Thesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of MSc in
Cultural and Social Anthropology.
Original cover artwork and self-portrait by friend and interlocutor Khaled Haider, created specifically for use in my masters thesis Navigating Rainbow Street: Subaltern Experiences of Living Gayness in Amman.
Second readers: Dr Annelies Moors, Dr Rachel Spronk Amsterdam, December 11, 2015
ABSTRACT
This thesis examines the lived experience of men who openly identify as gay as well
as those that fall under the men who sleep with men (MSM1) category. Organised by
tangible spaces in which these men move, this thesis chronicles the daily-lived experiences, hopes, dreams and opinions of these interlocutors in Amman, Jordan. These lived experiences are then placed in the conversation on the global image of a ‘gay man’, illustrating that there is not just one image, not just one perspective. My research was collected during a three-month fieldwork period in Amman, Jordan. My data collecting methods were participant observation, unstructured interviews and ‘deep-hang outs’. The men I interacted with, throughout my fieldwork, come from varied backgrounds, and this thesis seeks to illustrate the diversity and subjectivity of subaltern experience for men in this community.
KEYWORDS
Homosexuality, Jordan, Amman, men, identity, sexuality, living gayness, subjectivity, MSM, subaltern
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This thesis would not have been possible without the tireless support, guidance and feedback of my supervisor Dr Anne de Jong. I am also thankful for my local
gatekeeper in Amman, Mousa al Shadeedi. These two insightful, inspiring individuals aided me in pushing my own boundaries, thinking outside the anthropological box, and exploring new concepts and themes within my research. I am also grateful to each person who allowed me to speak with them or interview them, as their trust and openness allowed this research to thrive, and my friends and family who listened to me throughout the past few months as I unpacked the various unforeseen struggles of writing this thesis.
1 For men who do not self-identify as gay and did not have a label for themselves, I will refer to them
as MSM: men who sleep with men (Boellstorff 2006: 287).
CONTENT GUIDE
INTRODUCTION ... 6
Research Questions & Sub-Questions ... 10
Terminology ... 11
Objective ... 13
Methodology ... 15
Ethics ... 20
Doing Anthropology at Home ... 21
Amman as a Field site ... 23
Chapter outline ... 24
1. WORLD VS. JORDAN VS. AMMAN ... 27
1.1 From First to Fifth Circle: Creating Comfortable, Safe Public Spaces ... 27
1.2 ‘Gay International’ and Local Identity ... 35
1.3 Activism in Amman: Pushes for changes in terminology and awareness ... 39
Conclusion ... 42
2. CYBERSPACE ... 44
2.1 Weaving the Web: The Internet as an engine for knowledge, hope and anxiety ... 45
2.2 Safety, Security and Sex in a Virtual World: How and where is connection made? ... 51
Conclusion ... 54
3. THE MOSQUE ... 56
3.1 Discovering Self in Religion: Sexuality and Islam intertwined ... 57
3.2 Re-defining Islamic Values: “The Qur-an doesn’t condemn the orientation, just the sex” ... 62
Conclusion ... 64
4. HOME ... 66
4.1 What is Home: Understanding kinship and belonging at home ... 66
4.2 ‘Coming out’ at home: “To be, or not to be” ... 68
4.3 “Well, one day I do want to get married…” ... 76
Conclusion ... 80
FINAL CONCLUSION ... 82
REFERENCES ... 87
LIST OF IMAGES
Image 1: Portrait of interlocutor in Jabal el Weibdeh on one of our strolls around the neighbourhood……….………….19 Image 2: Interlocutor checking his phone in front of Graffiti Cafe in Jabal el Weibdeh………...21 Image 3: View taken from bottom of Rainbow Street in Jabal Amman neighbourhood………..25 Image 4: Mousa and friend lounging at Graffiti Café……….….37 Image 5: During the summer (2015) Jordanian media outlet Kharabeesh uploaded this comic about a gay boy hugging his mom saying: “It’s a disaster, mom! I found my husband cheating on me with the door man!”. An interlocutor shares it, commenting that it is rude and silly to “make fun of gays”………..45 Image 6: Inside of Kulliyet al Sharia mosque in Jabal el Weibdeh……….57
A NOTE ON TRANSLITERATION
As stated by philosopher Todd Jones (1990), ‘a perfect translation is a utopian dream’. That being said, I am not a translator, and throughout the course of my fieldwork, I transcribed colloquial Jordanian Arabic conversations and interviews, a language I speak and understand fluently, into English. I then interpreted all transcriptions phonetically into English, making it easily accessible to readers who are not familiar with Arabic. I chose contextually to keep certain phrases in Arabic, translating them in parenthesis into English directly after. For my transliteration, I have chosen to follow that of Anouk de Koning (2009):
- [s] for both سﺱ and صﺹ - [h] for حﺡ - [t] for تﺕ and طﻁ -[d] for دﺩ and ضﺽ -[z] for زﺯ and ظﻅ -[sh] for شﺵ - [kh] for خﺥ • [gh] for غﻍ
- [‘] for عﻉ • [´] for قﻕ, in case the قﻕ is replaced by a glottal stop, as in ´ahwa. Long vowels are represented by double vowels; doubled consonants are similarly represented by double consonants in English. Proper names and place names have been written according to their usual spelling in English. (2009: XII)
INTRODUCTION
It was in August 2010 that I moved into a villa draped in fuchsia bougainvillea in Amman’s Sweifieh neighbourhood. Known for its abundance of bakeries, dress and jewellery markets and shopping malls, it was a pedestrian-friendly, safe area for families and expats alike. Two friends and I moved into the bottom floor of a villa, which was owned by a family that had been there for years. I recall that first day of unpacking when a tall man dressed in a pink t-shirt, pin stripe vest and calf-length shorts came to our door with a teakettle. The moment he opened his mouth and with a flick of the wrist said, “Ahlan ya banat!” (Hey girls) is forever cemented into my memory. My flatmates and I were immediately surprised, recognising similar mannerisms that we had seen before in our gay friends in the United States. Until then, I had never met a gay Arab man, despite being raised with and amongst Arabs both in Jordan and in the United States. It was just not something you encountered on
a daily basis. Quickly we became friends with Naseem2, and he introduced us to the
lifestyle of Ammani gay men. Our weekends were filled with parties in posh apartments in Amman’s more affluent neighbourhoods like Abdoun and Deir Ghbar (where King Abdullah’s palace is located), dancing along to Madonna and going to clubs in matching studded outfits. We were quickly engulfed in this world – one that I certainly had never imagined existing in Amman – and I became ensconced with the lifestyles these men lived.
