Category — Meem Achievements
Beyrouth, les homos mènent leur combat contre les préjugés
Beyrouth, une capitale moyen-orientale en pleine mutation. En 2010, la ville exhibe avec fierté ses multiples facettes en ayant moins de complexe. Les lesbiennes, bis et trans’ s’expriment. Elles publient Bareed Mista3jil(”Courrier urgent” en arabe), un recueil de témoignages qui relate leur vécu (voir vidéo en fin d’article). À Beyrouth aussi, certaines remettent les pendules à l’heure. Dans l’étude Homosexualités, bisexualités: mythes et réalités, la psychologue clinicienne Maha Rabbath le crie haut et fort: l’homosexualité n’est pas contre-nature et n’est pas une perversion sexuelle. En 2010, les tabous commencent à tomber à Beyrouth.
SORTIR DE L’OMBRE
Oui, elle est voilée et lesbienne. Halte aux préjugés! Ce n’est pas parce qu’on est musulmane qu’on n’a pas le droit d’avoir une sexualité différente et épanouie. Farah* a 21 ans, vit au Sud du Liban. Et elle a une double vie: “la première, je la passe avec mes parents et dans l’autre, je milite secrètement au sein du regroupement Meem. Ces vies sont bien différentes, mais dans les deux cas, c’est toujours moi: une jeune Libanaise musulmane et lesbienne”. Est-ce que c’est elle qui raconte son histoire et son rapport au voile dans Bareed Mista3jil? Elle refuse d’y répondre, mais ce n’est pas grave. Le plus important, c’est que les lesbiennes libanaises ont décidé de sortir de l’ombre. Elles racontent comment elles se sont regroupées et dévoilent leur vie au Liban.
Maya* raconte: “Il y a deux ans, nous faisions encore partie de Helem (la principale ONG libanaise œuvrant pour les droits de la communauté LGBT, ndlr). Mais le problème, c’est que nous avions peur d’agir trop ouvertement. Pour cela, des helem girls se sont unies pour fonder Meem”. Actuellement, cette association regroupe plus de 300 lesbiennes, mais également des bis et de trans’ libanaises, syriennes et palestiniennes. Les membres se réunissent régulièrement. Elles ont entre 17 et 25 ans. Elles étudient à l’université et d’autres sont en dernière année au lycée. “Chaque semaine, nous nous donnons rendez-vous au women’s house, quelque part à Beyrouth. Chaque mois, nous invitons des amis hétérosexuels à se joindre à nous. C’est notre fameux bring friend. Certaines viennent avec leurs parents, d’autres avec des amis”, explique Hala*.
RECUEILLIR DES TÉMOIGNAGES
Ce groupe leur est indispensable. C’est leur bouffée d’oxygène. Il leur permet de se raconter leurs histoires et de débattre des choix à faire et des projets à concrétiser. Farah explique: “Nous avons travaillé pendant trois ans pour compiler différents témoignages et publier Bareed Mista3jil“. Résultat: 41 histoires touchantes pour relater un quotidien qui n’est pas souvent facile à vivre. On découvre alors celle qui a été chassée de chez elle parce qu’elle a dévoilé à son entourage son homosexualité. Et celle que des hommes libanais ont violée et agressée simplement parce qu’elle affiche sa différence. Zoom aussi sur cette jeune femme qui a émigré pour fuir la discrimination, et qui se retrouve confrontée au racisme envers les Arabes. Mais détrompez-vous, ce petit recueil blanc et rose (qui se vend très bien au Liban) ne veut pas déprimer. C’est un appel à la tolérance lancé à une société en métamorphose. Les filles de Meem veulent y croire. “Bareed Mista3jil semble susciter une sympathie chez les lecteurs”…
“DES VIES RUINÉES”
Tant mieux, car au sein d’une société très complexe, le combat est encore long à mener pour la communauté LGBT. Maha Rabbath, psychologue clinicienne, l’expérimente chaque jour. Elle rencontre régulièrement des homosexuels qui souffrent de chantages, de rejets, d’isolement. Et qui vont parfois jusqu’au suicide. Et c’est pour combattre les préjugés qui aliment des attitudes homophobes qu’elle a décidé de publier, avec Helem, l’étudeHomosexualités, bisexualités: mythes et réalités. Elle explique: “J’ai voulu partager mon expérience et mes lectures dans ce domaine, car on oublie souvent que derrière des systèmes de pensées, il y a des vies ruinées. Ce projet est le fruit d’une expérience clinique combinée à un travail de recherche théorique”. Le livret de 60 pages s’adresse aux professionnels de santé. Mais au fait pourquoi eux? “Beaucoup mêlent leur croyances personnelles à leur métier. De nombreux homos de Helem m’expliquent qu’ils ont eu de très mauvaises expériences avec certains professionnels de santé. Ces derniers sont convaincus que l’homosexualité est une maladie et qu’il faut la traiter”, raconte Maha Rabbath.
