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The multidisciplinary Egyptian artist Huss, who for safety reasons cannot be fully named, has spent years performing in clubs, gallery spaces, and various art institutions across Scotland.
His performances explore themes of xenophobia, homophobia, and censorship while also championing queer voices, especially those from Arabic countries.
After his studies, Huss planned to leave Scotland and continue his work as an artist, but due to backlash from people in Egypt over him performing in a queer venue, home for Huss has become incredibly dangerous.
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“To this day, no matter what the laws are and no matter anything, I still love my home,” Huss said.
He added: “I had to take the tough decision to cut most ties back home and basically seek safety here (Scotland).”
There is no explicit law against homosexuality in Egypt, however same-sex sexual activity is prohibited, and members of the LGBTQ+ community are often charged with acts of indecency, scandalous acts, and debauchery.
These laws have been enforced, to varying degrees, and carry a maximum penalty of three years imprisonment and a fine.
Huss explained the shock people in his life felt when they found out he had been exposed back home and could no longer return because of the threat to his safety.
“They were shocked that something I was actively raising awareness about in my work for six years actually happened to me,” he said.
“I kind of always knew it was going to happen because I’m so passionate about my identity, and I’m passionate about my work and spreading awareness about people like myself.
“I was always mentally prepared for that moment to happen, but just not that early and not when I was very happily set on moving back home.
“It was just a shock to a lot of people.”
Despite the threats and rampant homophobia, Huss took the brave decision to go ahead with his performance, despite being worried about his safety.
The young artist had to resort to concealing his identity to protect himself and decided to wear a black balaclava while performing.
Huss stated the mask wasn’t part of his aesthetic initially as it was simply a means to keep him safe.
However, as he grew as an artist, he used the mask to serve as a reminder of the risks queer Arabs face and the censorship he and others faced.
He said: “For about six years, that whole mask was the persona I created.”
“It allowed me to insert myself into those settings, and it allowed me to create the work I want to create without putting myself fully out there and into a vulnerable position,” he added.
“That was a way to not only protect me, but it was a way to protect my mental health.
“It was a way for me to keep doing what I’m passionate about, and not be deprived of that.”
After the backlash, which filled him with more anger than fear, Huss continued to perform for years with the mask on.
After he graduated from Glasgow School of Art, Huss’s student visa was no longer valid and he was only given a short window of 30 days to secure a new one to stay in Scotland.
Although he wanted to go home to Egypt – as that was always his plan after graduating – it wasn’t safe for him to do so.
Huss attributes him being able to stay in Scotland to the love and support of the people of Glasgow who backed him both financially through fundraisers, and morally as they stood beside him during a tough period of his young life.
Thanks to their support, Huss was able to afford the costs of securing a visa and the legal fees that came with it.
He said: “I speak so passionately and confidently because it was the Glasgow community that kept me in this country through club nights, fundraisers and social media posts.
“The love during that period really made me feel respected as a person and also respected as an artist.
“There was a point in my life where I was either able to let that defeat me, or I was able to use that to my advantage and actually take that rough situation, work on myself, and realise what I have.”
Due to being able to stay in Scotland and not having to fear returning to Egypt where his health and well-being would be in constant threat, Huss was finally able to remove his mask.
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“Now I have the chance to do what I’ve been doing for six years but not be scared or censored anymore, and actually advocate for every queer Arab out there and speak up for any person that comes from a minority group or has been censored or oppressed,” he said.
After he secured his visa, Huss created a show called 7th Solicitor, which was inspired and based on the seven phone calls he had with his lawyer while they were frantically trying to complete his visa so he could stay in the country.
“All my artwork is based on the trauma I’ve been through but putting it out in pieces is therapeutic,” he said speaking about why he chose to perform about this traumatic moment in his life.
In his first performance of 7th Solicitor, Huss began with his mask on.
As the story developed through the conversations with his lawyer, where he explored themes of his mental exhaustion and uncertainty through the immigration process, the show ended with him unmasking himself.
The unmasking represented finally feeling free and secure enough to liberate his identity.
He said: “It signified a new era for me where I’m able to perform with no mask. It feels good.”
Although Huss has taken a step back as a performing artist, he is still active in creating art.
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His attention has now turned to other projects like creating films, and is focused more on collaborating with other artists in a digital space.
He explains the liberation he now feels as an artist and how he wants to create spaces where other queer Arabs can also “create, mourn and run freely and safely” while expressing themselves.
He said: “Although I’m not able to go back home yet, the things I’m programming and creating are kind of bringing home to me and bringing home to people that also feel the same way.
“It’s been a very full circle moment, and I’m always keen to facilitate safe spaces.”
He added: “From past experiences, I know what it feels like to kind of insert yourself into a certain art setting or a certain space and not feel comfortable because you’re potentially worried of the backlash you might get.
“So, it’s being able to facilitate those spaces, especially in this day and age where things are terrifying for Arabs, things are terrifying for queer people, things are terrifying for refugee and asylum seekers.”
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