As friendships with some of these men developed, I began to observe some of the issues, fears and facets of their lives that most worry them. I felt personally impacted and deeply involved with members from this community, and sought to understand more of how these individuals locate themselves within both their own local contexts and within a larger framework. How do they relate to their families, to one another, to the religious notions that imbue Jordanian society? Through first-hand experiences with my self-identified gay friends – from seeing friends blackmailed (the fear of being “outed” to family or society looming) to losing friends who chose to leave
2 All interlocutors’ names have been changed with the exception of local gatekeeper. See ethics section pp. 22.
Jordan – I began to witness the fragility that wove its way through their daily lives in Amman. Given the economic, political, religious and social landscape of Amman and its people, this thesis topic became profoundly relevant to me, my friends and loved ones who navigate life in Amman on a daily basis. It is necessary to note that I chose
to focus my research on exclusively men, mostly in the age range of 18 – 35, isdue to
these early 2010 interactions that facilitated easier access.
In coming to this research, I certainly came with a set of perspectives and pre-conceived ideas. Despite being open-minded and ‘gay-friendly’, I was searching for answers or for a definitive lifestyle. More and more I began to realise there was no such thing, and the reality was of a much more complex nature. Throughout the process, I found myself taken aback and surprised rather often. I found that even things as seemingly trivial as an interlocutor’s chosen vocabulary words or facial reactions were surprising to me. Throughout the duration of my fieldwork, I took many evenings to sit back and reflect on perspectives I found that challenged my own. In the first couple of weeks back in Amman, as I met up with some of the men who were familiar and some who were not, I recall being surprised by the vivaciousness of their personalities. Not because I had imagined that these vocal, outlandish
personalities did not exist, but because they did not align not with a globalised stereotype of gay men that I had in mind. Some of the things they said to each other reminded me of some of the more animated gay men I had met in the United States, but these men were speaking in Arabic, interacting in a local Jordanian context, and talking about locally-bound topics and people. It was then that I first realised an intertwinement of cultures had been created, and that there was no one definition of ‘what it meant to be gay’, and that the reality of these identities was much more complex. It was also then that I began to be more critical of my support of Joseph Massad’s criticism of the ‘Gay International’ and his conviction that all Western cultural influences are detrimental, somehow asserting agency over a less powerful agent. I began to see that this perceived ‘evil’ from the West was just a natural result of increased contact over time that could, like all things, be employed in positive or negative methods.
Questions like “what does it mean to be gay?”, “how is the topic of marriage
navigated?” and “what function does religion play in these individuals lives?” worked in shaping this research, with each man’s story displaying his own subjective lived experience. My research primarily focuses on openly gay men who, in some way or
another, engage in Amman’s gay scene. It will also provide a look into the
experiences of men who do not identify as gay per se but still engage in sexual acts with other men. My thesis will illustrate the diversity in which ‘gay’ identities are grasped, criticised and analysed through the day-to-day activities of life in Amman, and the development of spaces in which the men move. My research does not intend on taking sexual identity categories to be universal, enduring realities but rather seeks to engage with the ways in which groups of men in Amman transform and experience such categories to a local context.
This thesis analyses subaltern experiences of living gayness in Amman, Jordan. Though theoretician Antonio Gramsci wrote extensively on subalternity in political discourse of hegemonic power structures, he also contended that subaltern
experiences existed on a much grander scale, including individuals who exist at the margins of society (Green, 2000). He states that hegemony also materialises from the bottom, originating in the ideas and acts of everyday people who may or may not see themselves as part of a broader organised society. Here I would draw the link between subaltern experience and subjectivity, also attributable to Gramsci’s work. Interested in groups that were considered problematic for mainstream (or dominant) society, Gramsci emphasised the importance of collective alternative subjectivities, which formed the foundations of his work on subalternity. Historian Ranajit Guha (2009) explained the study of the subaltern as ‘listening to the small voice of history’, and through this research, I hope to give those ‘small voices’ a platform. This thesis does not intend on proving any one truth, but rather displaying the broad, complex and diverse reality of the interlocutors of my research.
The notion of “living gayness” is placed at the crux of my research – that is, understanding how this sexuality is navigated on a daily basis. I’ve found that it is often problematised with a negative lens through mainstream media when in reality it
is lived, experienced and navigated with an incredible array of diversity. Though issues of marriage and everyday societal expectations shape the creation of these lifestyles to some extent, they are not necessarily oppressed or “living a lie” as Western media might assume. Joseph Massad (2002) theorises that the Orientalist approach taken by many Western LGBT activist organisations and groups, stating that their larger mission is to “liberate Arab and Muslim ‘gays and lesbians’ from the oppression under which they allegedly live by transforming them from practitioners of same-sex contact into interlocutors who identify as homosexual and gay.” (2002: 362) Massad states that the interposing discourse of the Gay International transforms those participating in same-sex acts into neat little boxes labeled “gay” and “lesbian”, like their Western counterparts.
My thesis will align with some of the theories found in Massad’s book (2002), which aims to derail the Western assumption that all individuals who identify as gay desire to live a particular lifestyle. This conception also presumes the universality of the term ‘sexual freedom’, and seeks to neatly package sexualities. It is my hope that my research will unpack the multiplicity in which interlocutors experience life. Because
this thesis focuses on thick descriptions3 of lived experiences, it displays
interlocutors’ own intimate realities that do not seek to define or delineate the experiences of all interlocutors in the same context or region. Local place and culture surely shape experience but ultimately the complexity of lived experience can only be approached in the everyday. It is my hope that my research can add to that notion that sexualities are experienced differently in different historical, geographic, religious and personal contexts.
3 ‘Thick description captures the thoughts and feelings of participants as well as the often complex web of relationships among them. Thick description leads to thick interpretation, which in turns leads to thick meaning of the research findings for the researchers and participants themselves, and for the report’s intended readership.’ (Pontoretto, 2006: 543)
RESEARCH QUESTION & SUB-QUESTIONS
Following the theoretical grounding, and in line with the ontological emphasis on lived experience, this research is guided by the following central research question: How do both openly gay men and those who do not necessarily openly present themselves as gay navigate daily life in Amman, Jordan?
In order to further develop an answer to this overarching question, the following sub-questions take a central role:
o Do active members of the gay community feel that gayness is a “Westernised” construct? Why so?
o What affect have Western imports (media, entertainment) and the Internet had on their lifestyles and what tangible effects (brought by these) have impacted their day-to-day living experiences?
o What role does social media play in daily life and connecting both openly gay men and those who are not openly gay together? (A look into dating app Grindr, Facebook, etc.)
o How do openly gay men feel about the notion that to live freely is to be open about your sexuality? To what extent do they agree/disagree?
o How are societal expectations of marriage and having children viewed and managed?
o How do interlocutors experience and view religion?
o How do everyday practices with music, entertainment, and wardrobe link to notions of gay expression?