Le livret veut aussi toucher les homos pour les aider à mieux accepter leur orientation sexuelle. Une tâche compliquée lorsqu’on sait que le Liban est “un pays où la création d’une famille traditionnelle est l’emblème ultime d’une vie réussie”, note la psychologue. Elle ironise: “Au Liban, vous pouvez accomplir les plus grandes choses, soulever des montagnes, si vous n’avez pas fondé une famille avec progéniture, vous aurez toujours droit à cette expression: le pauvre, il ne s’est pas marié et n’a pas eu d’enfant”. L’étude veut également combattre les fausses croyances religieuses qui sont très développées au Liban. Ce qui est en soi assez révolutionnaire. Homosexualités, bisexualités: mythes et réalités peut aider à faire aboutir les rêves d’une communauté toujours menacée par la loi. L’article 534 du code pénal libanais sanctionne “tout acte sexuel en contradiction avec les lois de la nature”.
Pauline Mouhanna
http://www.yagg.com/2010/01/21/a-beyrouth-les-homos-menent-leur-combat-contre-les-prejuges/
January 24, 2010 No Comments
Bareed Mista3jil: Pressed to Express: By Alexis Pauline Gumbs
Pressed to Express
By Alexis Pauline Gumbs
Published on: October 01, 2009
BAREED MISTA3JIL: TRUE STORIES
BY MEEM
bareedmista3jil.com, 2009
Bareed Mista3jil—roughly translated as “Express Mail”—is the perfect name for this collection of 41 personal stories by “lesbians, bisexuals, queer and questioning women, and transgender persons from all over Lebanon.” I waited by the door for my copy to reach me, with its urgent evidence and affirmation of affectionately-dubbed “Lesbanese” lives in process.
The collection is as groundbreaking in its process as in its subject matter. Taking seriously the task of breaking a dominant silence in Lebanon, the LBTQ group Meem (founded in 2007) operated with hopscotch precision, making a road to walk with rapid, successive leaps of faith. The creators of Bareed take a culturally specific and accountable approach, buying into neither the story that queer sexualities are imported from the West, nor the narrative about the progression of the backwards East into the enlightened Western embrace of sexual diversity. Meem also challenges the value placed on emigration by emphasizing the desire and right to find community and safety at home. They share this stance in common with Aswat, a Palestinian LGBTQI group that has published two anthologies of their own [see Reviews, LT #32].
The stories here are published anonymously. While many echo a wider discourse about struggling with relationships, identity and acceptance, the editors place these stories in their specific context. “Lebanese family norms are especially important because people rely on them for all kinds of services and support, mostly due to the absence of the public sector, which makes it even harder for Lebanese to distance themselves from their families or risk rejection.” The editors’ approach combats stereotypes of irrational tradition by reminding the reader of the practical economic concerns that make challenging family norms a very risky thing to do.
While this collection has lessons to teach a North American reader (challenging their own narrow views of the world), the book was not made to export Lebanese stories westward. It was produced in order to create and affirm and transform a Lebanese community to which the editors remain committed and accountable. Releasing the book in both Arabic and English versions, Meem was intentional in its choices about navigating language—mixing classical Arabic, regional dialects, and slang internal to their communities, and with many things immediately translated. They chose to create the text in multiple languages to reach a wider audience, within their targets of heterosexual and homophobic Lebanese as well as Lebanese young people who are questioning sexual norms.
