Weekly Roundup #5đ: the story of a lesbian Indian auntie reminds me of my mother, the first cowboys were Muslim, and rococo lolita girls from Japan
(valentine's day edition) february week 2, 2024
Hello friends! How are you ya? I had a very long and busy week! Thereâs a snowstorm happening and a part of me a looking forward to being cozy at home with a nice cup of tea in bed. My weekly roundups consist of careful and intensive research. If you would like to support me, I would deeply appreciate it if you would share, comment, and become a paid subscriber. Thanks!
Reading
Lately, Iâve been reading Loving Women Being Lesbian In Unprivileged India (2006) by Maya Sharma, a lesbian activist, a collection of ten stories of women across India from economically unprivileged backgrounds who share their most intimate companionships with other women and their struggles in negotiating their desires and their love.
When it comes to research and oral histories on South Asian queer and trans communities, they are dominated by middle-class, college-educated, and English-speaking queers that are found in pride parades, gay queer collectives, and gay bars in metropolitan cities. But Mayaâs book is so uniquely powerful as she she uplifts the stories of working-class women in rural villages, while analyzing caste, class, and faith, challenging us all with the imagery of who a lesbian is and what they look like. It is so refreshing to read the stories of Muslim and Dalit lesbians.
Sharma was inspired to write this book after visiting âslumsâ in Delhi where she met Bhanwari, a 60-year-old woman. Bhanwari told Maya about two women whose âlove was so deep, they were like one soul and two bodies.â As their friendship deepened, Bhanwari confessed she was in a relationship with the woman her husband was seeing.
Sharma also explores how while the women in the stories do not refer to themselves as lesbians (because they never heard the word before and were not English speakers), they describe their relationships with their lovers as a âdeep friendshipâ. Sharma explains that the partial visibility of their âfriendshipâ has protected them from social judgment and punishment as it is non-threatening to the heterosexist paradigm and socio-culturally acceptable. In the book, Sharma writes:
âKeeping the mainstream heterosexist response in mind, we asked ourselves why it is that the somewhat nebulous, poetic category of âfemale friendship' instantly seems to become disreputable if it is termed âhomosexualâ, and almost repulsive when it is termed 'lesbian'. Is a sexualised female friendship different from a lesbian relationship? By giving something a different name, are we rendering it different? What makes the term 'âlesbian' distinctively political, while the term 'female friendship' remains neutral? Why is it considered dangerousâ and dirtyâto associate with a 'lesbian', and safeâand virtuousâ to associate with a âfemale friendâ? ? Or would the general conclusion be that a 'lesbian' and a âfemale friendâ are altogether different species? Does the established, respectable frame of the second category effectively prevent the phobic gaze (both homosexual and heterosexual) from eliding it with the first? What, and whose, purpose is served through thus blurring the boundaries?â
When sharing their stories, many of them, like Manjula and Meeta, referred to their partnership as âhusband-wifeâ or âmiyan-bibi jodiâ. Manjula would wear trousers and a shirt, riding a bicycle while Manjula sat behind, wearing a salwar-kameez.
When reading these stories, I was reminded of my own unconscious biases and ignorance. In an interview, Sharma says:
âWhile talking to the women there is that they, who live so-called ânon-political livesâ, are able to talk about their lives the exact way in which theyâre living them. We are not not able to speak in the same way, with the same simplicity. Maybe we have studied too much because of which our lives have moved far away from the real thing. Our lives are filled with impressing people, dressing up, going out⌠But there is a difference between the way in which these women get ready and we get ready.â
Although the women in these stories did not know what identities like lesbian or transness were or are not able to discuss queer theory, what I found so powerful was that while not being able to âarticulateâ it using academic jargon, their existence was just that. They did not need to speculate frameworks or thesis, they come as they are and thatâs that. Their stories taught me that while investigating, to not forget to live.
What I also found so beautifully refreshing was the fluidity of gender. While the lesbians telling their stories never heard of terms like âgender fluidityâ or âtransnessâ, it doesnât mean that the practice is not understood or accepted. One story in particular documents the story of Vimlesh, who openly talks about being a man and how the community refers to him as âbhaiâ (brother) or âbabuâ (mister), which is a common practice for transmen.
These collections of stories show us just how lesbians come in all formsâincluding age. The book covers a wide array of lesbians of all ages, but it is the mothers and aunties who shared their stories of loving women that touched my heart. In a Substack post, I wrote a while back, I remind people that there is no room made to view aunties as people with depth and intricacies. As if because they are women decades older than us, there is no willingness to see them as multitudes with conflicting feelings, dead dreams, erotic pleasures, unfulfilled yearning, and more and more and more.