TERMINOLOGY
Terminology in this field of study is constantly being debated as to its political correctness and accuracy. Social anthropologist Dan Kulick accurately states: “What to collectively call people whose sexual and gendered practices and/or identities fall beyond the bounds of normative heterosexuality is an unavoidable and ultimately unresolvable problem” (Kulick 2000: 243). In an age where syntax and meaning are highly contested, it is important to remain as close to accurate as possible. Sociologist Sasha Roseneil (2000) discusses the theorisation of post modernity when discussing social changes that have affected sexual understandings. She argues that sexual identities around the homo/heterosexual binary are not fixed and are inherently unstable. Former editor of the Middle East Guardian, author Brian Whitaker highlights some of the further complexities when using the term like ‘gay’ in the context of Arab and Islamic societies in his book Unspeakable Love: Gay and
Lesbian Love in the Middle East:
The word carries connotations of a certain lifestyle (as found among gay people in the West) and it implies a sexual identity that people may not personally adopt. ‘Homosexual’ – describing a person – may not have the same westernised connotations but can be equally inappropriate, especially where homosexual acts are an occasional alternative to those with the opposite sex. Arabic itself has no generally accepted equivalent of the word ‘gay’. The term for ‘homosexuality’ (al-mithliyya al-jinsiyya – literally: ‘sexual same-ness’) is of recent coinage but is increasingly adopted by serious newspapers and in academic articles. The related word mithli is beginning to be used for ‘gay’ or ‘homosexual’. Meanwhile, the popular media continue to use the heavily loaded shaadh (‘queer’, ‘pervert’, ‘deviant’). The traditional word for ‘lesbian’ is suhaaqiyya, though some argue that this has negative connotations and prefer mithliyya (the feminine of mithli). Arabs also have a variety of more-or-less insulting words for sexual types (e.g. effeminate men) and those who favor certain kinds of sexual act. (Whitaker 2006: 13)
These intricacies complicate terminology further, and so for the sake of this thesis, I will follow some of the definitions found in Whitaker’s book:
Homosexual: Behaviour, feelings, practices, etc., directed towards people of the same gender. It is used adjectivally in the text but not as a noun (e.g. ‘a homosexual’).
Gay: Applied to men who have adopted this as their sexual identity. In some contexts (e.g. ‘gay community’) the term should be regarded as shorthand, which includes various other non-heterosexual identities: lesbian, bisexual, transgender, etc.(2006: 13).
For men who do not self-identify as gay and did not have a label for themselves, I will refer to them as MSM: men who sleep with men (Boellstorff 2006: 287).
OBJECTIVE
The purpose of my thesis is to provide insight into the lives of men who identify as
gay-and those who do not but partake in homosexual activity in the setting of Amman,
Jordan. I will examine how, despite various elements of ambiguity and instability,
men manoeuvre daily life and make decisions for the future. I intendthat my research
shallhighlightconcerted efforts to create comfortable places for interlocutors to
interact, and bring to light different aspects that make daily life more manageable. Through experiences with my interlocutors, I found that the notion of “Gay
International” and concepts of one unified gay identity do not apply in the context of many of my interlocutors terms. Many of my interlocutors are individuals outside of this notion that their gayness would define them, what they do, what they like or what they want in life. Boellstorff, who contemplates Westernisation and its impression on subjects, asserted, “domination does not necessarily lead to determination” (2005, 58).
Of the interlocutorswho attended universities outside of Jordan, speak English
fluently, listen to Western music/film, I found that generally much of their identities were heavily tied to local contexts and local expectations and gayness had only
impacted one portion of their personalities.One interlocutor, an openly gay Christian
man in his late 20s, stated, “Yeah, I’m gay. But I still care about not disrupting the family unit; not disrupting my community and not letting this part of my life affect everything else. Mesh daroory ehki la kol el nas” (It’s not necessary for me to tell everyone). My thesis will take part in the theoretical debate on the complexities of defining sexualities and identities and will use the regional context as a lens at which these develop.
Furthermore, I believe there is a concrete lack of ethnographic research on contemporary gay subcultures in the Middle East. Despite the growing academic literature based on same-sex relations in the Arab World, it is mostly limited to historical research of homosexual practices. More recently, Bruce Dunne wrote about power and sexuality in the Middle East (1998), giving brief accounts of forms of discursive elements of power within both hetero and homosexuality, but not more modern ethnographic samplings of a particular state or community. Brian Whitiker’s
more recent book Unspeakable Love: Gay and Lesbian Life in the Middle East provides individual same-sex narratives of men and women throughout the Arab World, but does not contribute a zoomed-in localised context (2006).
It is my hope that this research can be illustrative of the broad spectrum of experience, subjectivity and perspective among men in Amman who identify as gay in some way, and those who do not, and can illustrate the diversity in which sexual identities are experienced.
REFLECTIONS
Having a local gatekeeper significantly aided my research process. With research that focuses on the everyday, having an interlocutor who actively reflected with me in reference to subjectivity and contemplation was invaluable. Mousa often had me in a state of reflexivity, working with me to question any assumptions or conclusions I was trying to make. Throughout my fieldwork, I was very cautious to avoid any sort
of “othering”4, and Mousa played an active role in helping me address those issues of
representation. When we perceive life through a certain framework, all aspects of it become riddled with complexity, anxiety and strife. A clichéd perception that minority or subaltern groups always stick together in solidarity also shaped my looking-lens, one that was proven oversimplified rather early on in the research. At the onset of the research, I wanted to remain ultra-cautious as to making any pre-emptive assumptions or conclusions. After my first month in the field, that initial sensitivity faded away and I learned to view each story, each experience as subjective. Ultimately, doing this research has allowed me to become a much more
understanding, patient person. I learned one must not jump to immediate assumptions or conclusions because those are based on past experiences and subtle nuances that may not be wholly accurate or representative.
4 "Othering" is a way of defining and securing one`s own positive identity through the stigmatisation of
an "other". Whatever the markers of social differentiation that shape the meaning of "us" and "them", whether they are racial, geographic, ethnic, economic or ideological, there is always the danger that they will become the basis for a self-affirmation that depends upon the denigration of the other group (www.cwrl.utexas.edu~ulrich/rww03/othering.htm).
