The entire process of moving towards freedom of self-expression is further rendered tortuous when the family gets your marriage arranged in early teens, even before you have come out to them- a chance at cultural preservation in a foreign territory: this is presented as Samra’s fate and this line runs through the palms of the tales of so many other people that we will never know about. In that atmosphere, how does one ever find the scope for self-expression. Thus the legal and social constraints suffocates the very existence of a being, in that the very act of realising the self, being true to oneself becomes an act of rebellion, inviting the wrath of the social order and the state. While that identity traps Samra in one way, the process of coming to terms with her queerness is another facet which complicates her identity in a society wherein homosexuality is still a crime.Īlso read: Book Review| Things Fall Apart: Chinua Achebe’s Masterpiece That Fails To Represent Women Samra Habib spent her early years in Pakistan, born to Ahmadi Muslims parents, a sect that has faced denouncement and continues to remain a target for religious persecution due to their differing beliefs from the general Islamic preaching. Navigating a range of spatial logic, the book is about Samra Habib, a Pakistani-Canadian photographer, and her experience as a queer-identified Muslim woman who spent years in search of something as basic as “safety”, which by the virtue of being a human is the bare minimum one can expect of: from one’s country, society and community. Yet the matrix of identity within which individuals and groups are caught is such that safety and security continue to remain a far-fetched dream for so many.
A memoir that traces the journey of a queer Muslim, the book oscillates between the subject of the identity-web and freedom of self-expression. We Have Always Been Here by Samra Habib, published by Penguin Random House, Canada in 2019, is the gateway to understanding the question of visibility.
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