By Mila Edensor
Recently screened at Queer Porto, the short film, Homecoming Queenz (2012, Dir. Elias Wakeem) delves into a fraught encounter with Israeli border security, triggered by gender expression outside societal norms.
Homecoming Queenz (2012, Dir. Elias Wakeem)
When armed with but lipstick and a high heel, why would a nation see you as a threat?
While on a flight to Ben Gurion International Airport, Elias Wakeem and Oz Marinov armed themselves as such. Filmed on an iPhone, at first we see carefree scenes; two people playing with makeup, giggling as they don fur coats, high heels. But as the plane continues its journey, moments of joy are interspersed between shots of Elias – anxious and wide eyed, filled with fearful clairvoyance.
Indeed, oppression leaves upon its targets the imprint of the oppressor’s gaze – and through this lens Elias could see how their femininity would be interpreted as a threat. Through traumatised instinct, they knew that violence would first be inflicted at the most overt of threats: pigment on the lips, high heels.
All of us possess the tacit understanding that the facade of a tolerant, liberal democracy dies at a nation’s borders. That when face-to-face with a guard, prejudice becomes policy, and threats become gauged with just a glance. For many this exists as an uncomfortable yet unspoken truth, a topic moved on from just as quickly as one is whizzed past piling queues of the interrogated and detained. But Elias and Oz wanted to face this head on – to film and show the system for what it truly is.
How would Israeli border security react to an act of queer Palestinian expression? Lambasting protesters outside his 2024 visit to the US Congress, Netanyahu said ‘Some of these protesters hold up signs proclaiming “Gays for Gaza.” They might as well hold up signs saying “Chickens for KFC.”’
And yet this contrast, this image of a barbarous and backwards Palestine, as compared to a liberal and accepting Israel, quickly falls apart in the short film, Homecoming Queenz. We see Elias and Oz immediately detained, forcefully questioned as to why they are dressed “provocatively,” and if this “provocation” is simply a ruse hiding a threat yet to be revealed.
In an interview with GAY45, Elias Wakeem provides more insights:
Mila Edensor (ME): The security guards targeted your expression of femininity first, then ethnic, religious, and racial frictions second. Why do you think the line of questioning began in the remit of gender?
Elias Wakeem (EW): This experience was a brutal reminder that, for some, gender is the most immediately “threatening” or visible form of difference. In a hyper-masculinized society, femininity, particularly when expressed by someone assigned male at birth, is often seen as a disruption to the social fabric—an act of defiance. The line of questioning began with my femininity because it was a way to undermine my personhood.
The layers of discrimination I experienced—gender, ethnicity, and nationality—intersect, but gender targeted first because it visibly disrupts power dynamics that are deeply ingrained. Femininity, especially queer femininity, is an act of resistance that breaks the mould and reveals the fragility of their hierarchies. By questioning my appearance first, they were attempting to strip me of the control I had over my narrative and identity, starting from the external and moving inwards.
ME: While getting into drag on the plane, joy and fear coexisted. What experiences and understandings of the system led you to predict a negative reaction from those in power?
EW: Fear and joy have always walked hand in hand for me as a performer, especially as a queer Palestinian. In a world where so many systems are designed to erase us, drag becomes a weapon of joy, a shield of glamour against the violence that seeks to silence us. But living as both queer and Palestinian means that you are constantly aware of how you are perceived by those in power.
Through years of personal experiences—whether at checkpoints, in airports, or in daily life—I’ve learned that the system is designed to maintain control by dehumanising those who don’t conform to its ideals. Queer bodies, especially Palestinian queer bodies, are seen as doubly dangerous. On one hand, we challenge heteronormative standards, and on the other, our very existence as Palestinians poses a political threat. My decision to go through this experience in drag was a conscious act, knowing full well that my gender nonconformity would be seen as provocation. The trepidation I felt wasn’t just about facing harassment, it was about preparing myself mentally to navigate a system built to oppress on multiple fronts.
ME: In the UK and Europe at large, pinkwashing is used to divert support from the Palestinian cause. How does this narrative distort the reality of the situation?
EW: Pinkwashing is a deeply manipulative tactic. It uses the facade of LGBTQ+ rights to justify a colonial and oppressive regime. Israel markets itself as a “gay haven” in the Middle East, but this narrative conveniently erases the violence and daily apartheid faced by Palestinians—queer or not. The idea that Palestine is a homophobic space and Israel is the progressive beacon is not just a distortion; it’s an insult to those of us who experience the realities of occupation.
Queer liberation cannot be cherry-picked. You cannot advocate for LGBTQ+ rights in Tel Aviv while denying basic human rights to Palestinians just miles away. The queer Palestinian experience is unique in that we are oppressed by both our sexuality and our nationality. Pinkwashing tries to pit these two identities against each other, suggesting that queerness cannot thrive within Palestinian society. But this erases the lived experiences of queer Palestinians who fight for freedom on all fronts. The occupation impacts every aspect of our lives, including our ability to express our queerness, and it’s important to recognize that Israeli oppression is the root cause, not some internal flaw within Palestinian culture.
ME: How would you articulate a message of unity between the queer community in the West and the fight for Palestinian liberation?
EW: Solidarity between the queer community in the West and Palestinian liberation is essential because both struggles are rooted in the fight for freedom, dignity, and the right to exist authentically. Queerness has always been about resisting oppression and creating space for all forms of existence. The Palestinian struggle is no different—it’s about resisting a regime that denies us the right to live freely on our land, to move, to exist without fear.
The message is clear: our liberations are intertwined. You cannot support queer liberation while turning a blind eye to the apartheid regime that continues to displace, kill, and oppress Palestinians. The fight for queer rights in the West was not won by playing it safe; it was won through resistance, through standing up to systems of power that tried to suppress us. That same energy and solidarity need to extend to Palestinian liberation. We need to recognize that freedom is indivisible, and that the fight against colonialism, occupation, and erasure in Palestine is very much a queer issue. When one of us is oppressed, none of us are free.
The artist keeps the work password protected for their own safety.
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