METHODOLOGY
The data found within this thesis was collected during a three-month fieldwork period (June – September 2015) in Amman, Jordan. When I drew up my research proposal plan, I thought the most effective way to collect information and to gain a deeper understanding of interlocutors’ lives and lifestyles would be through interviews. A common research method for anthropologists, it seemed to suit my research topic and interlocutors as well. However, this method presents various restrictions, particularly with research that delves into lived, subjective experience. Anthropologist Charles L. Briggs delineates some of the issues that arise in the process of interviewing for social data: “What is said is seen as what is ‘out there’ rather than as an interpretation which is jointly produced by interviewer and respondent. Since the context-sensitive features of such discourse are more clearly tied to the context of the interview than to that of the situation which it describes, the researcher is likely to misinterpret the meaning of the responses” (Briggs 1988: 3). Early on in the fieldwork I learned that the standard form of interview would not be suitable given the sensitivity and intimacy of my research. Because I was asking interlocutors to tell me about personal experiences, giving them a space to tell their stories as they saw it, I realised standard interview discourse could not be applied. I adjusted my methodology to be more context-appropriate, and began each sit down with an informal, unstructured brief about myself, my research and why I was interested in the subject. The ‘interviews’ became more like life histories, and usually led to specific topics of interest and concern (marriage, religion, family, the future). I also allowed space for the conversation to take an organic flow, rather than follow the typical question-answer format, taking away a sense of formality. If an interlocutor had a hard time knowing where to begin with his oral life story or experiences, I would ask a question like “When did you first feel like you were attracted to men?” and almost without fail, this question would lead to a story that would lead to other stories. I would, on occasion, cautiously probe interlocutors for information, but usually I asked them to tell their story from whenever they felt it might be relevant. From this, I could gauge which moments in life were most memorable or most important, and which they either forgot or did not feel were relevant. I felt it was especially relevant to understand the past of each
interlocutor in order to better understand who he is now and what events have shaped his outlooks. Past experiences, for the most part, form a significant portion of the particular lens through which each individual looked through, and that could be seen vividly through their histories. It was important to me, however, in this process, to capture note of intonation, mannerisms and the general feeling of the interlocutor as they shared their experiences. Thus, a large portion of my ethnographic material relied heavily on these conversations, which were either arranged by myself or through Mousa. In the arrangement process, I would ask interlocutors where they would like to meet. The response was most commonly in a coffee shop or café in Jabal Amman or Jabal el Weibdeh, places where interlocutors felt a sense of
familiarity and comfort. During these sessions, I took meticulous notes. Because the presence of a recorder seemed inappropriate and at times constrained the subjects from speaking without inhibitions, I felt that detailed note taking would be a better approach.
On several occasions, I also utilised the ‘go-along’ method, defined by sociologist Margarethe Kusenbach as a “form of in-depth qualitative interview method that, as the name implies, is conducted by researchers accompanying individual interlocutors on outings in their familiar environments, such as a neighbourhood or larger local area. The go-along can be conducted as a ‘walk-along’ (i.e. conducted while walking with the participant), a ‘ride-along’ (i.e. conducted while driving) or a ‘mixed’ form combining the former two types” (Kusenbach, 2003). During and after the meetings, I would write down everything that was said and everything that I noticed, including what the interlocutors were wearing and how their mood was.
Image 1: Photograph5 taken of an interlocutor on one of our casual strolls through Jabal el Weibdeh As time progressed and I built rapport with particular interlocutors, informal
gatherings or “deep hang outs”6 began to happen. With Mousa’s group of friends,
which I will go into more detail about in Chapter 2, we would often spend afternoons and evenings together driving around the city, going out to eat or for walks (Image 1),
having coffee, going on day-trips out of Amman, smoking hookah7, or sitting on my
rooftop talking/dancing. These outings proved particularly informative for me, as they took away the performativity and pressure that can sometimes occur in an
interviewer-interviewee situation, and allowed interlocutors to feel more comfortable. Before I entered the field and throughout the research period, I was regularly
engaging with interlocutors through Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Through these mediums, I gauged what interlocutors’ felt comfortable sharing, the language they
5 All photographs were taken by Lena Kassicieh unless otherwise stated.
6 ‘Deep hanging out’ is a term coined by cultural anthropologist Renato Rosaldo and later popularised by Clifford Geertz, referring to casually spending time with people in order to understand how they live.
7 Oxford dictionary defines ‘hookah’ as an oriental tobacco pipe with a long, flexible tube that draws the smoke through water contained in a bowl.
utilised, and who knew and spent time with whom. These platforms allowed me to understand more of the interconnectivity of the community as I could see who was mutual friends, comments shared between others, and I learned a lot about how interwoven the prominent individuals in the ‘gay community’ are. Though many of my interlocutors denied the existence of a cohesive ‘gay community’, anytime I met or learned about a new person, I could tell whether or not he was involved in the scene in any way by noting just a few mutual friends. I would begin to get friend requests from men I did not know, but through seeing our mutual friends, I
understood that someone must have told them about me or connected us in one way or another. I was connected to several people who I had the chance to arrange meetings with through Facebook, including an Australian filmmaker who was making a documentary about the LGBT community in Amman.
As I spent the majority of my time in Jabal el Weibdeh, I would be having coffee in Rumi or Graffiti café (Image 2), and would randomly run into men that I became more familiar with through mutual connections. Graffiti Café in particular turned into a space in which I would meet new interlocutors or friends of Mousa, but would also have side conversations with acquaintances that later became friends and allowed me to interview them for the sake of this research. This location lent a sense of inclusivity, as almost everyone that came into Graffiti was a regular and knew everyone else in one way or another, even if they were not friends. It also allowed me to see what topics were discussed and what things were important, as well as how and why interlocutors discussed certain things. These moments provided a great level of intimacy, allowing these interactions to flow naturally, like friendships. In certain instances, I would ask for permission to take recordings to aid me in later writing notes and drawing conclusions.
Image 2: Interlocutor checking his phone in front of Graffiti Cafe in Jabal el Weibdeh
Having Mousa as my local gatekeeper hugely aided the fieldwork process, as it almost immediately bridged the gap between researcher-researchee. Interlocutors trusted me because I came with a close friend of theirs, and suddenly I became someone that was always included in group plans. Without Mousa, this level of rapport and closeness would have been much more difficult to attain, especially in such a short period of time. I was also introduced to other interlocutors through interlocutors that I knew on my own without the aid of Mousa. Some interlocutors felt a sense of ‘get our stories heard’ and thus, wanted to connect me to their friends that they thought might be willing to share.
Sociologists Peter and Patti Adler (1987) defined three roles of qualitative researchers engaged in observational methodology, being: 1) peripheral member researchers: those who do not actively participate in the activities with group members 2) active member researchers: those who become actively involved in core activities without completely committing to the values and goals of the group and 3) complete member
researchers: those that are already active members of the group or who through time become fully connected during the course of the research. During the entire course of the research, with certain groups (Mousa and his friends, and with former acquaintances that became friends) I fell into the active member researcher role, as I was heavily involved in their daily activities on a regular basis. I found that with certain interlocutors and groups, language differed. With Mousa and his friends, Arabic was predominantly used with the exception of the occasional English word (like saying ‘gay’ or ‘out’, for example). With other interlocutors, a mix of the two languages was utilised, or primarily English. This depended on a few factors of which I will go into greater detail later on in the thesis.