The struggle with choosing language(s) strikes me as a poetic struggle. No normative language is rich enough to describe the culturally nuanced and experimental relationship to sexuality Meem is documenting and experiencing. Like so many of us who are committed to radical transformation, they struggle to make the concepts they are passionate about understandable to the people they want to be in conversation with. By refusing to give up on this task, Meem contributes to the production of new visionary language for expression and exploration.
Recognizing that the stories’ various themes are interconnected, Meem chose not to divide them into sections. Instead, with a shout-out to the importance of online community, Meem chose to tag the pieces like blog entries, highlighting which 2 or 4 or 11 themes are addressed in each story. While this makes it harder to find specific stories to use for a syllabus or workshop, it also keeps the reader from pigeonholing them. Instead, we’re encouraged to see them all as part of a multiple and evolving story—with episodes as varied as “My Forgotten Penis,” “The Hunt for a Gay Husband,” and “That One Love that Breaks You.”
In “The Motorcycle Gender,” the author describes how her use of a motorcycle allows her access to a certain type of masculine mystique—while her parents use their disapproval of her motorcycling to express their deeper disdain for her transgression of gender norms. She refuses to shape her thick eyebrows or shave her armpits—a major problem for her family—it makes her feel “nonconformist and sexy.” Unfortunately, “in a blink of a second all that can disappear. I can get into an elevator with women with high heels and botox and, suddenly, I can feel like shit again.”
Creating community
“My Hijab and I” tells the story of a woman who is committed to wearing hijab, but struggles with the fact that it seems to make her “dykeness” invisible to women she is trying to attract. She ultimately affirms her choice to keep wearing hijab as she moves and grooves—she feels that it keeps women from objectifying her, and keeps people focused on what she has to say, which is a lot!
Not all of the stories have happy endings in which the speaker emerges from a closet with identity and self-esteem intact. Some of the stories end with questions. Some end in despair and frustration. And while the introduction is very intentional, critical and self-critical, the stories are not so careful—the tellers are free to speak their personal truths and opinions. We understand that speaking for themselves is enough of a victory, without the burden of having to speak for everyone whose sexual and gendered lives challenge the norm.
Though not every storyteller has found the nurturing community they want or need, this book is able to exist only due to the community created by the members of Meem—along with their comrades in the LGBT organization Helem (founded in 2004). On February 22 of this year, Helem led their first public sit-in in Beirut, with 200 people protesting violence against “homosexuals, women, children, domestic and foreign workers, and others.” On May 30, 400 people attended Meem’s Beirut launch event for Bareed Mista3jil.
This book is poetic evidence of a group of people finding language and space for the expression of their complicated journeys to love themselves and the people around them. Mail a copy to someone you love today.
—Alexis Pauline Gumbs
January 23, 2010 1 Comment
Bareed Mista3jil in Brussels
On Friday the 6th of November , the Belgian group Merhaba launched Bareed Mista3jil in the presence of different local organizations.
The book launch started with a presentation on how the book was conceived and came to be as well as small anecdotes regarding its launch. The introduction was followed up by the reading of four stories from the book , English, French, Arabic and Flemish, followed by questions and the presentation of the 45 minute documentary by Sara Bracke: Pink Camouflage.
You can find more information about Merhaba here : http://www.merhaba.be
November 11, 2009 No Comments
Bekhsoos : The Queer Arab Magazine Published by the Peepz at Meem is OUT
The Queer Arab Magazine Published by the Peepz at Meem is OUT
“This is the new Bekhsoos. Were back after almost a whole year of no publishing. So whats different? For one thing, weve decided to publish weekly. Yes, thats a huge commitment, which is why weve added the little beta yellow icon next to our logo. Were testing this new idea. Were putting ourselves to the challenge of publishing at least 5-6 articles weekly because we want to be on top of information technology today.”
September 8, 2009 1 Comment
Meem celebrates its 2 years
Meem and the lovely members celebrated two years of meeming on august 14th 2009 .
Meem was born on august 4th 2007.
A beautiful video was dedicated to the members during the party
Here’s to activism, our rights and the beautiful company,
cheers
August 29, 2009 No Comments
