Commentary
I could have been Omar Mateen
Pulse Nightclub gunman reportedly used gay hook-up apps
Nemat Sadat (Photo courtesy of Nemat Sadat)
Like Omar Mateen, I grew up Afghan, American, Muslim, and (if he truly was gay) a repressed homosexual. Although I grew up in a household that didn’t support the Taliban, I was still socialized in the same cultural milieu that had a zero tolerance for gays.
In my teens; while living in Irvine, Calif., I was cursed by my father, who repeatedly called me a kuni, a derogatory word equivalent to “fag,” because I loved to dance and acted effeminate. At the mosque, I heard sermons preach homosexuality as an illness and sin and justify the death penalty for gays and lesbians. My entire youth was tainted with fear, guilt, intimidation, shame and untold repression stemming from my same-gender attraction and the psychological violence I was subjected to because of my Afghan roots and Muslim faith.
When I reached adulthood; I was pressured by my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and family acquaintances to act manly and marry a woman. I spent years dodging the issue and pursued higher education as a stalling tactic until I found myself on the fringes and realized there was no escape. Fretting that I drifted too far away from our tribe and traditions, my parents colluded with relatives to reign me in and forced me to marry a woman even after they knew I was gay. Thankfully, I refused.
So it could very well be that long before Mateen turned his internal rage into a violent rampage at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando last week, that he, too, was a victim of honor violence. Since families give themselves the right to kill anyone who brings dishonor and shame to the family, Mateen had no option of ever coming out if he actually was a closeted gay man. As someone who has averted honor violence and religious bigotry, I know firsthand the struggle of the tens of millions of L.G.B.T.Q. (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer/questioning) persons within Muslim communities who continue to suffer in silence from the ongoing persecution and the inability to reconcile their homosexuality with Islam.
After I came out to my immediate family in December 2009, my parents believed I was going through a phase and that being gay was a lifestyle choice. My father, a well-known Afghan intellectual of his generation and a former ambassador of Afghanistan to West Germany, believed that homosexuality was a western invention, used by the United States, to subvert Islam. My father, like Mateen’s father, are byproducts of the ferociously homophobic society they grew up in.
A 2013 study conducted by the Pew Research Center showed that 99 percent of Afghans favor sharia law in Afghanistan. Under sharia, is it is permissible to kill homosexuals since it is considered the worst sin in Islam. In fact, LGBTQ people are criminalized three times in Islam. The first, for the act of liwat, or sodomy; the second, by doing zina, or having unlawful sexual relations outside of heterosexual marriage; and the third time for assuming an LGBTQ identity which threatens the predominance of cisgender Muslim men over women and minorities. In other words, in the eyes of devout Muslims, LGBTQ people are regarded as enemy combatants and an affront to the Islamic way of life.
To protect their Muslim faith and the image of Islam, pro-Islamist activists and scholars argue that the roots of homophobia in the Muslim World stems from western colonialism (such as the British buggery laws) and suggest that Islamic societies have historically been tolerant towards homosexuality. This deceptive obfuscation isn’t helpful or true. In fact, Islam has been the main source of LGBTQ persecution in Muslim communities for a millennium before European imperialism and since Muslim-majority countries achieved their independence in the 20th century. The only historical example of homosexuality of having been decriminalized in the Islamic past was during the Tanzimat reforms of 1858 in the Ottoman Empire. The Tanzimat reforms, heavily influenced by European ideas, were based on secular thinking and nothing to do with Islamic teachings.
Therefore, the one constant in the criminalization of LGBTQ people imposed by Muslim purists and Islamic theocracies like Iran and Saudi Arabia are the passages within the Quran and Hadith that legitimate violence against homosexuals. So the tactic of blaming the West while turning a blind eye to the plight of LGBTQ people in the Muslim world is nothing but a pure distraction from the underlying issue.
If Mateen was gay, he succumbed to the social pressures of conforming to a militantly patriarchal culture, which caused him to live a double life and fail to properly integrate into American society. I, on the other hand, took a detour from the norm but have also suffered incredibly for the post-conventional position I have taken.
