The weekly Friday service in most mosques around the world sees a man give the call to prayer, another man give the khutbah (sermon), and rows of men sitting on rugs facing the speaker. Women usually sit in another room, or at the back. At the Unity Mosque, anyone can give the call to, or lead, prayer. There is no gender segregation, and congregants sit in a circle on thin sheets and yoga mats they pull out from a closet at the beginning of the service, with pots of tea and mugs in the middle. Others join the service through Skype, broadcast via a laptop at the front of the room. The sermon is followed by an open discussion: a non-hierarchal space where everyone can participate, more seminar than lecture. Everyone is invited to share their name, pronouns, and any prayers they may wish to offer.

The congregants are diverse, including recent immigrants and refugees, Muslims born in Canada that grew disenchanted with the faith, converts, and even non-Muslim allies. They are overwhelmingly liberal and left wing, and see Islam as a progressive, emancipatory religion. The Unity Mosque serves as proof.

Khaki recalls a past congregant saying, “No wonder Muslim men don’t want women to lead prayer. There is so much power in it. I pray five times a day but when I led prayer here it was the first time I heard my own voice. And it was powerful.”

Many Unity Mosque congregants have spent their life grappling with a pressing question: can I be queer and Muslim? The question arises due to the persecution and stigma queer Muslims face around the world, including in some Muslim-majority states where their very identity is criminalized.