President of SQM, referred to here as N.H.* for privacy concerns, tells Fairfax Media that after the horrific Pulse Nightclub shooting in Orlando, Florida, members decided to turn their support group into a revolutionary advocacy network in order to be able to “do more”. The primary goals of SQM are to let queer Muslims know that they are not alone, to provide queer Muslims with a sense of community and opportunities to form social connections and support networks, to provide resources for queer muslims so that they're able to reconcile their faith with their sexual and gender identity (and so that their families may understand their journey), and to strengthen family bonds through family remediation workshops. Recently, SQM has proposed a spiritual counselling program that will primarily take the shape of short-term crisis counselling and assistance with family reconciliation. N.H., a 48-year-old Muslim lesbian, admits that while her inter-familial experience has been free of violence she is well versed in stories of other LGBTQ Muslims, and the pain they've had to endure. “Lives are being ruined by the impact of society’s attitudes towards LGBT Muslims,” she says. The intention of SQM is to step in where more normative social services and community support fall short. “We act as a referral service, but with a personal touch. Our organisation is dedicated to supporting queer people of Muslim background, and especially to those who don’t want to renounce their faith.”

Currently, the SQM board includes members from South Asia, Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and the Caucasus. N.H. tells Fairfax Media that “there are roughly 50 in the Sydney community that have made contact [with SQM] and there are hundreds more who don't know we exist". Thirty-year-old Ahmed, a Sydney-based engineer, joined SQM after noticing that LGBTQ services were not providing aid that was specific to the needs of Muslims. During his attempts to navigate Muslim spaces, Ahmed, who identifies as gay, found that he couldn't be open about his sexuality, which compelled him to remain closeted so he could freely practice his faith. These challenges of being Muslim and gay have shaped Ahmed’s frame of reference in ways that he finds white LGBTQ Australians don't seem to understand. “They do not get why religion is important to some LGBTQ Muslims,” he says. Prior to his involvement with SQM, Ahmed was helping other queer Muslims who were battling the depression and anxiety that comes with attempts to reconcile their Muslim identity with their queer identity. “After joining SQM I have met many Muslims just like me who are comfortable with their Muslim and LGBTQ identity. Together, we are working to empower LGBTQ Muslims."

Siobhan Irving is an anthropologist finishing a PhD at Macquarie University who became involved with SQM in 2014. Before joining the organisation, her work focused on sexuality and sexual health among young, unmarried Muslims. Irving has been on the executive board since the organisation’s incorporation, and assists SQM by using her research findings to guide the aims and scope of their activities. Irving stresses that members of the wider LGBTQ community, and their allies, should understand that there is no central religious authority in Islam, and that “there are only Muslims and the canonical sources of Islam such as the Qur’an and the hadith”. The dominant narrative that seems to overwhelm any and all coverage of LGBTQ Muslims centres around inter-communal violence, but Irving rejects characterisations of hostility as uniquely Muslim. “There really is no reason to make this a ‘Muslim issue’ at all. It’s a domestic violence issue" she says. "Awareness campaigns about domestic violence tend to be focused on intimate partner violence and the abuse of small children. Simply widening this to include the abuse of same-sex attracted or genderqueer older children would go a long way to drawing attention to the issue without necessarily singling out one particular community.” Irving argues in favour of confronting anti-Muslim animus, and its varied manifestations, by demonstrating the diversity of Muslims, and “by not trying to conceal one’s spiritual side”. According to a report from the National LGBTI Health Alliance, Australia’s LGBTQ youth aged 16 to 27 are five times more likely to attempt suicide than the general population, and those aged 16 and over are nearly six times more likely than the general population to meet the criteria for depression. The hurdles facing Australia’s diverse LGBTQ communities deserves nuance, and for queer Muslims this means, at the very least, that we repudiate the paternalism which so often accompanies reportage of their concerns. Mardi Gras is an undoubtedly liberatory feature of Australia's LGBTQ history, and Muslims have and continue to take part in these celebrations, but their concerns are nonetheless marginalised and their existence is used to pit one community against another.