In 2012, I returned to my birthplace, Kabul, after living three decades in exile, to work as a professor of political science at the American University of Afghanistan. While I tried to remain discreet, I was still persecuted for being gay. Instead of caving into demands of orthodox Muslims, I fought back by meeting queers in the Afghan capital, mobilizing a gay movement and using social media to promote LGBTQ rights. A year later I was forced to resign from my post and threatened by the Afghan government that I would be arrested, drawn into court, and handed down a life sentence or the death penalty, even though I am a naturalized U.S. citizen, on allegations that my presence and self-expression was destabilizing the social order of Islam. I fled to New York City and in August 2013, I came out publicly to the whole world. Since then I’ve been disowned by much of my family and relatives, deserted by many of my friends and ostracized by most Afghan Americans and Muslim Americans.
While I opted for freedom, it has come at a huge cost. I’ve endured poverty, ending up on the streets and living in homeless shelters. After receiving numerous death threats and a formal fatwa, I continue to live in hiding. Yet, I remain steadfast in advocating for gay liberation in my homeland and across the Muslim world so that future generations of LGBTQ people don’t have to endure the hardships and trauma I’ve encountered.
In Muslim-majority countries, LGBTQ people suffer from mob squads and state-sanctioned terror on top of the honor violence imposed by their families. The suffering LGBTQ people endure in the chaotic underworld of Muslim communities is the hidden war, which we are now beginning to understand with my testimony and scrutinizing the life of Omar Mateen.
LGBTQ victims of honor violence, even here in the United States, are too embarrassed and scared to come forward since homosexuality is still a taboo among Muslims and there’s a culture of stigma about seeking help in the community. Most LGBTQ Muslims would rather die or suffer in silence instead of taking the uncharted path I’ve taken.
If we want to have an honest discussion about why Mateen killed 49 people and injured 53 others, then we have to end the denial and address the root cause.
Last week’s Orlando massacre proves that preventing Islamic indoctrination in the United States is a first step in ensuring the well-being of our society, and safeguarding our national security. Those who’ve experienced honor violence and radicalization have two choices: They can fall deeper into the trap of extremism as Mateen did by embarking on the path to martyrdom by expunging his sins and seeking entry into paradise by murdering other sinners or they can break out of the mold as I did by coming out gay and speaking up even if it means offending Muslims who hold parochial views about gender identity and sexual orientation.
Once we accept the bitter truth that religious indoctrination played a big role in brainwashing and weaponizing an American-born citizen to become an armed Jihadi, we will be able to prevent future terrorist attacks and help LGBTQ Muslims trapped in unending turmoil. Leaving Islam’s punitive line towards homosexuality out of the conversation will ensure that Muslim communities continue to incubate more Omar Mateens.
Commentary
‘A New Alliance for a New Millenium, 2003-2020’
Revisiting the history of gay Pride in Washington
In conjunction with WorldPride 2025, the Rainbow History Project is creating an exhibit on the evolution of Pride: “Pickets, Protests, and Parades: The History of Gay Pride in Washington.” It will be on Freedom Plaza from May 17-July 7. This is the ninth in a series of 10 articles that share the research themes and invite public participation. In “A New Alliance for a New Millenium” we discuss how Whitman-Walker’s stewardship of Pride led to the creation of the Capital Pride Alliance and how the 1960s demands of the Mattachine Society of Washington were seen as major victories under the Obama administration.
This section of the exhibit explores how the Whitman-Walker Clinic, a cornerstone of the community since the 1970s, stepped up to rescue Pride from a serious financial crisis. The Clinic not only stabilized Pride but also helped it expand, guiding the festival through its 30th anniversary and cementing its role as a unifying force for the city’s LGBTQ population. As Whitman-Walker shifted its focus to primary healthcare, rebranding as Whitman-Walker Health, a new era began with the formation of the Capital Pride Alliance (CPA). Born from the volunteers and community partners who had kept Pride going, CPA took the reins and transformed Capital Pride into one of the largest free LGBTQ festivals in the country. Under CPA’s stewardship, the festival grew to attract hundreds of thousands, with multi-day celebrations, headline performers, and a vibrant parade.
This period saw Pride become a true cross-section of the community, as former Capital Pride Alliance executive director Dyana Mason recalled: “It was wonderfully diverse and had a true cross section of our community… Everybody was there and just being themselves.” The festival’s expansion created space for more people to find a sense of belonging and affirmation. This growth was made possible through the support of sponsors, volunteers, and a city eager to celebrate-but it also sparked ongoing debates about the role of corporate funding and the meaning of Pride in a changing world.