ETHICS
Given the sensitive nature of this research, it was necessary to carefully consider an ethical approach. Throughout the period of my fieldwork, protecting the identities of my interlocutors was of utter necessity to me. I made special efforts to be extremely sensitive in the manoeuvring of both the research and my personal/private life without inadvertently putting interlocutors in any harm or danger for any reason. As such, in the process of taking field notes, I used various pseudonyms and for added precaution, changed them several times. Throughout my thesis, I maintain the pseudonyms with the exception of my local gatekeeper Mousa al Shadeedi, who has expressed
explicitly that he would like his real name to be used throughout the research, and has further granted permission to use his photo in the thesis. Throughout the course of my research, Mousa aided in introducing me to key interlocutors, discussing interview questions and themes, and met me on a regular basis to discuss the development of the research. With research that focuses on everyday experiences, it is inevitable that the questioning of representation comes in. Actively reflecting on my data with Mousa proved to be an invaluable asset. Together, we had many open brainstorming sessions where we discussed various concerns, and were able to address the ethical issue of writing about “them”.
DOING ANTHROPOLOGY IN A CITY THAT IS ‘HOME’
Although my family is originally from Palestinian Jerusalem, after 1948 they were relocated to Amman, Jordan. Effectively, Amman is as close as we really got to have a city of our own, and my family were all granted Jordanian citizenship as refugees in the late 1950s. For me, my connection with Amman runs deep, as it is a place that I have really come to love, both through the lens of my family’s history and later as an adult who returned there after completing my studies in the United States. For the last four years, I lived separately from my family (in an apartment on my own) and worked in Amman, getting to know different aspects and sides of the city that I had not been exposed previously.
It was during this time that I met some of the interlocutors I interacted with for my research, and became an active part of Amman’s publishing and media community. I worked as an editor for two of the most well-known Jordanian magazines, one being a design, architecture and travel magazine and the other being local culture, heritage
and lifestyle. On a monthly basis, I interacted with artists, filmmakers, journalists,
freelancers, designers, radio hosts and other media personalities and became one of the faces of the magazine, so to speak. This “in” granted me the opportunity to meet an assortment of Jordanians that most people do not come into contact with, and allowed me a certain amount of space to move and negotiate my own role. It is also thanks to this role that I was able to work with several of the interlocutors I will refer to throughout my research, as we worked on a professional level together that transitioned into friendship.
When I first applied for the editor position, the editor-in-chief – a powerful Jordanian woman with a certain cutthroat reputation – was sceptical about hiring someone she did not know through someone else. In Jordanian society, word of mouth and familial relations are typically how one connects to others in the social scene, and it took Rania months before she came to accept me based on my own personality and not the
stamp of approval or “wasta”8 of someone she already knew. It is the accumulation of these roles and experiences that created an easier transition into the researcher role, and granted me the role of someone the interlocutors could understand and
contextualise. My ability to speak Arabic in the Jordanian dialect, and understand many of the jokes and nuances used within the colloquial dialect also aided me in the interview process and easing the interlocutors’ worries about an “outsider” looking in. The language was also useful in understanding and noticing code switches and when gauging Arabic terminologies for ‘gay’,‘homosexual’ et al.
Since I did research in a place that I consider home, it is necessary to address the insider-outsider dichotomy. Anthropologist Leila Voloder writes: “In contrast to the classic model of anthropological research, which defines the ethnographic endeavour in terms of clear movements in and out of the field…research at home is characterised by the increased proximity and intersection between ‘home’, the sites of the familiar, the personal and of non-research activities and ‘field’, the sites of the unfamiliar, the professional and research activities” (Voloder 2008: 30). Being that I was very familiar with many of the locations I entered to conduct research, meet interlocutors and to conduct interviews, I was able to notice more details about interlocutors themselves and how they related to social contexts. As I was returning to a familiar place, I was employing the role of ‘halfie’. A term coined by anthropologist Lila Abu-Lughod, halfie is defined as “people whose national or cultural identity is mixed by virtue of migration, overseas education or parentage’ and whom ‘unsettle the boundary between the self and the other” (1991: 137). In some circumstances, I felt that this aspect affected the way I navigated certain intricacies, allowing ambiguities of understanding to be bridged. Some interlocutors considered me to have more experience and be less traditional than a Jordanian girl who grew up and remained her entire life in Jordan, but still found it important that I had an understanding of local customs, norms and expectations. I believe that being a female also lent an added
8 Wasta or wasata (Arabic: ﺔﻄْﺳاﺍوﻭ) is an Arabic word that means the use of social connections to obtain benefits that otherwise would not be provided. (The Stigma of Wasta: The Effect of Wasta on Perceived Competence and Morality by German University faculty Ahmed Mohamed and Hadia Hamdy)
sense of comfort to many of my interlocutors, as many of my interlocutors would feel not feel as comfortable talking to a heterosexual Jordanian male. It is also relevant to note that I have a half-brother who identifies as gay, and when I shared this with my interlocutors, it granted them further insight into why this topic intrigues me and affects me on a personal level.
AMMAN AS A FIELD SITE
Image 3: View taken from bottom of Rainbow Street in Jabal Amman neighbourhood
According to the United States Central Intelligence Agency9, Amman has one of the
highest immigration rates of anywhere in the world. The capital and most populated city in Jordan, it also stands as the economic, social and political centre of the country. Its current estimated population, which includes surrounding municipalities, is 4
million10. The city is structured over seven hills, each with a traffic circle referred to as First Circle, Second Circle etc., and is divided into different sections which function almost as neighbourhoods, known for different purposes or attractions. According to the 2014 article ‘Urbanism and Neoliberal Order: The Development and Redevelopment of Amman’ by Najib Hourani, certain areas within Amman, like Abdoun and Sweifieh, have been transformed by economic development, seeing various foreign land developers primarily from the Gulf region (Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates). 20 years ago, the Rainbow Street I refer to throughout this thesis, which acts as a hub for socialising and activity, did not exist. This influx of economic growth, increase in development of cosmopolitan areas and import of new cultures unequivocally affects all inhabitants of Amman and certainly my own research population, forming an interesting background for my research.
Most of my fieldwork was conducted in two Ammani neighbourhoods: Jabal Amman and Jabal el Weibdeh. Due to urban and economic developments in the past fifteen years, both areas house a number of cultural and art venues, including Darat Al Funun (House of Art), Dar al Anda, The Royal Film Commission, Makan Art Space, Rainbow Theatre, et al and cafes, restaurants and bars. On weekends, it is not uncommon to be stuck in traffic around the First or Second Circles en route to either area, as they are the two of the primary hubs in Amman for social activity.
