Oscar, Rami, and Khaled are multiple names inhabiting a single body, used across different sites and moments of struggle. Rami was a nom de guerre adopted within fedayeen resistance in southern Lebanon; Khaled was the name given to her by her family; while Oscar is the name she chose for herself—much like many transgender women who begin their revolution through the liberation of the body. Self-naming has often functioned as a key tool of self-definition within queer communities and as an act of resistance against normative, socially imposed labels.

Oscar was born in the Syrian city of Aleppo. She drew her chosen name from the anime Lady Oscar. This choice was not coincidental, but rather deeply intertwined with her evolving understanding of her emotional, revolutionary, and gender identity. By choosing this name, Oscar signaled a rejection of rigid gender binaries and aligned herself with a broader, more inclusive liberation struggle. In the anime, Lady Oscar is a warrior who defies traditional gender roles, participates in the French Revolution, and is killed during the storming of the Bastille—events that Oscar of Aleppo would later echo within her own political and militant trajectory.

Early Acts of Resistance

Oscar’s first stages of struggle began at the age of twelve, when she wore a wedding dress and learned makeup alongside her sister—eventually surpassing her in skill. Around the same time, her relationship with Oriental dance emerged through a film by Samira Tawfiq (film title), which she watched at Fouad Cinema after fleeing school, a space that exerted immense pressure on her and which her family later forced her to leave altogether.

Oscar’s connection to art illuminates the central role of cultural expression in queer activism. Through reclaiming and reinterpreting cultural representations, she affirmed her identity and challenged dominant narratives that seek to marginalize queer experiences.

Oscar eventually left Aleppo after being subjected to violence and imprisonment by her brother. The documentary offers limited factual detail about key moments in her life, leaving many events and dates undocumented. What remains available is Oscar’s own testimony. This narrative offers an intimate portrayal of queer identity and resistance, underscoring the inseparability of personal and political struggles and the continuous pursuit of liberation.

Damascus and Lebanon: Casinos and the Spark of Revolution

After escaping her family, Oscar moved to Damascus, where she began working as a dancer at Casino Al-Khayma, having further developed her skills in Oriental dance. Her experience raises important questions—left here for researchers—about the visibility of transgender dancers in Damascus nightlife during the 1970s and 1980s, as Oscar’s story merits deeper investigation alongside other similar yet undocumented experiences.

Oscar later moved to Lebanon, a country marked at the time by war and occupation. There, she continued working as an Oriental dancer in casinos, entering new spaces where love and revolution became deeply intertwined.

The Dancer and the Politician

Oscar’s attachment to art is clearly reflected in her personality. She recalls one of her favorite cinematic scenes featuring Nabila Obeid in The Dancer and the Politician. Through this reference, Oscar demonstrates a striking analytical awareness of her artistic choices and their connection to her liberation struggle. With simplicity and spontaneity, she delivers a revolutionary message to systems that stigmatize dancers, repeatedly affirming that dance was her unconditional passion, not merely a source of income.

Oscar’s analytical approach to art reflects her broader understanding of personal struggle and structural oppression, particularly the stigmatization of dancers. Art, for Oscar, was never mere entertainment—it was a tool of resistance.

Love, Intimacy, and Queer Domesticity

While working at the casino, Oscar met a man—“tall, bearded, with hazel eyes”—who initially threatened to cause trouble after she refused to sit with him because her status as a transgender woman was considered “different” from other dancers. A love story soon unfolded between Oscar and “Ihab,” a pseudonym she chose after mistakenly revealing his real name in an earlier scene. Oscar was keen to erase the real name “for his family’s sake.”

Oscar moved in with her lover and left her job at the casino, limiting Oriental dance to private gatherings attended by her partner. The domestic life they created reflects a deliberate prioritization of their relationship and the creation of belonging outside conventional marital or romantic structures. This reimagining of domesticity highlights the adaptability and resilience of queer individuals in forging alternative life paths.

Struggle as a Path to Transition

Oscar’s partner worked with a Palestinian armed organization active in Lebanon at the time. She joined the group after he proposed membership as a pathway to gender transition. While further research is needed on the organization’s ideology and recruitment practices, this analysis focuses solely on Oscar’s lived experience.

Oscar linked her personal liberation to collective resistance. When corruption led to the theft of funds allocated for her transition, she did not withdraw from the organization; instead, she requested participation in a fedayeen operation in southern Lebanon. This decision can be understood as an act of queer resistance against systems of oppression and occupation. By aligning personal liberation with armed struggle, Oscar disrupted dominant victim narratives often imposed on LGBTQI+ individuals. Her willingness to risk her life further challenges normative assumptions surrounding self-preservation and survival.

The intimate details she shares about her relationship during this period reveal forms of queer solidarity and collective care. Oscar’s relationship with her partner transcended conventional romance, evolving into a shared commitment to resistance and mutual support.

Within the organization, where she was known as “Rami,” Oscar’s experience highlights the fluidity of gender roles. She challenged binary gender norms through her combat skills and courage, distinguishing herself among her comrades.

Oscar’s ambivalence toward violence and peace reflects the complexities queer individuals face in militarized environments, where desires for justice and peace coexist uneasily with experiences of resistance.

Daughter of the Night

Without relying on the language of rights, Oscar dismantled systems of bodily and identity-based oppression through the Aleppine, Palestinian, and Lebanese dialects she inhabited—each expressing a distinct lived experience. She articulated her gender identity with clarity and simplicity, beginning with her attraction to her English teacher in middle school and her first experiences with makeup, ultimately associating her femininity with the night, a space where she felt complete.

Oscar despised the daytime, which forced her to confront social norms and intrusive gazes. She spoke openly of her love for Oriental dance without defending it or attempting to legitimize it as “art.” She described her relationship with God without engaging in discourses of excommunication, reciting the shahada before combat and, with the help of a neighbor, reaching a moment where she prayed wearing the hijab as a woman.

A Message to the Beloved

Oscar’s story concludes in the film with a message addressed to her lover in exile in Switzerland. While her testimony reveals only fragments of her life—limited by the questions asked or what she chose to share—the necessity of further research into the life of Oscar of Aleppo remains critical. Studying the militant histories of transgender and queer individuals in Southwest Asia is essential for developing locally rooted, non-replicative tools of resistance that reflect our shared realities as queer and trans people living within deeply oppressive social and political contexts.

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