There is nothing irresistible about deejaying during a Genocide

There is nothing irresistible about living through a genocide of people who look like you and share the same culture as you. There is nothing great about deejaying during your people’s genocide. In the same token, I continued to do so because I felt it was necessary.

Here’s my story.

I started deejaying in 2023 because I noticed there was a void in the Chicago nightlife scene. Arabi music, or music of the SWANA (Southwest Asian, North African) communities, was not embraced. Hell, these groups were not even included in the Chicago bar and club scene. You never really saw all of us in large groups, and the music often played out never resonated with us fully. We see the wonderful genres of Afrobeats, Amapaino, Jersey, Baile, etc., all get their shine (rightfully so), but where was the Arabi music? Nancy Ajram? Amr Diab? The music of the maghranat? I was inspired by groups such as No Nazar, who highlighted South Asian music and remixed it with contemporary sounds. They took up space in LA and grew internationally quickly. They knew that their music deserved to be heard and experienced. And I knew that if I were someone who would introduce more “Arab” sounds in the club, it would be considered intervention as well. It would absolutely be political. Music is political. That’s how I knew me and Qujo’s newly founded collective (Go Baba! Worldwide) would be more than just a monthly dance party. I mean, we just got named “The Best Pro-Liberation Dance Collective of 2023” by the Chicago Reader.

We are exactly that.

Artists are central to social change. We offer a space of expression, community building and engagement, and lastly, most importantly, cultural critique. Go Baba! Worldwide was a critique of the current nightlife standards in Chicago that did not include a combination of various diasporas in large groups. For many of us, coming to a Go Baba! Worldwide or Nanoos show was a way to ventilate grief through movement and rhythm. It was a way for us to reclaim our body and refuse to just exist and let the state repress us and take our joy. Historically, nightclubs used to be a space where queer people, Black people, Brown people, and other groups could affirm their identities by being together in large numbers and having joyous moments during very rough times. It was also a space to celebrate culture and diversity in the face of systemic discrimination.

But then October 7th happened. How are we supposed to celebrate anything? Even months later, as I am writing this, how am I supposed to go to nightclubs and dance and have a good time? There is nothing to dance to. There is nothing to “shake ass” to, or buy shots of tequila to and forget about it for even a sliver of time. How dare we even forget for a moment that Gaza is resisting one of the most vicious entities of all time? You might say, “Nanoos, you are being extremely contradicting. You just told me that dance is necessary for grief, and you also told me that it’s disturbing to be at a nightclub and dance during a time like this. Which is it? Because I am uncomfortable with the fact you feel that way.” Good. I implore you to be extremely uncomfortable and disturbed because you should be. There is nothing comfortable about me having to deejay during my people’s genocide. It is contradictory, as is everything else we do as Arabs living in exile with American passports. Here we are– chanting about our people’s colonization and the end to settler colonial Israel! Have we recognized the fact we are on land that is not our own either? Have we recognized that as we fight against capitalism, many of us buy a new iPhone every year? One of the facets of living under western imperialism is that we are constantly living in some sort of contradiction. That doesn’t mean that we just stop existing and being human.

The juxtaposition of joyous dance and the reality of ongoing genocide and oppression is indeed unsettling. It is wildly disturbing to be able to just dance and turn an eye to what is happening in Gaza. But in the same token, dance is also a kinesthetic practice of resisting social norms and standards. Specifically here, people come to my shows and dance to resist the racist Chicago nightlife scene that says that we are not welcome here. It is an intervention. It is a way for me to keep our community together during a time where we are not seen as people, where we are not respected for our diverseness and openness to be joyous and free even in the face of our people’s erasure.

See, things need to be seen through a queer lens instead of just a liberal one. A liberal lens tells us that nightclubs and bars feed into consumer capitalism, individualism, and ignorance. The west is obsessed with ignoring the atrocities of the world and living our own happy life. However, a queer lens will tell us that yes, while all these things are true, nightclubs and bars also offer us space to come together in community after a long week, especially for those who organize tirelessly for Palestine in this case. They should absolutely have a right to go dance and move their body and not be policed while doing so. They should have laughter. Not all dance is celebratory. Sometimes we dance with tears in our eyes. It is release.

See how we are constantly living in contradiction? A lot of things can be true at the same time. Being a DJ puts me in uncomfortable positions by nature. It is uncomfortable for me to deejay and act like everything is okay. Everything is not okay. But then again, maybe that’s why I do what I do, to remind people that it’s okay to not be okay and still try to have moments of laughter along with the grief. We are constantly grieving. We are constantly put in situations where “business as usual” seems like the general theme for imperialist America while genocides are happening globally. There should be no business as usual during a genocide! However, unfortunately, nightclubs and bars are going to continue with their scheduled programming. And I would be damned if I let someone else come in and take up our space. We belong here, and in large numbers, listening to our music and dancing how we please. We deserve that.

I love us and our people too much to stop. I hear the laughter, the joy, the critique, and I embrace every moment of it. No one will let us disappear, even in these spaces that might not seem important for the average Joe. Music and dance are important to me. It preserves me and helps keep things moving for me. My liberation includes safety of self-expression through music and dance. I hope you all can see it through.