CHAPTER OUTLINE
Being that my research primarily focuses on the navigation of daily life, I consciously took the decision to organise my chapters into tangible spaces. Each chapter is representative of a particular location that is moved through by my interlocutors and composes the layers in which they experience their lives. In order to be able to contextualise my thesis research within the region and on an international level, Chapter 1: World vs. Jordan vs. Amman begins with a brief explanation about Western sexual categories and classifications, expounding some of the theories of Joseph Massad’s ‘Gay International’ and going further into the work of anthropologist Tom Boellstorff and his understandings of local vs. global. Throughout the chapter I
10 According to the United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction. See at http://www.unisdr.org/campaign/resilientcities/cities/view/11
seek to argue that identities of interlocutors are not necessarily defined by one mentality, but rather that they are a complex intertwinement of local experience, imported mentalities, entertainment and other external factors, creating a constant interplay and dynamic of tension. My research provides a look into the lived
experiences of my interlocutors, and displays the subjectivity of their own intimate
experiences, without trying to prove or rectify certain truths. The chapter illustrates the creation and manoeuvring of space in Amman, contextualising the interlocutors in their daily environments. I then discuss activism, explaining the interconnectivity and tension that persists within the LGBT activist community in Amman. It also expounds inner efforts to change Arabic terminology in media, to create awareness and dialogue within Jordanian society.
Chapter 2: Cyber web discusses the role the Internet has played in the lives of interlocutors in the last 10 years. Many interlocutors, when facing confusion about their sexualities, turned to the Internet for information. They would also see the web as another place to interact, connect and meet. This chapter discusses the various benefits of such an outlet, and the role it played in the lives of these interlocutors during various periods of their lives. It also discusses the volatility that can also breed in this virtual world, as others interact and meet and get tangled up in precarious situations with one another. Here, I discuss usage of gay dating mobile applications, how Facebook works as a way to meet and date, and the clichéd nature of hooking up through such meetings.
Chapter 3: The Mosque discusses views on religion and sexuality. For many interlocutors, sexuality and religion became intertwined, and manoeuvring viewpoints based on what Islam or Christianity might state about such sexualities was a topic of conversation. For other interlocutors, it was not a question of abandoning religion in order to maintain a ‘gay’ identity, and one identity did not have to mean that the other could not exist. The careful navigation of these spiritualties, opinions and family member roles will be seen through detailed analysis and ethnography in this chapter. I will also discuss, through a collection of experiences on how the impact of being raised in Amman, various perspectives on religion, and how in the future, perhaps a modified interpretation of religion can be more inclusive of varying sexualities. As a
precursor to chapter 4, I will also discuss the common family reaction to ‘coming out’ by sending interlocutors to Islamic psychiatrists, as often the thought that ‘turning back to religion’ may help ‘solve the problem’.
Finally, Chapter 4: Home shifts the spotlight to men’s relationship with their families and the myriad obstacles that emerged out of endeavours to negotiate their subject positions within kinship structures. This chapter highlights the fragility and critical tension of the navigation between familial responsibilities and roles within the kinship structure (duties and obligations as cousins, brothers, sons et al) and their sexual subjectivities. Within this chapter, I also discuss the delicate process of ‘coming out’ and how, though generally considered in the West as liberating and freeing, in this context it almost feels more limiting in some ways. I argue that the process is not so much as clear as closed-to-open but rather that interlocutors are constantly negotiating the process in some form or another within the home space and differently with different individuals. The evolution of this disclosure process is of a particularly delicate nature, and is abound with inconclusiveness and ambiguity, leaving us with no clear path for a certain future.
In the Conclusion of this thesis, I highlight the underlying notion of subjectivity and the process of selving for my interlocutors throughout the course of my research. My data does not conclusively state any argument or prove any theory, but rather provides a thick description as data in and of itself. My interlocutors’ experiences, all varied and diversified, emphasise the various levels of intricacy found in daily life, and illustrate the notion that living gayness in Amman cannot be generalised or defined.
1. WORLD VS. JORDAN VS. AMMAN
Applied to art, academia, political discourse and cultural studies, the Western
Orientalist lens is one that is often looked through when discussing the region.
Offering a confining take on life, this perspective limits growth and diversity through a platitudinal perception of reality. Social scientists like Joseph Massad (2002, 2007), Lila Abu-Lughod (2001) and Tom Boellstorff (2005, 2011) have discussed orientalist applications to sexualities in the Arab World, critical of implications of assertions of agency or stating that sexualities can be globally analogous. This chapter discusses various tenets of this perspective and its effects on interlocutors in Amman, as well as how interlocutors chose to create and explore spaces of safety in their own context, on their own terms. Firstly this chapter contextualises the neighbourhoods in which the vast majority of my fieldwork was conducted, and seeks to illustrate the atmosphere in which my interlocutors dwell. This chapter then goes on to discuss activism in Amman, and how some interlocutors work tirelessly to re-brand and re-package perspectives within the community on how to best go about changing the discourse on sexuality.
1.1 FROM FIRST TO FIFTH CIRCLE: CREATING COMFORTABLE, SAFE PUBLIC SPACES
My first few days of fieldwork in Amman felt strange. It had been a year since I had last been in Jordan, and the overwhelming but familiar feelings of “nothing has changed here yet I have” were pounding in my tired, jet-lagged head. I decided to go for a walk through Jabal el Weibdeh, the neighbourhood that I’ve lived in and with which I became most acquainted. I walked up the steep hill, past the green mosque on the corner of one of the neighbourhood’s oldest streets, just a block from my father’s childhood home. The air felt stiff and heavy, as it usually is midsummer, but this particular summer Amman experienced a heat wave it had not seen in decades. After ten minutes, I arrived to Rumi, a cafe that opened in 2014 and had since become a cornerstone of Weibdeh coffee culture. Inside Rumi, I saw a few familiar faces, some
of whom knew I was returning for the summer, some that did not, and so the earnest
work of making connections began.
One can describe Jabal el Weibdeh as a tiny village inside of a village. Amman being a relatively new city built around a series of hills, Jabal el Weibdeh is one of three remaining old areas that maintain a tacit sense of community. Sitting in this café, I experienced a heaviness; heaviness that brings nostalgia, loneliness and longing. I spent several hours there, swallowing glasses of bitter iced hibiscus tea, enjoying the free air conditioning and refuge from the harsh summer heat. This café felt like a place that has somehow always existed; had always been a meeting place. It was the very infrastructure of a community. Hours passed as I watched friends come and meet friends, business partners sipping coffee, co-workers on their lunch breaks. It was also there that throughout the summer I would come to meet with interlocutors, see others in passing, and truly feel a part of Weibdeh life.
