perhaps doesn't even exist. But queer Muslims exist. And many of them are trying to understand their identity and faith at the same time.

Looking back now, how do you see your journey?

I see it as a process of learning. Learning about myself, learning about faith, and learning about how society shapes the way we understand identity. It hasn't been easy. But perhaps the most important thing is that a person should never stop asking questions. Because silence never helped anyone understand themselves better.

IIInterview

A Queer Muslim Answers Questions People Are Afraid to Ask

For many people, the words queer and Muslim are not supposed to exist in the same sentence. In many communities the logic feels very simple: if you are Muslim, you cannot be queer. And if someone is queer, people assume they can no longer be Muslim. There is rarely a middle space where both identities can exist together.

This idea is repeated so often that it begins to feel like a fact rather than just an assumption. Within many South Asian Muslim families, conversations about sexuality rarely happen openly. Religion, culture, and social expectations create a very strict idea of how a person should live, behave, and desire. Anything outside those expectations becomes something people prefer not to talk about.

The person I spoke with for this interview grew up in exactly that kind of environment. We first met years ago through mutual friends. At the time he wasn't out to anyone. He was navigating two identities that the world around him insisted could not exist together: being queer and being Muslim.

From the outside he appeared to be the ideal son of a desi household — academically successful, respectful, religious, and someone who followed all the expectations placed upon him. His family was always proud of him. But privately, he was dealing with questions about his identity that he didn't feel safe discussing with anyone.

For a long time he believed that what he was feeling was simply wrong — that perhaps with time everything would be fine.

Things began to change when he moved away from home for university. Living in a new environment gave him the space to question things he had never questioned before. For the first time he met people who were openly discussing identity, relationships, and sexuality without fear. At that point he realised that perhaps he was not alone.

When I approached him about doing this interview, he agreed immediately. He said that people often make assumptions about queer Muslims because their stories are rarely heard directly.

What followed was an honest conversation about religion, identity, and the complicated experience of growing up queer in a Muslim environment.

Interviewer: Sharjeel — Participant: Anonymous

How do you usually describe your identity today?

These days I usually say I'm a queer Muslim. There are more specific labels that could apply, but "queer" feels easier because it allows space rather than forcing me into strict categories. To be honest, I initially felt that these two things could not exist together.

When did you first start questioning those expectations?

It wasn't a single moment. It happened gradually. At first it was just small observations — noticing that my feelings didn't match what people around me talked about when they described attraction or relationships. At that time I couldn't understand what any of this was. I just felt that I was a little different.

How did people around you react when you began exploring your identity?

Most people didn't know at first. For a long time I kept that part of my life completely private. But even without saying anything directly, you start noticing how people talk about queer identities in general. Sometimes there were jokes, sometimes casual comments. People often say a great deal even in jest, and you quickly learn on which matters it is better to stay silent.

Did that affect the way you saw your own faith?

Yes, it did in the beginning. For a long time I thought that being queer automatically meant I had failed somehow as a Muslim. That idea stayed with me for years. But eventually I realised that a lot of the fear I had came from community expectations rather than faith itself.

What helped change your perspective?

Meeting other people with similar experiences helped a lot. When you find out that others are going through the same struggle, it gives you a little courage. It makes you realise that identity is often more complex than the simple categories society gives us.

Do you think people misunderstand queer Muslims?

Yes, very often. Many people assume that queer Muslims must be rejecting religion completely. But that is not necessarily true. For many of us, the struggle isn't about leaving faith — it's about trying to understand how identity and belief can exist together.

What do you wish people were more willing to ask?

Honestly, I wish people simply asked questions instead of making assumptions. Silence creates a great deal of confusion. If people were more open to listening, they might realise that queer Muslims are not contradictions — we're just people trying to understand ourselves in a world that often prefers simple answers.

IIIInterview

How I Came Out of the Closet, Converted to Islam, and Found My True Self

For many people, the words queer and Muslim are assumed to contradict each other. In many communities the belief is simple: if someone is Muslim, they cannot be queer. And if someone is queer, they must have rejected religion.

Because of this assumption, queer Muslims often grow up feeling like they exist outside the boundaries of what their community understands.

Within many Muslim cultures, conversations about sexuality rarely happen openly. Cultural expectations create a very clear script for life — education, marriage, family. When someone's identity falls outside that script, it becomes something people avoid discussing.

The person I spoke with for this interview grew up in an environment shaped by those expectations. From the outside, their life looked exactly like what many families hope for in a child: hardworking, respectful, and deeply connected to religion. But privately, they were navigating questions about identity that they did not yet have the language to explain. Over time their journey led them to think differently about both faith and belonging.

Is being queer and Muslim something you struggle with?

Being both queer and Muslim can definitely feel complicated, especially because of the way society frames those identities. But personally, I wouldn't say it's an internal conflict for me anymore. I feel comfortable with who I am. When I converted to Islam, it was actually one of the most peaceful moments of my life. It felt like a time when many parts of myself finally made sense. At that point I was already open about my sexuality, so my faith and identity developed alongside each other rather than in opposition.

How did you begin to understand what it meant to be a queer Muslim?

For a long time I spent most of my time in queer spaces that were very accepting of my sexuality. But those spaces were not always welcoming toward religion, especially Islam, because of the stereotypes and political narratives surrounding Muslims. After events like the Orlando tragedy, I started noticing that the atmosphere in some LGBTQ spaces shifted. When I tried returning to those spaces, I sometimes felt like I was suddenly being viewed differently. For a while I even found myself holding back parts of my identity because I didn't feel there were many places where both aspects of my life could exist together.

Did you ever publicly express your identity in a way that surprised you?

Yes, there was a moment when I openly described myself as a queer Muslim woman in a public conversation. At the time it didn't feel like a huge statement — I was simply describing who I am. But afterwards I realised how powerful that visibility could be. Many people reached out to say that hearing someone speak openly about that identity helped them feel less alone. One person even told me that seeing someone live openly as both queer and Muslim made them reconsider leaving their faith.

Has your experience of womanhood changed through this journey?

Internally I don't think my sense of self changed very much. But the way people interpret your identity definitely shifts depending on how you present yourself. As a woman, I had already experienced how society places limits on what womanhood is supposed to look like. When I began wearing hijab, those perceptions shifted again. People often started assuming I was quieter or more passive than I actually am, which was very different from how I had previously been perceived. It made me realise how strongly people project assumptions onto identity.

You are working on a book about women and nonbinary figures in history. What inspired that project?

Growing up, many of the historical stories I learned focused on a very narrow group of people. It wasn't until later that I discovered many activists and leaders whose contributions had been overlooked. That realisation made me want to create something that highlights those voices and recognises their impact before they are forgotten. The book focuses on women and nonbinary individuals who have shaped history in meaningful ways but often remain absent from mainstream narratives.

Why do you think initiatives like Muslim Women's Day are important?

Because Muslim women are frequently pushed to the edges of public conversations. Events like Muslim Women's Day create space to celebrate the diversity that already exists within Muslim communities. It's important to recognise that Muslim women's experiences are not limited to a single story. They include artists, activists, scholars, queer women, trans women — all contributing to culture and society in different ways. Moments like this allow those stories to be visible rather than ignored.