Queer Spaces

[askygoneonfire]

 It’s odd, sometimes, the ways you end up thinking about queer identity and queer spaces.

Tonight bipboppingdays  introduced me to ‘The Aquarium’, a cabaret theatre bar.  It is populated entirely by ageing gay men who enjoy a good show tune.  Last night it also opened its doors to me, a young pansexual girl who enjoys show tunes.

My first and overriding impression was that it shared a lot in common with Kampus, the one, and only, gay bar in Lancaster.  It effectively operated a closed door policy – heavy curtains at the windows, no advertising and an attitude which meant you could only hope to be served if you were known to the bar staff as a gay, or accompanied by a regular – who must, be definition, be gay. 

One of the things Ali and I most liked about Brighton when we moved down here was that Brighton seemed to dispense with the ‘we know you as a gay therefore you may enter’ but pretty soon we learnt the elitist door policies which made Lancaster and Manchester rather tiresome in the end still existed in Brighton.  The PV and the Marlborough did not readily open their doors of their bar to the likes of us – both Ali and I were easily read as not dykes.  What we were  was irrelevant, if you’re not a dyke you’re not welcome.

Being bi, or pansexual puts you in an undefined non-space, and god forbid you are a bi or pansexual person in what is read as a heterosexual relationship because you can kiss goodbye to your identity – you are not welcome in queer spaces.

The trouble of course is that queer culture has spent centuries being repressed and appropriated by the hetero-insiders so the automatic response to anything that is other to the gay/dyke/lesbian/bear/et al status quo is hostility, rejection, distance.  And, history considered, that’s fair, but when you are a 25 year old queer woman going into a bar which just happens to feature show tune karaoke sung by 50+ gay men the instant feeling you have is defence (I whispered to bipboppingdays that I wished I was wearing a “I’m gay too!” t-shirt) and the immediate reaction you get from the regulars in said bar is suspicion.  bipboppingdays  tells me she has become relatively well known in there by frequenting it with her boyfriend, I quipped that the same positive reaction would not be due to me had I frequented it with a female partner.  A male accompaniment allows for many gestures of inclusion in such a bar.

In Manchester there was a lesbian bar which only admitted women .  The unwritten but well acknowledged modifier being that women who the door staff deemed to be straight would also be turned away.  Ali and I would always have a moment of worry at the point of admittance because despite being in a relationship we were frequently read as heterosexual, indeed on more than one occasion we split up and accompanied dyke-identified single friends in order to ensure smooth admittance to the bar.  In Lancaster, Kampus, and it’s dark cornered clientele would actively attack those who appeared not to be gay – once I had two of my good friends visiting me from home and Ali and I sat at the other end of the pub talking with friends whilst they played pool, after about 10 minutes they hit problems as locals tried to get them off the table, and then out of the pub by making up “in this establishment x is the rule” rules, in the end the barman stepped in and told the locals to leave them alone but by that time they felt uncomfortable and unwelcome and surrendered the pool table mid-game to come and join us, and our group of queer friends sitting and drinking.  We left about 10 minutes later.  There was also a big dyke circle in Lancaster, despite Ali and I being in a publicly monogamous, long term relationship we were absolutely not invited to join certain alliances and social groups.  Indeed one of the key players in the small Lancaster dyke scene explicitly asked me whether I was a lesbian and then interacted with me a significantly less after I answered in the negative.

I think the main issue for me is that such exclusivity only really works to further marginalise an outsider group.   I never get read as gay – except by other bi/pansexual women and so I never get a blanket invitation to gay culture.  Indeed, since I have been single I tend to avoid gay clubs and bars, when I go with my male friends I get labelled a faghag and when I go with my female gay friends I get suspicious looks.   Brighton, happily, offers a range of alternative ‘attitude free’ bars and clubs where sexuality is ignored and in-betweeness is actively celebrated (please see Dynamite Boogaloo and PopKraft) but what I really want is for people to stop imposing a certain reading of my sexuality on me and to be welcomed as an ally or a friend in any of the many exclusive or closed clubs and bars.  I have several good friends who are straight who I absolutely want with me in the queer scene – they are allies and friends, and why should they be excluded from a bar because the clientele have been excluded from ‘their’ bars?

I’ve always flirted with the idea I’m non-scene, but in all honesty that is inaccurate.  I love gay culture, I adore the nuances of it and I like the sense of belonging and history one can gain from it in an often hostile world.  What I really mean by non-scene is that I don’t wish to exclude our heterosexual friends and I see no advantage of dismissing anyone who crosses categories – like a bisexual girl who likes show tunes – simply because they cannot be safely assigned a box.  Why fight prejudice with prejudice? Why turn homophobia on its head to combat it? Why scowl at girls who might be straight? Why dismiss boys who aren’t camp, or flamboyant? Why demand all girls who love girls wear a uniform of cropped hair and jeans? Why dismiss a person who identifies as queer the moment they enter a heteronormative relationship?

What are we gaining with those attitudes?  Or, more compellingly, what are we losing?  I think the answer to that is too much.