Qantara: Bundestag President Julia Klöckner decided not to raise the rainbow flag above the Bundestag during this year's Pride Month, as has been customary since 2022. What was your reaction to this decision?

The Darvish: Frankly, it was shocking and upsetting. Raising the rainbow flag above the Bundestag sends a clear message that the queer community is recognised and supported. The decision felt like a retreat, a sign that people feel threatened by these symbols of support. Symbols can sometimes be more powerful than statements from politicians. Nevertheless, we, the activists, stood against the decision and organised a march to the Bundestag with a huge rainbow flag. We made our voices heard.

How was this year's Christopher Street Day (CSD) in Berlin?

It was fraught with contradictions. On one hand, there was a vibrant and colourful celebration; on the other, any expression of solidarity with Palestine was suppressed and silenced. 

This year, a noticeable shift has emerged within the queer community: many feel that the celebration is meaningless if there is no clear stance on pressing humanitarian issues. Ultimately, Pride is not just about music and celebration; it remains a space for fighting for the right causes and for freedom.

Are queer people being oppressed for showing solidarity with Palestine?

Yes, of course. Anyone expressing solidarity with Palestine faces pressure or attacks from the media and society. What is particularly saddening is that such attacks and division are emerging within our own community. There is a fear of our voices being silenced. My work is devoted to making them louder. For me, queerness is freedom and freedom is indivisible.

Let's set politics aside for a moment. Your style in belly dancing is distinctive; you wear a fez (tarboosh) and combine masculine and feminine styles. Why did you choose this approach?

At first, I tried belly dance costumes designed for men, but they didn't suit me and were uncomfortable. I have very masculine features, and I wanted to break that on the stage by wearing traditional female belly dance costumes. I found them both comfortable and more expressive of who I am. This is how the visual identity of "The Darvish" was formed—a belly dancer who is neither masculine nor feminine, but who reflects whatever I feel in the moment, and whatever message I want to convey.

I remember when I arrived in Germany at the age of 20; back then, my identity was still forming. At first, I acted according to what society deemed "appropriate". I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted to do here. I was living to fulfil a promise to my family: to study, work and eventually return to support them.

What stopped you from returning, as you promised your family?

I realised that I want to live my life for myself, not someone else. I don't want to live the same way I did in Syria. It was a double life marked by lies and trauma, including physical and verbal violence, among other things. Here, I have gained independence and the freedom to make my own decisions.

How did you first move to Germany?

I was in a relationship with someone in Syria who wanted to come to Germany, which was welcoming Syrians at the time, but he didn't want to leave without me. We agreed that he would go first and I would follow, but we broke up whilst I was still making my travel arrangements. 

A friend living in Germany was helping me apply to a German university, and after the breakup up I didn't want to waste all the effort I had put in, especially since it was likely my only chance to leave Syria. I arrived to begin my studies in September 2016 and later on applied for asylum.

The Assad regime was overthrown in December 2024. Have you visited Syria since then?

I believe what is happening in Syria is a failed political transition. It is neither a victory for the revolution nor a step towards freedom. True liberty cannot be granted to one group at the expense of another. What communities like Druze, Alawites and Christians are experiencing underscores the relentless violence Syrians continue to face. 

Some countries, including Germany, support the current regime in search of a "success story", yet the reality tells us something different. Yes, there is a UN commission of inquiry investigating the massacres in the coastal region, but I have little hope in this regime. 

Personally, I don't plan to return to Syria at this moment. I may visit my mother there, but if I can bring her here, I won't go back. I take pride in my Syrian identity and culture, but not in a society that threatens my life as a queer person.

What is the situation for the queer community there?

My friends tell me that the situation is very difficult right now and that there is a campaign against queer people because of their identity. Queers in Syria are paying a double price—facing both social and political repression as well as the impact of the war and the Assad regime. 

Their resilience in these circumstances is courageous, and for my part, I'm working to make their voices and fears heard by our European community.

You mentioned the personal changes you experienced after you arrived in Berlin. What drove this transformation?

Society as a whole, and the queer community—initially the broad European queer community, and then the Arab queer community. Berlin is a friendly city for queers, with a strong support infrastructure from various NGOs. Schemes like the LSVD's MILES project (offering support to queer refugees and migrants), helped me a lot when I first arrived.

Sadly, Berlin has changed a lot in recent years, not only politically, but in terms of the existence of safe spaces for the queer community; bars and nightclubs have started to disappear and close down. With the rise of right-wing forces, hatred and discrimination against queers, refugees and foreigners have increased. Personally, I sometimes don't feel safe on the streets.

Nevertheless, I often say I was reborn in Berlin. It is a melting pot of cultures and a refuge for marginalised people. Our collective awareness of what is "different" makes it stand out among other German cities.

In 2020, you shared your story in the book  "Zugzwänge... Flucht und verlangen" about the experiences of queer migrants. You also organise events in support of the Middle Eastern queer community. What motivates you?

Growing up, we didn't have role models in the media that represented the queer community. In Berlin, I started to receive messages after my performances from people saying that what I'm doing is important, and that I represent a very marginalised community. 

Many of us don't have families that show support. Some of us were kicked out or ran away from home at a young age. Some found themselves homeless without any income, and some resort to drugs to escape their problems. That is why psychological support for queer people is so important. 

Also, being Syrian, the image of my country is always reduced to war and destruction, which hurts. Yes, there is war, but there is life and joy as well, which I try to showcase in my performances.

Regarding the book, it was an exciting experience to document my journey to Germany and the pain I experienced as a Syrian, coming from a normal middle-income family, who decided to live far from death. I'm currently working on another book about my life in Syria and my experience in Germany.

How do you see the future of queer people in Germany amid the rise of the far right?

There is a sense of uncertainty, with attacks and discrimination on the rise, as I said earlier. I believe that the solution lies in the unity of the queer community, especially the Arab community, to confront the far right. The right wing is winning because we are not united.

This is an edited translation of the Arabic original. Translation by Ahmed Lamloum.