The beginning of my fieldwork brought with it unforeseen changes. Before arrival in the field, I had arranged a former friend and colleague, Khaled, to be my gatekeeper and key interlocutor throughout the summer. Upon arrival, I noticed that he was rather busy and was not making my research nor our first meeting a priority. We finally managed to arrange a coffee date (in Jabal el Weibdeh), 3 weeks into the fieldwork. First we caught up on life, and then Khaled shared that on June 26th, he would be traveling to Sweden and France for the duration of the summer. I swallowed my surprise and proceeded to listen to him talk about how it was an important opportunity for him to improve My.Kali, the LGBT e-magazine he started years ago, and how the exposure would change the very way he interacted with the community. It was at this time, with my cell phone on the table facing the surface, that Khaled quickly got up, picked it up and placed it across the room, saying “Sorry, but I just don’t know if there are things being recorded and I am a bit paranoid now.” Very surprised by this abrupt move, I wanted to understand what he was paranoid about. He explained, briefly, that after the IDAHOT event (greater detail will be given about the event in sub-chapter 1.3), certain things happened and he was afraid he was being watched, his every word recorded somehow. I was unsure as to how my cell phone would be working against him, and assured him I was not recording the conversation without
his permission. I had been taking notes throughout the discussion, but only with his knowledge and permission.
After the realisation that my intended gatekeeper would not be in the country for the summer, panic rang immediately in my ears, and I wondered what I might do. After we finished our third glasses of iced karkadeh (hibiscus flower tea), Khaled got a phone call from Nadir. Known as one of the “divas” of Amman’s gay scene, I met Nadir in 2010 at a luxurious party at a gay Hungarian man’s apartment. Khaled told Nadir I was with him and he told him to bring me along to Graffiti Café, where they were all having coffee, chain smoking and talking. With great trepidation I agreed, as I had not connected with Nadir prior to my arrival in Amman. I was nervous what opinion he might have of my research. Khaled and I walked the 3 blocks to Graffiti café, finding Nadir sitting on a couch surrounded by other men, some of whom I knew. Excitedly greeting each other, Nadir jumped up and welcomed me back to Amman, complementing my shoes and blouse. I returned the complements, asking if he had lost weight (in Arabic, ‘nahfan?’), much to his delight. This was the first group interaction I had experienced since my return to the field, and I felt that Graffiti Café created a warm, inclusive ambience for the group. One of the men, Zaid, whom I had seen in photos on Facebook through mutual friends but never knew, was the manager of the café thus creating a feel of ease and intimacy. I watched on as Nadir, with his vivacious personality, steered the group conversations. The topics ranged from Nadir’s recent trip to Saudi Arabia and how good the shopping was to an Egyptian fashion designer’s newest collection to the gay dating app called ‘Hornet’. At around 2 am, Zaid started to wipe down counters as a signal that it was time for everyone to go home. I walked outside with Nadir, Khaled and Zahir where we made plans to meet again.
A couple days after the discovery that Khaled would not be in Jordan for the remainder of the summer, I was discussing my research at the kitchen table with my flat mate. Charlotte was a German woman who has lived in Amman for the past 5 years. She asked me if I had met a man named Mousa, An Iraqi LGBT activist and author, Charlotte thought Mousa might be an ideal person for me to meet and potentially interview for my research. She sent a Facebook message connecting us,
and eager to meet, we set a time for the following day at Graffiti Café. As I walked the 5 blocks from my apartment to the café, I was anxious, wondering if Mousa might be willing to fill the role of a gatekeeper that I felt I really needed. When I walked into the café, I found him already there sitting at a table, pack of cigarettes and water bottle beside his thin arms. Mousa had a subtle calm to him, and as he looked at me through his thin-rimmed glasses, I felt I could be open with him. I shared with him a bit about my research, about the masters program itself, and why I had chosen to do it here in Amman. He then shared with me his story, and how he had moved to Amman 3 years ago because he did not feel safe or comfortable with the violence that had been incited against gay men in Baghdad. He moved to Amman first alone, and then his parents followed shortly after. Mousa spoke with calm reassurance, then, about how he chose to disclose his orientation to his parents:
Their initial reaction was “Are you sure? Is it just because you’re trying to support the cause? My parents had always been supportive of my activism in Baghdad, and they thought when I came out that it was out of support for the cause. When I assured them that no, this is who I am and how I feel, they understood. Now they have almost become LGBT activists themselves, trying to educate others and raise awareness,” he smiled. (Mousa, Amman, June 2015)
After Mousa had shared with me how he felt about activism in the Middle East, we began to discuss the notion of ‘community’. Mousa shared that he does not feel that there is a cohesive gay community in Amman, but rather pockets or smaller tribes that mirror greater Jordanian tribal culture. Several other interlocutors echoed this notion, and agreed when I posed the question myself. It was then, in that first sit down with Mousa, that I asked if he would agree to be my gatekeeper. Without hesitation he agreed, and it was almost as if on a first date you are deciding to get married. I laughed a nervous laugh of relief and he and I made plans to move forward with the research. Mousa began to list men he thought would be willing to meet and talk with me, giving brief summaries about them and their lives, and telling me about his group of friends and how he got to know them.
First we arranged meetings with Mousa’s close friends. Though he is not Jordanian, Mousa had become very familiar with the scene through connections, contacts, Facebook groups and spending time in Books@ Café and Jabal el Weibdeh. His close
friends, however, were men I had not heard of or seen before. Our first meeting was with his friend Sa’eed, at Books@ Café. Sa’eed connected with Mousa through the LGBT Awareness in Jordan page that he created earlier this year. The page, which incited a lot of attention from both within the community and outside of it, formed the basis of their friendship. After a three hour sit down with Sa’eed, in which he shared with me his story and some of his experiences which will be discussed later on in the thesis, we ordered the bill and he offered to drive Mousa and I home. Sa’eed chose an ABBA song to play as we drove through the winding street back to the First circle, gleefully singing along to “Dancing Queen”. After meeting Sa’eed, I met some of Mousa’s other close friends: Dalal, Khaldoon, Bilal, Muhannad and Noor. Every time we arranged to meet a friend of Mousa’s, I would ask them to choose the place. Without fail, they almost always chose to meet in Jabal el Weibdeh or in Jabal Amman on Rainbow Street, and we almost always ended up in Books@ Café, Turtle Green, Graffiti Café, or some other popular café in these two areas.
Several of Mousa’s closest friends highly preferred meeting at Books@ Café to other cafes in the areas. Books@, which I mentioned in the introduction chapter of the thesis, was the first restaurant/bar to open that appealed to ‘alternative audiences’. Though the owner, Madian, states that his intention was never to open a place exclusively for LGBT crowds, the general ‘come as you are’ feel to Books@ had it’s a niche appeal. Gradually the bookshop-bar-restaurant became widely known in West Amman as ‘for the gays’ – perhaps because the lack of other public spaces. Tom Boellstorff noted this similar phenomenon in Indonesia: “The places of gay and lesbi worlds are sites of belonging and recognition to find people who are the ‘same’(sama) as oneself because they too ‘desire the same’’(Boellstorff 2005: 126). Mousa briefly worked there so was on a first name basis with everyone who worked there, and knew them all well. Bilal in particular always chose to meet at Books@, as it was one of the few places where he could “get a hookah, drink, and check out hot guys”. I believe part of its success was the dire need for a place like it – a place that allowed for a certain degree of openness, a social world that was known and open. Anthropologist Richard Howard noted this arrangement of social worlds, and I agree that many of my interlocutors saw daily life “as being divided into distinct social worlds, and they
recognised that fact that in some sense they had to become different people in different locations in social space” (Howard 1996: 263).