National politics are woven throughout this era. In a powerful moment of recognition, Frank Kameny — the architect of D.C.’s first White House picket for gay rights and a founder of the Mattachine Society — was invited to the White House in 2009. There, President Obama and the U.S. government formally apologized for Kameny’s firing from federal service in 1957, a symbolic act that echoed the earliest demands of DC’s own Mattachine Society, the city’s first gay civil rights organization founded in 1961. The 2009 National Equality March revived the spirit of earlier mass mobilizations, linking LGBTQ rights to broader movements for social justice. The 2010s brought landmark victories: “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” was repealed, marriage equality became law. These wins suggested decades of protest had borne fruit, yet new generations continued to debate the meaning of true liberation and inclusion.
Our exhibit examines how the political edge of Pride has softened as the event has grown. As the festival expanded in scale and visibility, the focus on protest and activism has sometimes faded into the background, even as new challenges and divisions have emerged. Some voices have called for a return to Pride’s more radical roots. The 2017 Equality March for Unity and Pride drew 80,000 people to D.C., centering intersectional struggles — police violence, immigrant rights, trans inclusion — and exposing the widening rift between mainstream LGBTQ progress and the lived realities of the most vulnerable. The question remains: Are LGBTQ officers marching in uniform a sign of progress or a painful reminder of Pride’s roots in resistance to state violence? During Capital Pride 2017, activists blocked the parade, targeting floats sponsored by corporations linked to weapons manufacturing, pipeline financing, and other forms of oppression.
As we prepare for WorldPride and the anniversaries of D.C.’s first Gay Pride Day Block Party and the White House picket, the Rainbow History Project invites you to experience this living history at Freedom Plaza. Through archival images and the voices of organizers and participants, you’ll discover how Pride in DC has been shaped by resilience, reinvention, and the ongoing struggle to ensure every voice is heard.
Zoey O’Donnell is a member of the Rainbow History Project. Vincent Slatt is RHP’s senior curator.
Commentary
A conversation about queers and class
As a barback, I see our community’s elitism up close
In the bar, on the way to its now-Instafamous bathrooms, there’s a sign that reads, “queer & trans liberation means economic justice for all.”
I remember seeing that sign the first week the bar opened, and ever since I often find myself reflecting on that message. I stand fully in agreement. That’s why laws protecting queers in the workplace are essential, for far too often we are targeted otherwise. It’s also why I love working at the bar, since it provides opportunities for queers from all over the spectrum to earn a living. At a time when I gave myself space to pursue art, it was the bar that enabled me to do so.
It’s one thing to support the LGBTQ community in spirit, but that spirit means jack in a capitalist society if viable economic opportunities don’t exist. Speaking of jack, there’s a fellow barback named Jack who I fangirl over often. Jack is a decade younger than me, but damn I wish I had his sex appeal at his age (or any age, for that matter). He also has a mustache that easily puts mine to shame.
Jack not only agrees but took things one step further. “Economic inequality IS a queer issue,” he told me, “especially as we move into the most uncertain period of American politics I have ever lived through, it is apparent our identity is now a fireable offense.”
Uncertain is right. We’re fresh off the heels of a trade bonanza, one caused for literally no reason by our current commander in chief. Yet there emerged a strange division when discussing the trade war’s “unintended” consequences. For working class comrades like Jack and myself, we’re stressed about increasing prices in an already tough economy. But the wealthier echelons of our country had something else on their mind: the spiraling stock market. This alone highlights the story of our economic divide, where the same event produces two separate concerns for two distinct classes.
This is not to say the stock market is not important, but sometimes the media forget many Americans don’t own stock at all, including a vast majority of people between 18 and 29. In fact, according to Axios, the wealthiest 10 percent of Americans own 93 percent of the entire stock market, with the richest 1 percent holding $25 trillion — that’s right, trillion with a “t” — in market value. So, when the president reversed course on trade, it was less about high prices hurting everyday Americans and more about the dent created in the wealth of the wealthiest. And I’ll admit: that bothers me a lot.
If there is any takeaway from Trump’s trade war, it should be this: Economic inequality is the highest it has been in decades and, if left unchecked, will destroy the fabric of our country. We are steadily moving toward oligarchy status—if we’re not there already, that is—and it seems to grow worse with each passing year and administration. But in a city of D.C. gays who often skew corporate, I wonder: Are we all on the same page here?