Out of all the stories shared, Juhiâs story is imprinted in my soul. Juhi, a Dalit Christian, a woman who is not much older than my mother, tells us her story of how she went through an abusive relationship and came to terms with being a lesbian. She talks openly with her daughters about her sexuality as she said,
âIt is a blessing to have daughters, I did not want sons, I know what men are all about. All my daughters are lesbians. Oh yes! I know the word âlesbianâ. So do my daughters. When they were young I used to read the Shakespeare play âAs You Like Itâ to them. In that play two women love each other. Have you read it? If Chotu is asked directly, she says she is a lesbian because she loves women. I fully support my daughters' choice. It is better and far wiser to be this way than to marry men. Weâmother and daughtersâhave a code word for women who love women. We call them LBW. For us the words mean âlesbian womenâ, for everyone else it could mean âleg before wicketâ. When we are out walking or going somewhere, we observe the women around us and often try to guess if one of them might be lesbian. You can tell, you know, there is something about them, they look distinct. . .. â
I was jolted with shock as I read Juhiâs words. I imagined an auntie resembling a face I have seen passing by when going grocery shopping at South Asian bazaars, a woman with a build similar to my motherâs as they are just a few years apart. I closed my eyes, trying to envision Juhi Auntie, draped in a salwar kameez, proudly sharing her stories of falling in love with women while holding hands with her daughters. Juhi is also the only person in the book that openly calls herself a lesbian. So it is possible, I whisper.
I have not finished the book as I had to put down the book several times. I canât help but describe the stories as a breath of fresh air, but at times it feels equally suffocating. These collections of stories are honest and raw, as it does not shy away from the pain the lesbians in these stories face. Even as the violent patriarchy screams in their faces, the lesbians in these stories rebel against the world through love and intimacy. It is Valentineâs Day and I am holding their words close to my heart. Lesbians will show us the way to love time and time again.
Engaging
While scrolling on Twitter, I came across this powerful photo taken by Gus Bova of a man handing a Hijabi Muslim woman the Palestinian flag, both dressed in cowboy attire at a rally at the Texas Capitol. Even the horses are wearing keffiyehs!! So badass.
I have never seen a Hijabi in cowboy clothing, let alone a Muslim. A part of me felt like it was a strange juxtaposition. But then it got me wonderingâŚ.were there ever any Muslim cowboys? When I think of cowboys, I canât help but envision white men like John Wayne, chewing on a hayneedle, a pistol dangling from their beltâthe epitome of the All American Man. Mitski says it best when explaining the title of her album Be The Cowboy (2019) in her interview with Trever Noah,âThe idea of the cowboy is so Americanâthe idea of a man riding into town, wrecking shit, and then walking out like heâs the hero.â Palestinian writer and scholar, Edward Said once even said, âBush looks like a cowboy.â
However, the first cowboys were Black and brown men. The roots of the American iconic cowboy originate from the people settlers colonized.
In 711, less than a century after the birth of Islam, an army of Arabs and Berbers (indigenous people of North Africa) who served the first Muslim dynasty of Damascus (in Syria) seized control of the Iberian Peninsula (modern-day Spain, Portugal, and France), renaming it Al-Andalus. After the arrival of Muslims, European Christians labeled them as the âMoorsâ, implicating connotations of someone sneaky, exotic, and untrustworthy. However, while it was used to describe Muslims who arrived from North Africa, it was also applied to anyone who had dark skin. Christian Europeans resented the Muslim establishment and ultimately launched the recapture of territory from the Muslims (Moors) and reinstated the Crown, expelling all Muslims from Iberia. They were also forced to convert to Christianity and give themselves up as slaves. However, although the Spainairds resented the Moors, they adopted their style of riding using Arabian horses. Inspired by the Arabs, the Spaniards created the traditional methodology of herding large cattle, coining the term Vaqueros, which derives from vaca, the Spanish translation for cow.
In the 1500s, using the style of horsemanship learned by the Arab army, the Spaniards colonized Turtle Island (North America). Columbus and other Spanish conquistadors brought horses into the Americas as they made a significant contribution to Spanish prosperity by acting as a tool of transportation, communication, boosting wealth, and military means. Eventually, the Spaniards spread their conquest to the Southern border. As the Spaniards began to build the ânew worldâ, the Spanish empire conducted the slave trade into the American lands. The captived African slaves were forced to work on the ranches alongside the natives.
To the Mayans, the mounted Spaniards were a terrifying sight: half man, half beast. After the conquests, the Spanish maintained their dominance by decreeing that any Native American caught riding a horse would be put to death. The Spaniards did their best to keep horses away from the Natives, as the horses were their best weapons both physically and psychologically to instill fear.
As missionary sites and ranches were established, there were not enough white men to control the cattle. The missionaries forced the natives and Black slaves to look after the cattle and ultimately, how to ride. Eventually, the traditional Spanish horsemanship formed an emergence of Vaquero culture amongst young Native and Black men, creating Vaqueros as a lexicon for âcowboysâ. The Indigenous tribes and Black men refined and created their Vaquero techniques using twisted leather and horsehair, and designed the lasso, marking the staple of cowboy culture. The lasso was what separated the Indigenous and Black Cowboys/Vaqueros away from the Spaniards in creating a new subculture.
By the 1800s, following the Mexican-American War in 1848, the arrival of English-speaking settlers boomed on the Southern border of Turtle Island (North America). As White Americans adopted Vaquero culture, the term âCowboyâ reached popular culture and the elaborate lassoing tricks inspired the first rodeo competitions, and thus, emerged the âAll-American Classic Cowboyâ. The elaborate lassoing tricks and cowboy culture became a staple and forever reshaped American entertainment.
