Since its independence in 1956, Tunisia has enjoyed a reputation for being the most progressive Arab state to advocate for women’s rights. However, its Penal Code continues to uphold Article 230 which dates back to 1913 under French colonization and criminalizes same-sex sexual activity.

In January 2023, Tunisia’s LGBTQ+ community celebrated a rare victory when an appeals court ruled that the prosecution of a queer activist in a landmark case was “null and void.” The case dates back to 2015 when six students were arrested on charges of alleged same-sex sexual activity, sentenced to three years in prison, and banned from living in the Kairouan province for another three years.

One year later, the same community is facing unprecedented crackdowns. “The president himself launched a campaign to target nightlife,” explains Khookha McQueer, a frontline leader of Tunisia's LGBTQ+ movement, in a phone call with OkayAfrica. “The most popular narrative is that this wave is supposed to target drug use. In people’s imagination, nightlife, the queer community, and drug use form a triangle.”

McQueer is a beloved activist and artist who has been advocating for LGBTQ+ rights for over a decade. As a worker in civil society, she targets Article 230 and all articles that prohibit or limit sexual freedom and gender expression. She also raises awareness about sexual health and LGBTQ+ rights.

Originally a shy art student who experimented with oil paintings on her face, McQueer became known for her beautiful autoportraits. “I became my own subject out of being shy and introverted,” she says. “My professors had some remarks about my kind of expression being feminine. They would say: every time you provide something visual, it’s confusing in terms of gender. They criticized the queerness in it that I couldn’t yet see.”

Fast forward, McQueer started experimenting with drag and in 2017, she was invited to host her first drag competition. “People discovered my drag aesthetic before I ever went on stage. I didn’t know anyone in the community yet,” she shares. “After hosting that show I heard about older drag queens that were performing in touristic areas. Before the revolution, it was sort of a tradition that most Tunisians were completely unaware of.”

McQueer never felt that her purpose was to be a stage performer; she was fully satisfied with her photography. But hosting her first event, which united the LGBTQ+ community despite its internal conflicts and histories, was a life-changing moment. “I discovered a new kind of satisfaction and I wanted to be a part of this queer joy,” she says. “If I’m able to bring them together, why not do it again?”

In her eight years as a host, McQueer has never experienced a drag show that was not invaded by the police. “In 2017, I was on stage giving condoms to the audience. The police invaded the venue and it has happened every time since,” she says.

In the past, the police’s usual procedures would be to station an increased number of officers in the area of the queer event. Some would infiltrate the gathering in disguise, monitor the toilets and people’s behavior, and question them based on their appearance. But in the beginning of February, an official order by the Ministry of Interior canceled McQueer’s show, scheduled for February 8. One week prior, she was stopped and investigated by two policemen at night for the first time in her life.

“I haven’t heard of anything similar happening in the past,” she shares. “Starting in January this year, queer people, sex workers, and ravers have become the main focus of policemen. We are facing a huge wave of arrests. So if we link these events to each other, we see the bigger picture of what’s happening in Tunisia. The cancellation and the arrests are not isolated. They fit into the same strategy, elaborated and executed by the authorities.”

The official reason was that the police received threats against the venue hosting the show; they allegedly could not guarantee protection and had to stop the event. Prior to the cancellation, an online campaign by a Tunisian man living in France, went viral on Facebook and, to a lesser extent, Instagram, alarming Tunisians to take care because queer events would harm their children.

“Things are escalating and we are getting more afraid for our future as a nightlife and queer community,” says McQueer. In the past, venue owners would exchange bribes with policemen in order to host events. Now that they are facing an official crackdown, they will have to adapt their strategies.

“Our situation will get worse than a canceled event in the future. I don’t think that this was the last time. I think it’s part of a new era,” says McQueer. On a positive note, the owner of the allegedly threatened space, who themselves had to go through a police investigation, has hired a lawyer and is considering legal action.

For now, McQueer might have to decrease her public visibility. “I might orient myself towards private events, which is very sad because one of my activist tools is to be proud of my queerness and not try to hide it,” she says. But these conservative campaigns are bigger than the LGBTQ+ community, they are targeting civil society overall.

Despite the challenges, McQueer is not giving up on the happiness she creates for her community. “Nightlife and queer communities go hand in hand. It’s a kind of resistance to be able to escape the sad reality and hostile context that we live in and create some moments of joy and solidarity.”