After becoming a barback, I have my doubts. From questions about what else I do, to comments encouraging me to work hard so that I can be a bartender one day, I quickly learned the gay world is not too fond of barbacking. Barebacking, sure, but not barbacking. And hey, I get it—we’re not the alcohol hookup at the bar. Still, we are part of the service industry, and while some people are incredibly kind, you’d be surprised at how many turn up their noses at us, too.
Recently, I’ve come to realize my class defines me as much as my orientation does, if not more. Naturally, when you come from a rough neck of the woods like I do, it’s easy to feel out of place in a flashy city like D.C., which Jack noticed, too. “Anyone from a working class background could testify to that,” he said. “I don’t really know anyone from true upper class backgrounds, but I’d imagine their experience is one that leans into assimilation.”
Assimilation is a key word here, for admittedly gays love to play with the elite. Often, we don’t have children, meaning more money for the finer things in life, but that also means we may not think about future generations much, either. I’ve written before that our insecurity growing up has us ready to show the world just how powerful gays can be—power that comes in trips to Coachella and Puerto Vallarta, or basking in the lavish houses and toys we own. There’s already a joke that gays run the government, and corporate gays kick ass at their jobs as well. So, given the choice between fighting inequality and keeping a high-paying job, I must admit I have a hard time seeing where D.C. gays stand.
Admittedly, it worked out in our favor before, given that many corporations catered to our economic prowess over the years. But look at what’s happening now: Many corporations have kicked us to the curb. Protections are being stripped from queers, particularly for our trans brothers and sisters. Law firms are bowing down to Trump, offering hundreds of millions in legal fees just for their bottom line. All of this will hurt both queers and the working class in the long run, so again I ask: Corporate gays, where do you stand? Because if you remain complicit, that’s bad news for us all.
I don’t want to sound accusatory, and I hate being a doomsday type, so allow me to end this on a better note. Strength is not about celebrating when times are good. Arguably, true strength emerges when times get tough. These are tough times, my friends, but that also makes now the perfect opportunity to show the world just how strong we are.
At a time when the world is pressuring us to turn our backs on each other, we must defy them to show up when it counts. Corporate gays—now more than ever, at a time when the economy is turning its back on queers, we need you. We need you to stand up for the queer community. We need you to make sure no one gets left behind. We need you to show up for us, so that we can show up for you, too.
Ten years ago, the economy didn’t turn queer out of nowhere. The economy turned queer because we made it turn queer.
And if we did it once, surely we can do it again.
Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer and barback.
Commentary
Fight against TERFs goes global
UK Supreme Court on April 17 ruled legal definition of ‘woman’ limited to ‘biological sex’
After last week’s U.K. Supreme Court ruling that reduced the legal definition of “woman” to “biological sex,” footage of a group of women celebrating the decision with champagne spread virally across the media. These women are known as trans-exclusionary radical feminists, or TERFs.
In response, thousands of transgender people and their allies — including parents, siblings, and pro-trans celebrities — flooded the streets of London, Sheffield, Manchester, Cardiff, and other cities across the U.K. on April 19, to protest the erosion of trans rights. The fight between TERFs and trans* people have become more visible to those outside of the British LGBTQ+ community.
But this isn’t just about the U.K. The problem has gone global. For me, as an openly trans person who has lived in four different countries, it feels deeply personal.
For years, British TERFs have been spreading misinformation about gender around the globe, collaborating with far-right politicians and inspiring anti-trans violence.
At a pro-trans protest I attended in Sheffield, one of the speakers, Sofia Alatorre, a trans woman from Mexico now living in the U.K., dedicated her speech to the ways British TERFs, with their powerful movement supported by celebrities, such as “Harry Potter” author JK Rowling, are influencing people in South America.
“When I go to Mexico now, I don’t just hear people talking about transsexuals as degenerates anymore. Instead I hear about what bathroom we should use, or whether we belong in sports,” Sofia told the Washington Blade. “These are not lines that come from Mexico. They are finely crafted narratives designed to drive a wedge by weaponizing ‘common sense’ gut reactions to complicated subjects. Because without these, they’d have to face the uncomplicated reality: We are just people trying to live our lives happily. In the U.K., the entire media infrastructure is sympathetic with ‘gender critical’ TERF ideology to the point that sympathy blurs into outright support. With these lines finding footing in the Global South, it seems clear that the U.K. has become an exporter of transphobia.”
Unfortunately, TERFs even showed up at a trans event, attempting to argue with the speakers.
