When Toronto-based photographer Naureen Shah (right) began to contact  South Asian lesbians in the US and Canada for a photo project, little did she know that she would be seen as an intruder in a close-knit community fiercely protective of its own.  “This is our little world.  Don’t enter it because we can’t enter the larger world,” she was told bluntly. 

            The closing of ranks was ironic, given that Naureen’s intention from the very beginning, far from being exploitative, had been to illustrate through her photographs, that non-white, sexually diverse individuals in a predominantly white society are a minority within a minority.  “South Asian lesbians are usually disowned by their families,” says Naureen.  “Most South Asians, even those living abroad, cannot comprehend the concept of lesbianism; they can’t understand how two women can have sex with each other.  Then, South Asian lesbians in the west can’t even associate with the mainstream lesbians because they’re categorised as women of colour and culturally as well, they’re very different.”  This dissociation from family and from society has resulted in an isolation that is reinforced by the community’s almost paranoid fear of exploitation. 

          The inspiration for Naureen’s project, which was to culminate in a photo exhibition, was a series of chance encounters with South Asian lesbians in Canada, many of whom surprised her with the ease with which they accepted their sexuality despite belonging to a marginalised section of society.  One of the lesbians whom Naureen met was a 50-plus Indian named Rita Kohli who runs a shelter for women in Toronto, and subsequently agreed to be one of the participants in Naureen’s project.  In the text titled “Refusing to be closeted”, that accompanies her portrait, Kohli writes: 

           What is it that I can say that gives meaning

           to the lived experiences of South Asian lesbians?

            As an older South Asian dyke living with a disability,

            I am a survivor of male violence.                         

            Now live in exile....

            a precarious existence in the face of the

            politics of power, privilege and oppression.

            As a lesbian engaged in cutting edge political work,

            I will be exiled again and again.

            Still, I continue to do my work

            With a sense of pride and dignity.

            To do otherwise would mean living with self-hatred.

            I refuse to be anything but who I am.

                                   

            “My conversations with such lesbians from the South Asian region led me to think that it would be very interesting to do a photo project with them in which the text, provided by the participants themselves, could reach out to those who do not belong to the lesbian community so that they can understand how lesbians feel,” says Naureen.  “ It was thus meant to be an educative process and did not have a purely artistic aim – I didn’t want to exploit the sexual aspect of their lives,” . 

            With the idea for the project taking shape in her mind, she applied for the coveted Canada Arts Council grant – along with about 5000 other applicants – and won.  That proved to be the easy part.  The uphill battle began when Naureen began contacting lesbian acquaintances and lesbian organisations for participants to the project.  At best, she was firmly rebuffed and at worst, she encountered open hostility.  “The ones who didn’t know me would ask me how I identified myself – as a dyke, a femme, or a bi-sexual – and when I told them I was straight, they would abruptly refuse,” recalls Naureen.  “‘How can you represent us?  You don’t know anything about us,’ they would say.”  Resentment was voiced that a heterosexual rather than a gay photographer had received the grant for the project with some even alleging that had Naureen been a lesbian, the grant would have been refused.  No amount of reiteration that she had not been required to mention her sexual orientation nor had she chosen to do so on her application for the grant would convince them otherwise.  Says Naureen, “They’re very complexed because they’ve been so discriminated against even in the west.” 

            It seemed that both sides were operating on entirely different wavelengths.  While the lesbian community perceived her concept as a kind of power play in which they would be passive subjects manipulated before the camera, Naureen visualised it as teamwork in which each participant would decide upon the text, and both would develop the visuals accordingly. 

            After being turned down by almost 50 South Asian lesbians during the course of over six months, Naureen was on the verge of shelving the whole project.  As a last resort, she posted a notice inviting participants for the project on the website of Desh – a South Asian-based organisation that promotes artists.  She avoided any mention of her own sexual orientation.  This time around, the response was more positive.  “I got six replies from New York alone,” she says.  “I got in touch with them immediately.  They didn’t ask me and I didn’t tell them – they assumed I was gay.”

