On the Violence of Survival - Esraa Husain

Esraa Husain (any/all pronouns) creative writer, researcher and community organiser based in Glasgow. They are the founder of U Belong Glasgow, a multilingual community platform that features BPOC, Queer and disabled creatives. Their writings can be found online and in print in The Skinny, Scottish BPOC Writers Network, Gutter, The Bottle Imp, and more. 

More info: 

https://linktr.ee/ebhusain

On the Violence of Survival 

Confinement in my lifetime embodies multiple constitutions. Confinement in a dress code, in a language, in a certain gender expression, in a jail cell, confinement because of bigotry and confinement in memory. Sometimes, one incident can combine more than one form of confinement. I remember I was arrested for my gender nonconformity in 2015 which is a crime according to article 198 of the Kuwaiti penal code.

[I remember playing with sand,]

The officer asked me about ‘tahweel’. I remember not understanding what the question was. In Arabic, the word could mean a movement of location, or it could also refer to movements and transitions in the body, my body. Is the officer asking about my gender transitioning? I can play along and claim: it’s only a buzzcut. It’s only my gym outfit that appears masculine. Yes, it is true all my clothes are from the men’s section, but only because they are comfortable! And my body hair? That’s just because I’m lazy and don’t feel like shaving all the time! It’s not an invitation to question my gender. The other officer stopped using my official registered name and started calling me a ‘Mohammad’, to affirm his belief of my gender and to belittle me by renaming me without my consent. But it just leaves me confused because my boy-name is actually Hasson not Mohammad. I’m also wearing a navy T-shirt that says ‘there are more than two genders’, in English, but I bet they cannot read into that. 

[I remember a minute of loving; being embraced,]

I remember being taken into the storage room of the Forensic Evidence Building. I see a trans woman getting ready to be captured by his camera. I noticed her sleeping gown, and a tattoo of red lips on her left thigh. She plays with her hair and looks at me. I remember him asking me to leave and within that same breath asking her to take her clothes off. He said, ‘wait outside while I deal with him’. She is getting undressed, and I see her breasts, then I leave. 

[I remember the barbeque with my cousins in AlKhiran resort,]

I remember how the system failed me in my early twenties, being jailed for the first time, for imitating the opposite sex. I shared the cell with foreign women asking the officers in fragmented Arabic mixed with English why I was placed among them instead of being inside the men’s block. One officer shares with the cell block that my official gender identification is female to ease the women’s anxieties and concerns towards my presence, then he closes the cell’s door. He uses a tissue as he does this, not wanting his flesh to touch the handle. Their hostility calmed, two women approached me and showed me their purple bruises and scars. Another woman offered me a bottle of water. I remember I withdrew, not for the last time. I failed to show my friendliness and laid on the floor facing the wall in a foetus position.

[I remember my first tattoo being inked around my arm,]

I found out that being jailed in the UK comes under different terms. Within the asylum system here, being jailed is being ‘detained’ or ‘confined’ – according to the Home-Office documents. I remember asking an officer in Aberdeen what he meant when he told me he would ‘detain’ me, and him addressing as many words as he could in English to explain but failing to mention the part where he would interrogate me with a recorder in a room then lock me in a cell with an exposed toilet, under constant surveillance. He thought the issue was connected to translation and me not being a native speaker. Saying ‘detain’ might make him feel better, but eventually it is me being jailed in a cell, yet again, under a different constitution that is deemed to be tolerant and accepting, in opposition of the Kuwaiti penal code that is unconstitutional and violating Human Rights. Language is full of suspense and translation is sometimes tragic. I left one country for another; I left one cell to be incarcerated into another. 

[I remember reaching the summit of Ben Lomond,]

The brutality of confinement that I have witnessed growing up in Kuwait continued under different names in the UK. The brutality of racism is the one most prominent. I want to address the confinement that I alongside thousands of Black and people of colour have faced when the racist riots took place in the UK in 2024. Forced to stay indoors to avoid attacks. Feeling so helpless against fascist groups that felt bold and comfortable enough to terrorise thousands of people with no consequences. This memory is not mine to hold, it’s for all of us. For the history records. For better futures. 

[I remember flames and waves while chasing the Northen Lights,]

It was a sunny Sunday. I went to the local gym for a quick session. I came back home to cook brunch for my girlfriend, grilled halloumi and tomatoes, smashed avocado on toast and a fruity smoothie. We decided to visit a friend to gift him with a lamp. Holding my girlfriend’s hand and walking side by side. Our friend lives in the same neighbourhood as ours, right next to the local post office. He came downstairs to meet us. We hug and laugh and joke. He loved how colourful the lamp was, and I loved how colourful my day was, feeling safe, confident and so in love with my girlfriend, and so grateful for my friend’s warmth and joy. Then there is a white man walking towards us, interrupting, cursing under his breath, and asking us to fuck away. It was a moment of unease, but we silently agreed on moving away from him both physically and mentally. We bring back the focus to our friendship and we share how lovely the lamp would be if placed in the living room and noting how lovely is my friend’s hairstyle. My friend says it’s difficult to find a good service for his Afro hair texture in Glasgow. Both my friend and my girlfriend mention the abundance of services tailored to the Black communities in London, including barbers and hair salons. The white man comes back, and this time he yells at my friend, asking about his name, his home address, and the reason he stands in front of the building’s door. My friend explains that he lives in this building and says, ‘I’m your neighbour’. The white man kept questioning my friend about his presence, while completely ignoring the presence of my girlfriend and I who are standing right there with him. I step forward placing my arm in front of my friend’s body and pushing him behind me. I face the white man and say: ‘don’t speak to my friend like this’. The white man reaches his arm and starts to strangle me. I can’t speak anymore. I kick and push. My friend and my girlfriend are trying to help me. Everyone is shouting and pushing. I suffocate. The white man keeps choking. Once we broke from the white man’s grip, I roared. 

[I remember deadlifting 92 KG,]

I’m at work on Monday. Attending meetings with my team and chatting about developing a programme to be delivered at the Refugee Festival Scotland 2025. Meeting with volunteers. Replying to emails. Saying hi to coworkers. Going on a lunch break and seeing the white man’s face in every white man’s face. I’m fuming. I’m at my second job on Tuesday. Attending meetings with my team and chatting about organising activities for the Just Active group. Meeting with community members. Replying to emails. Saying hi to coworkers. I’m upset with my girlfriend, my friend and the world. I call Breathing Space phone number before going to bed. I’m working on my PhD on Wednesday. Writing and editing a chapter to submit to my Annual Progress Review. Replying to emails. Meeting with my supervisors. I can’t go to sleep. I call Victim Support Scotland. It’s my second working day at my second job on Thursdays. Attending meetings with my team. Replying to emails. Wishing my coworkers a nice weekend. Crying while walking back home. I’m working on U Belong on Friday. Organising the next event titled Fighting Stereotypes + Community Meal. Meeting with participants. Replying to emails. Then switching to the PhD work; more reading and more writing. More editing and more self-doubt. The weekend arrives – recovery. 

[I remember the coldness of the Fairy Pools in Skye,]

[Memories of Freedom.]