Who makes history?
How internet archives are telling the stories left out of the textbooks, with Takweer’s Marwan Kaabour
What do we do when the history that we've been taught seems to be lacking, missing, or incomplete? We sift through the archive entries, but never manage to fill the missing gaps. It’s as if the stories, which we know for a fact are true, seem to have never happened. It’s as if the people that we know came before us never existed.
The first step is to untangle the myth that claims that historical accounts are objective and impersonal, or that they are comprehensive and thorough. “History” as it is taught and disseminated is a version of the truth, chosen and edited by those who hold positions of power. They get to decide what form and extent of history is shared, and which historians are employed to complete that task. Those who are in positions of power are often wealthy straight white men, and the version of history that dominates is their story, not the full story.
Those whose narratives do not align with the hegemonic tale are left on the cutting room floor of history, or if you’re lucky, perpetually relegated to footnotes set in such a small type-size your eyes would mistake them for straight lines. Feminist history, queer history, migrant history, working class history, black history. The list goes on and on. Just imagine a world where the history we learn encompasses all marginalised groups. Our very understanding of life would be fundamentally different, kinder and well-rounded, rightfully threatening the partial truths of the status-quo.
I, for one, have decided to take matters into my own hands. If the history that was handed down to me seems to have left my people out, then I sure will write them back in. This is not with the intention of rewriting history, but rather enriching our shared knowledge, and the processes we take to get there. Towards the end of 2019, I started an Instagram page called Takweer. I wanted it to be a space where I can collect queer Arab references, which up until that point only existed in the conversations that I’d have with my queer Arab friends. The page grew in its following, and its sense of purpose became clear: Takweer is an expanding archive that is interested in exploring and celebrating queer narratives in Arab history and popular culture.
I did not anticipate the overwhelming support the page received very early on. There was a passionate thirst for the knowledge that I was sharing: the page resonated with people, particularly queer Arabs, because they were finally able to see and read themselves in their own history. No longer were we to exist in the tired dual narratives of either being in perpetual victimhood as documented in Western media, or the harbingers of Western and bourgeois values as parroted in the Arab world. We have our own complex, nuanced and long history, and now it’s available in a free, bilingual, accessible and highly visual archive (of sorts).
I’m not the only one embarking on this work: Takweer is just one of a growing number of Instagram archive accounts that focus explicitly on the histories of marginalised communities, particularly from the Global South. These include accounts like Black & Gay, Back in the Day which celebrates the history of Black queer people in Britain or the South Asia-focused Brown History. And despite its many faults, Instagram seems to be the arena of choice for many of these counter-archives, as it provides a flexible and accessible infrastructure.
There’s a lot to learn from the way the new-wave of “social media archivists” are operating. Posts act as archival entries, but unlike institutional archives, social media allows for information to be discussed, expanded on, critiqued and challenged. This means that the comments section, DMs and Instagram stories, shared with commentary, end up providing much needed nuance and context, and allows for the community to have its say.
As marginalised subjects, there is usually a lack in an “official” narrative or history, and so the archivist sometimes has to rely on oral histories, speculation, or gossip and rumour, which might be academically frowned upon, but I argue that they are of equally serious validity. In a multitude of ways, these digital archival practices are “queering” the archive in form, substance and methodology. I use queer here not (just) as a way to refer to people who are not heterosexual or cisgender, but rather as a non-normative approach that challenges methods set by a heteronormative, eurocentric, socio-economically privileged class.
The archive is moving away from being a static, singular entity, and towards a fluid, ever-changing and evolving one.
I started Takweer out of fear of having these narratives lost at a time when the truth is under attack from multiple fronts. Misinformation and fake news are being brandished in increasingly dangerous ways and the looming dominance of AI will continue to blur the line between fact and fiction. Add to it the deliberate destruction of archives and historical documents in current wars (the looting and destruction of a considerable amount of Ukrainian archives by Russian forces, or the complete destruction of Gaza’s Central Archives by the hands of Israeli forces) shows that history is being weaponised. Now more than ever, it’s crucial that we take control of the histories we share.
People are often looking for singularity in meaning. One truth, one history, one side of the story. The truth of the matter is, it is never singular. Knowledge, just like people, is multifaceted, contradictory, nuanced and almost never fully comprehended. The best we can do is to try and learn about these contradictions and nuances, instead of ironing them out. Opening up the discourse to a multiplicity of perspectives will positively complicate the narrative, and will inevitably inform the history of adjacent struggles. We all have something to learn from each other.
That’s all for today. As always, thank you for reading. We’ll see you next week, and you can catch us over at @morning.fyi in the meantime.