The Importance of Queer Spaces
In a city where decidedly different doesn't belong, decidedly different filled a room and sang together and were free to be themselves.
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I was at a concert the other night where I was reminded of the importance of queer spaces. Not just reminded, but punched in the gut, tears in my eyes, hope in my heart, reminded. And thankful, so thankful, for a safe place for a few hours.
I live in a small town in Canada…And by that I really mean to say that I live in one of the larger cities in Canada, but one that is shrivelled and dated and painfully conservative. They’ve yet to understand that this country is proud of its multiculturalism, that same sex marriage was legalized more than ten years ago, that women gained the right to vote for 100 years go. This city, this town, it wears on your spirit.
You’ll only find a rainbow flag displayed in a handful of businesses in the city, a number so staggeringly small for a city this big. There is a poetry slam once a month that attracts queer folk, young and old, to a protective bubble for a few hours on a Friday night. I’m not one to hide my sexuality. I’m one to say fuck it, if you have a problem with me then deal with it because I don’t care. But in this city, I feel trapped. I feel afraid. I feel shame. I feel different. I’m old enough and comfortable enough with my sexuality and my life that it’s ok. I know that this city isn’t like the rest and I know that I’ll move on soon enough. And though it wears on me and it bothers me that I can’t always be myself, what terrifies me is the kids who don’t know that this isn’t all there is.
Teenagers marched into the concert hall with big black X's on their hands, to mark them different from the 19+ crowd in the room. Yet another mark that they're different. Not even those marks mattered that night. They walked in as themselves, shouting to one another and all of them shivering because the teenage brain collectively decides that wearing a coat when its fifteen degrees below zero is in no way cool. There were girls in ties and guys with fishnets. Shiny silver crop tops, platform heals, leather pants, and lots and lots of plaid. Tiny acts of truth that society labels as different.
Teenagers with their families, people my parents’ age, nerds, hipsters…A trans woman on a date with her boyfriend. A young lesbian couple, one with her arm around the other. It looked awkward. But she held on like that all night because she didn’t have to let go. In this space, she got to hold her somebody close all night.
And in that dark concert hall, I too felt safe enough to rest my hand on my girlfriend’s leg and to kiss her when our favourite songs came on.
I’m thankful for a few hours that people of all genders, all sexualities, and all ages, simply existed. We weren’t different, we weren’t other, we just were.
I’m thankful. But I’m also angry. A few hours isn’t enough. It terrifies me that people have to go to a concert, an occurrence that only comes a couple times a year, to truly be themselves. But this isn’t news. None of this is news. But it should be. Because it shouldn’t be this way.
Until you read this blog with shock and horror that a city like this still exists, rather than read this with mild sympathy because you live in a city exactly like mine, then were not done fighting.
And we’re not done creating. Books. TV. Movies. Art. Each it’s own safe space for someone, even if just for a couple of hours.