One of the trans* organizers of the Sheffield demonstration, who preferred to remain anonymous, expressed their love for the trans* community and trans* people. They emphasized that they are not expressing hatred toward TERFs — they simply want them to reconsider their position.
“If you’re a TERF and reading this, we don’t hate you,” they said. “We don’t hate you. There is nothing I hold in my heart but deep pity for you. You do not know the community of love that we have as transsexuals, and you only know your community of hatred. If you are tired of feeling nothing but hate, come and talk to us, we’re nice, I promise. This protest is a rallying cry that we can’t lose, that we are all here for each other, and that we can do whatever the f*ck we want when we work together. We may be out here today in rage, but what keeps us alive is love.”
But it doesn’t seem like TERFs are ready to show love toward trans people — or to see trans women as their sisters. At our local protest in Sheffield, they were so agitated, jumping toward speakers and trying to engage with them, that the police had to intervene and remove them to prevent a fight. It reminded me of TERFs’ behavior I encountered in St. Petersburg, Russia, and in Russian-language online spaces.
Unfortunately, it’s not just South America that has been influenced by UK TERFs. The country I currently live in is known within European and U.S. queer communities as “TERF Island.”
Some trans Americans even avoid traveling to the U.K., afraid of the influence that Rowling holds over millions due to her wealth and cultural impact.
In Russia, Ukraine, and other Eastern European countries, so-called “radical feminism” is the most prominent feminist movement. Radical feminism, which emerged in the 1960s, is based on the belief that patriarchy is the root of all other forms of oppression.
In modern Eastern Europe, this has led to a situation where many feminists fail to acknowledge racism, ableism, and transphobia — excluding everyone except cisgender people, Slavic, atheist, and able-bodied people from their movement. Historically, radical feminists have not focused much on the trans* community, but with the rise of trans* activism in the 2000s, many became fixated on targeting trans people.
Many of my Russian-speaking trans friends have been badly bullied by local TERFs. Some even experienced suicidal thoughts and severe anxiety due to online harassment from them. And these TERFs weren’t developing their ideology locally — they were importing it. The anti-man rhetoric was inherited from American prominent radical feminists like Andrea Dworkin and Ti-Grace Atkinson, while the transphobic elements were “exported” to Eastern Europe, primarily from the U.K. and specifically Scotland.
Even before Rowling, there was Magdalen Berns, a Scottish TERF YouTuber who was extremely popular among Russian girls and women. It was Berns who helped bring Rowling into anti-trans activism.
I spoke with Sophie Molly, a Scottish trans activist and politician who ran as an Independent MP candidate in the 2024 U.K. general election for the Aberdeen South constituency.
TERFs ruthlessly harassed her during her campaign.
“Transphobia is institutionalized in the UK. It is systemic and it’s getting worse with each passing day” she told me. “Local TERF have a slew of legal professionals on their team too. Like Sarah Phillimore and Joanne Cherry. TERFs have been continually lobbying the government to oppress trans and gender non-conforming people. Dragging their rights and freedoms through the courts. All under the pretense of protecting the rights of women. In reality these conservative groups are backed and funded by billionaires. Billionaires that want to remove trans people from public life, due a personal prejudice they hold. The majority of TERFs are wealthy and privileged white women. Most of them are not LGBTQIA+. They have obscene amounts of money to spend on persecuting a tiny minority. Trans women are women — no matter what the U.K. Supreme Court dictates.”
But another problem of TERFs is that they are policing women as well. Even the Supreme Court decision targeted women.
“The [Supreme Court] decision is an attack on the rights of both trans people and women,” Sophie said. “It reduces women to their anatomy, which is extremely regressive and misogynistic in my opinion”
Women for decades have fought to ensure their lives wouldn’t be defined by the sexual organs they were born with. TERFs are now doing exactly that — attempting to reduce womanhood to biology, while also dictating how women should behave, all in the name of “sisterhood.”
Modern British TERFs have received support from figures like musician, far-right influencer, and convicted murderer Varg Vikernes, as well as ultra-conservative organizations such as the Russian Orthodox Church, an institution notorious not only for justifying the war in Ukraine with homophobic rhetoric but also for its long history of opposing women’s rights. This kind of “feminism” is a global threat, not only to trans* people but also to girls and women everywhere.
Editor’s note: The author uses trans* in order to be inclusive of nonbinary and gender queer people.
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