            When she at last began the photography sessions, Naureen’s non-disclosure of her sexuality engendered mixed experiences.  While in some instances, the participants instinctively deduced that she did not share their sexual orientation, and did not make it an issue, all the shoots were not easy going.  One experience, midway through the project, was particularly disturbing.  Naureen had gone to the New York apartment of two young Sri Lankan women for a photography session.  Another lesbian friend of theirs also happened to be present at the time.  Two of the girls were bisexuals and one was a pure lesbian.  While discussing the visuals, one of the girls suggested that they be photographed topless.  Says Naureen, “There was nothing vulgar or obscene about it; she was a lovely girl, a butch with very short hair.  Then I photographed her partner and while I was taking pictures of the third girl, the first two spontaneously began to get physical with each other.  I shot that and they were very comfortable with it; in fact there were shots in which they were looking straight at the camera.”  The session over, Naureen began packing up her equipment and handed over the consent forms to the three women for their signatures, a legal requirement before she could print any of their photographs.  Suddenly, one of the girls asked, “So Naureen, what’s your sexuality?”  Recalls Naureen, “The three of them were just quietly watching and waiting for my response and I realised at that moment that ‘Oh my god! I have a complex about my own sexuality in this situation!’  I felt a little threatened because I was outnumbered.  I even considered whether I should lie and get out of there but in the end, with a very guilty face, I admitted that I was straight.”  The women’s reaction was swift.  They snatched back the consent forms they had just signed and tore them up, telling her emphatically that they did not give her permission to use their photographs.  Despite the rebuff, Naureen remained in touch with the women, keen to convince them that her intention had not been to deceive them.  Although they would not concede to her request to allow her permission to print the

            pictures, one of them did ultimately consent to an alternative proposal suggested by Naureen; that instead of her photograph, she would have an empty frame in its place accompanied by her text.  “I felt that that in itself would be a very strong statement.  As it turned out, the text is so beautiful.  In it she’s put down all the reasons why her picture is missing from the frame – it’s a matter of trust.”

            Following is an excerpt from the above mentioned text....

            I trusted Naureen

            Because she was South Asian...

            Because I thought she was Queer...

            Because she was a woman

            She had that nervous vulnerability

            I asked how she identified

            And she said, “Straight”

            But you said We lesbians need to show,

            SHOW WHAT?

            So today my picture and name are absent.

            I am not ashamed or scared

            because I want to tell my story.

            Being Queer doesn’t make me less Tamil

            And being Tamil doesn’t make me less Queer.

            I am not the “Other” to be studied

            Examined

            Or put on display.

            I have worked so hard

            To stand where I am now

            But, what if my parents see?

            This is my world,

            Not their world.

            They are Sri Lankan.

            I am American.......

            My photos and name are

            Absent ——— NOT a slip

            I want control over my own IMAGE 

                                                            

            It took Naureen one year to complete the project.  Titled, “Look beyond Labels,” it includes photographs of 13 women aged between 19 and 50 whose only criteria for selection was that they be South Asian and sexually diverse, which meant that both lesbians and bisexuals were eligible.  However, while Indians, Sri Lankans and Bangladeshis all make an appearance in the collection, Pakistanis are conspicuous by the absence.  According to Naureen, Pakistani lesbians have not yet come out, and she feels that until she includes some, her work will not be truly complete. 

            This omission notwithstanding, Naureen says, “With each of them it’s been a journey.  Each visual is different.  For instance, I photographed a Sikh girl who’s very traditional and lives with her family.  I photographed her in the gurdwara.  Her text is in the form of a letter to her mother explaining who she is.  Although she’s mentioned her sexuality to her family, her mother thinks that she’s involved with someone, a man, and this is just an excuse not to get married to anyone her family selects for her.”

            One portrait that Naureen cites as truly remarkable is that of a Bangladeshi father and daughter.  While the father, whom his daughter describes as “her best friend”, is totally supportive of her lifestyle, her mother refuses to acknowledge the issue of lesbianism altogether.  The rapport between the father and daughter lights up the portrait, which was taken at her apartment, the father having come over for the shoot. 

            “To be honest,” says Naureen, “I didn’t realise what I was getting into when I started.  In the beginning I was working on the similarities rather than the differences.  I said I’m a South Asian, a woman, but they said ‘no, you’re different; you’re an outsider.’  At first I was resentful of their attitude but by the end of the project I learnt to appreciate the differences.  The message I kept picking up was that it’s not just a matter of sexuality; it’s a matter of lifestyle.”  Naureen also discovered unexpected aspects of sexual politics at play in this alternate lifestyle.  For instance, she learnt that many lesbians resent bisexuals, describing them as “tourists in the world of lesbians” and “women who are not honest to the cause of lesbians.” 

            “A lot of my perceptions changed over the year I worked on this project,” says Naureen.  She mentions the shoot she did with an Indian bisexual in New York, a performing artist who is deeply immersed in the eastern music tradition.  Naureen photographed her in a benarsi  sari, bangles on her wrists, hands decorated with henna, kissing her black American female lover.  “I thought I would be repulsed,” says Naureen.  “But that wasn’t the case.  I also believe now that in most cases, lesbian orientation is inborn; many of the women said that even while they were growing up they knew that they were never attracted to men.”

      The texts that accompany the photographs offer a glimpse into the psyche of the women portrayed.  A vein of defiance runs through them, a challenge thrown to the accepted notions of sexuality and a refusal to be either objects of voyeurism or even pity.  Nevertheless, as Rita Kohli says so eloquently in her text, women like her “live in exile” and are destined to be “exiled again and again.”