However, while the culture of cowboys became increasingly popular amongst White Americans, Black and Indigenous people still made up the majority of working cowboys. After the Civil War ended in 1865, being a cowboy was one of the few jobs open to men of color. Black Americans moved to the West, and by the end of the 1860s, Black cowboys accounted for 25% of the workers as they were former slaves or children of former slaves. Free Black men skilled in herding cattle found themselves in even greater demand. By the 1890s, although Indigenous people formed Vaquero/cowboy culture, the American government created policies promoting forced âassimilationâ of Natives by putting their children in residential boarding schools to teach them ranching skills to further force labor.
By now youâre probably wondering, âOkay, FablihaâŚ.but did Muslim Cowboys exist or not?â The answer is, 100% yes. Americaâs first Muslims were slaves as one-fifth of all slaves from Africa and Europe (remember the Moors) were Muslim. Malcolm X, or El-Hajj Malik Al-Shabazz, said it best:
âWe didnât land on Plymouth Rock; the Rock was landed on us.â
This statement encourages us all to not only make connections to the origins of African Americans but also to the identity of American Muslims, as most of the slaves were both Black and Muslim. Lhoussain Simour said in (De)slaving history:
âEnslaved Moors add a heterogeneous complexity to the Atlantic paradigm and to the dynamics of cultural exchange. Curiously, these are never mentioned in historical records.â
Black Muslims tried tirelessly to keep their faith and leave a record of their life. Omar Ibn Said, a Senegalian scholar sold into slavery, often wrote verses from the Quran on the walls of prison cells. However, at that time when people thought of a Muslim, they immediately thought of Arabs, Ottomans, or the Middle East. White Americaâs narrow understanding of both Muslims and Africans made them believe that the two identities could not overlap and ultimately erased Muslim Black slaves. The names of enslaved Muslims were also often anglicized and forced to convert to Christianity.
According to Vaqueros, Cowboys, and Buckaroos, as slaves were forced into labor as house servants and farming, enslaved Black Muslim men were the first true vaqueros in North America.
When researching the origins of cowboys, I learned the stories of Black Muslim cowboys going back to the 1500s, like Mostafa Al-Azemmouri, a Black slave from Morocco who was the first Black person to have ever explored North America, and was able to quickly pick up Indigenous languages and became popular amongst their tribes.
But why is it that Black Muslim men werenât seen as cowboys or Vaqueros? Or even now?
White supremacy thrived (and continues to) off of racial categorization or groupings. America tactfully used the strategy of stripping the unique individual identities of Black and Indigenous slaves (culture, faith, etc.) to reduce them to chattel and property. The dehumanization was possible by not seeing them as humans but as slaves. In this categorization, it is one-dimensional with no room for humanness to exist or breathe. No story, no identity, no humanity.
Due to the erasure of Muslims amongst Black slaves (as they were forced to convert) coddled with the colonized understanding of cowboys, white America was (and still is) not able to see Black Muslims as cowboys, let alone as people. It is important to note that in research on Vaquero culture, most White academics exclude Black Cowboys, due to lack of racial understanding. White America refuses to see the blurry and blended lines between âslavesâ and âCowboys/Vaquerosâ due to their racial biases.
But how do we as people analyze and understand the stories of the Black Muslim men and women outside the blanket identity of slaves? It is by understanding their stories and the formation of cultures alongside Indigenous people on Turtle Island.
As I look back at the cowboys taken at a Palestinian rally, the Hijab and the cowboy attire are not a juxtaposition. Like Palestinian resistance, all of it has a distinct connection. While it may seem strange to our colonizers, this image embodies the true understanding of resistance.
Watching
I recently watched Kamikaze Girls (2004), a Japanese movie, about a girl who is obsessed with wearing elaborate lolita dresses from the Rococo period in 18th Century France. When she meets a punk girl and self-styled Yanki, her life turns upside down. It was such a fun movie full of silly characters and the most c*ntiest fashion! (Also very sapphic hehe.) A must-watch!
Loving
This Valentineâs Day, I am letting love move me to the revolution. In the words of the great James Baldwin, âThe world is held together by the love and the passion of a very few people.â And in this spirit, I am thinking of this image I found on Instagram:
I hope this Valentineâs Day, you let your heartbreak revolutionize you.
Thatâs all! What have you been reading, engaging, listening/watching, and loving lately? Do tell and comment below <3
Note: I took out the âobsessedâ section because felt like my posts were becoming a bit long. Hope thatâs okay friends xo
I find it so amazing that there are queer people out there who are not aware of the politicization of their existence. I saw something about it a while back, too - a lesbian couple in rural India somewhere with an obvious masc and femme. The femme used feminine pronouns for her partner, but acknowledged her to be a man, saying that << for me, he is a man >> . their family/village community shunned them & they were living apart from them, and they had no knowledge of queer theory, or even the word 'lesbian'. they 'come as they are', like you wrote. it's beautiful & revolutionary, and so ordinary. blows my mind, & I love it. I hope one day all queer people everywhere can live simply as they are.
love your mind