Because Books@ appeals to a wide variety of people, being seen there was not necessarily implicating, but at the same time men had the opportunity to see who else was there and scan them out. Many of the men also saw this space as opportunity to open their Grindr app, as the app functions out of proximity. One night, as I sat with Mousa and his friends at table in the outdoor area of Books@, Dalal talked about spaces in Amman known for cruising. In this context, ‘cruising’ refers to drives around particular areas with the intention of finding men to hook up with or hit on. Bilal chimed in, saying that he doesn’t need to go to any certain areas and that he just shouts out from his window to men that appeal to him and it usually works. Curious about the nature of cruising as a method of picking up potential lovers, I asked if I could come along. They laughed and both Dalal and Bilal asked when I wanted to go. Later that night, we all piled into Bilal’s car to be dropped off at our respective homes. As we winded through the First Circle, Bilal rolled down his window and shouted evocative words like shagfeh (literally means ‘piece’, but translates to something akin to ‘hot piece of meat’ or ‘babe’) and sarookh (rocket), typically reserved for cat-calling women, at attractive men he saw walking on the street. Enthralled by this brazen behaviour, I asked Bilal if he does this often. With a smirk, he replied, “Whenever the mood strikes I do it. You’d be surprised how often it actually works”. A few weeks later, on a night when Mousa, Dalal and I found nothing to do, we decided to go for a drive in Shmeisani.
As we drove through the thick of the night, Amman in one of the warmest heat waves in 15 years, Dalal raised the volume on the radio. Haifa Wehbe, one of the Middle East’s most notoriously provocative female singers, pelted from the stereo, “The fire of desire from faraway separation…draw me close to your heart and give me warmth,” and I watched as Dalal curved and swayed his arms in the air, above the steering wheel, mocking the carnal, provocative nature of Haifa’s voice. I listened on as Dalal proceeded to tell Mousa about how he learned to belly dance from watching Haifa in her early 2000 music videos, treating the microphone as if it was her lover’s yearning mouth. Mousa laughed and teasingly called Dalal “sharmoota”, the Arabic word
meaning ‘whore’. Dalal’s response was a lovingly demure laugh, a tap on the wrist and the rejoinder, as if speaking to a female, “Oskoti!” (Quiet, you!).
We turned into the Shmeisani neighbourhood, which has been notorious for late night cruising, and according to Dalal, is known as a place you can also pick up men on certain nights in certain hours. Dalal, his effeminate nickname among friends, began to explain to me which areas were known for picking up men. We drove past the public hospital onto Al-Thaqafa Street (ironically means ‘culture’) and Dalal dangled his wrist out of the window pointing to men he could identity as gay. “Look, look! Did you see the way he eyed me! Oh he wants it!” he squealed. Then, to both my horror and delight, he shouted “Allah erhamni min jamalak!”(May God protect me from your beauty!), I watched, silently slouching in the backseat out of view, as the man made a grimace and continued in his conversation. I asked Dalal if he ever gets nervous making these “cat calls”, worried about repercussions or if someone might respond in a deleterious or aggressive manner. He responded, with pursed lips and an eye roll, “Why should I? They’re all gay, they just aren’t open about it, habibti,”(my love).
We continued to cruise through the night, patches of silence and patches of noise as we found parts of Amman that were saturated with men celebrating that night’s football match, parts with families picnicking and smoking hookah and more not so apparent parts with men looking to have sex. The night ends with us back in Jabal el Weibdeh, the fruit of our efforts futile, so we decide to buy packs of cigarettes and pizzas from Oliva. We sit on the trunk of Dalal’s car and I feel the shift as his normally buoyant mood becomes sombre. Mousa lights up a cigarette and they begin to talk about a man Dalal has been sleeping with, that he met from the mobile app Grindr. “As usual, it’s going nowhere,” quips Dalal. I inquire curiously as to why not. “Because they never do. There is no such thing as real love, there is no real relation, it’s all just sex,” he responds, as he lights a cigarette from Mousa’s pack. Until then, Dalal had not opened up about his desire to actually find something “real” or have a relationship. Most of his talks are about how he slept with some “rich guy” from Dubai that he met on Grindr, or how he thinks the waiter at the café we frequent is sexy. It was in that moment that the somewhat disheartening realisation hit me:
Finding a genuine relationship in this context was not an easy feat. While Grindr aided in terms of connectivity and finding other men whom you might have some sort of connection or interest in, it does not serve as a platform for creating a lasting, meaningful relationship. Dalal began to talk about the lack of examples of stable gay emotional relationships in Arab media, and mentioned the book ‘Aroos Amman (Bride of Amman). The novel, written in Arabic and published in 2012 by Jordanian author Fadi Zaghmout, tells the story of a closeted gay man who decides to marry a woman to fulfill his and his parents desires to have a family. Despite being in a committed secretive relationship to a man who openly identifies as gay, the character goes on with the marriage and continues to find ways to pursue emotional and sexual relationships with men outside of his marriage. In the end, his wife discovers the truth as he leaves the computer screen with chats with men open, and they decide to stay married despite the reality, the wife accepting that family is more important than the sexual intimacy of their marriage. Dalal sighed with each heavy puff of the cigarette, saying, “I cried when I read that book… Ya Allah, [God] I hated how he got married just for the people, and I hated that she stayed with him…” Mousa, who is staunchly against the act of marriage to appease society and family, strongly agreed. I said to Dalal, “Inshallah (God willing) you find a stable love that you don’t have to hide one day, habibi (my love)” as he continued to solemnly suck on his cigarette.
Image 4: Mousa and friend lounging at Graffiti Cafe
1.2 ‘GAY INTERNATIONAL’ AND LOCAL IDENTITY
On a particularly warm day in late August, I sat with Tareq, an 18-year-old I had met in passing several times in 2013, at Rumi Cafe. I got to know more about Tareq because I frequented a café he worked at this summer, and we often said hi in passing, or he would tell me about how stressed he was about his broken iPhone screen or his money situation. As we ordered our coffee and he began to roll a cigarette, we began to talk about American films that featured gay characters. “I just don’t feel I relate to them at all… I hate how it creates a standard for how to be gay,” he said, his thin fingers rolling tobacco into transparent sheets of paper. I had not seen this side of Tareq yet, as our interactions had been of a basic, friendly nature, sharing stories about new love interests or men we found attractive. A few times he sat with Mousa and I as we went over notes, but he was oblivious as to the specifics of my research. When I asked him if he might be willing to sit down and talk with me about some of his experiences, he agreed but said, “Well, I am not so into the gay scene, so I don’t know how helpful an interview with me might be. What information would you even
