Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir

Over the course of the events described in Hijab Butch Blues, the ways in which Lamya learned to combat the prejudices that she experienced as a brown, nonbinary, queer, Muslim person highlight the intersectional nature of discrimination. The term “intersectional” refers to the way that Lamya has faced bigotry along varying axes of her identity. As a child from an Urdu-speaking community, she was discriminated against by the light-skinned Arabs in the country where she grew up. As a nonbinary person, she has faced anti-trans discrimination in adulthood. As an observant Muslim, she was othered by members of the LGBTQ+ community in New York and faced anti-Muslim prejudice from others. As a queer person, she was confronted by anti-LGBTQ+ bias in the Muslim community. Lamya navigated these varying forms of discrimination in different ways, from playing the part of the “good” queer, to staying silent, to active confrontation, to, finally, learning when and how to effectively intervene on her own and others’ behalf.

Lamya frames her journey toward self-acceptance and love as an intersectional one, integrating all aspects of her identity. Her memoir outlines the arc of her growth as she embraced her nonbinary identity, her racial identity, and her identity as a devout Muslim who wears a hijab. As a child, she responded to the colorism, xenophobia, and class prejudice of her light-skinned, wealthy, Arabic-speaking community by distancing herself from others. At first, she felt hurt and bewildered by their bigoted comments, as when her friend Lina described dark-skinned men who look like Lamya’s father as “rapey.” She decided to distance herself from others and did not seek to confront those who express these kinds of sentiments.

The culmination of Lamya’s arc sees her learning to push back against the discrimination that she experiences but also set boundaries to protect her own energy, mental health, and personal safety. As a young adult with more agency, Lamya began to confront those on her university campus who asked her for her identification because she was wearing a hijab and visibly Muslim. However, she also learned the limits of this agency when challenged by immigration officials on a bus. She notes, “[A]fter countless encounters, I’ve learned how to talk to uniformed men with guns: lots of yes sirs, no sirs, calm breathing, and feigned nonchalance” (54-55). In early her twenties, she remained strident when confronting those who expressed bigoted views around her to the extent that “[her] fighting became a hashtag at work: every time someone said something problematic, [her] coworkers would call out ‘hashtag Lamya’” (267). However, she realized that these methods were unsuccessful in changing people’s minds. By the end of the memoir, Lamya has recognized that she needs to set “rules” for engaging with bigotry. Part of this change in tactic involves challenging these prejudices through her writing, noting, “There is an inherent quietness to reading that I hoped would create space for people to absorb, reflect, consider. Or, if they shared my views, to feel a little less alone in the crushing powerlessness of pointless fights” (270-71). By writing under a pseudonym, Lamya has learned to protect herself from bigots who might want to harm or harass her for her views while combating intersectional prejudices. Hijab Butch Blues represents the culmination of her approach.