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Gay bars: Community or lifestyle enclave?

New book an antidote to our abstinence until we can revive the real thing

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Rainbow Youth Alliance, gay news, Washington Blade

(Photo courtesy of Nellie’s Sports Bar)

Walking into a gay bar felt like crossing the Rubicon. I was a grad student dabbling in “the love that dare not speak its name,” but I avoided gay bars. Visiting one would be an admission that I wasn’t just doing something, but, rather, being someone. Until one day, even though I wasn’t ready to attach identity to my experiences, I walked through the doors. Until then, my relationships were on one side of the closet, and coming out portended an empty world on the other side. Gay bars showed me that I wasn’t alone. Being among people, however, isn’t the same as a community, something I’ve struggled with in my expectations of gay bars.

What exactly are gay bars: community or lifestyle enclave?

That’s a question raised by “Gay Bar: Why We Went Out” by Jeremy Atherton Lin. Part memoir/part anthropology, Lin navigates the history and nature of the storied gay bar. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Homebound, I reminisced about nights out while reading about Jeremy’s. But also got to thinking: what will we be walking back into once the pandemic ends?

After coming out, I had expected gay bars to be spaces of bonding. To my chagrin, I found that sense of community wanting. On occasion, I found the fraternity I was searching for, albeit fleetingly. You must always know that there is nothing wrong with you no matter what your parents say, a Latinx lesbian told me one night as we smoked and swapped stories on less-than-accepting mothers. I never saw her again and didn’t even catch her name, but that moment held for me what I wanted in those spaces: To connect with people beyond lookism and sex. Reading “Gay Bar,” I nodded with the observation: “The gay bars of my life have consistently disappointed.”

“Gar Bar” advances the theory that communities are born out of shared history. And “where history is forgotten … community degenerates into lifestyle enclaves.” And lifestyle celebrates the “narcissism of similarity” and promotes private concerns, “namely leisure and consumption.” Most gay bars, I have found, are not cultivators of community. We arrive and depart with the people we already know. Contact with outsiders tends to be ephemeral and skin deep. Consumption is the defining ethos.

But “perhaps you could call a gay bar a galaxy: We are held together but kept from colliding by a fine balance of momentum and gravity,” Lin proposes. I’ve learned to think of this galaxy as enough. And to see the beauty in it: We all gather without really knowing each other, but in that transient night, we’re keeping alive the simulacrum of a shared experience. And therein lies the potential of gay bars: Sometimes stars collide and sparks fly.

That potential is under threat. “Gay Bar” is partly an obituary as spaces shut down. Reasons abound: the young generation feels less need for them, out-of-control gentrification, and Grindr. Ironically, the fact that gay bars are no longer strictly for gays might end up saving many. One word: Nellie’s. The gay sports bar has become a pitstop for bachelorettes, which can be problematic. “Gay Bar” relates one night where a bride-to-be corralled the gays into a serenade. Our spaces should be welcoming but down with the instrumentalization of gay men as playthings.

The Invasion of the Brides, however, speaks to a larger truth. Gay bars are constantly in flux, opening here and closing there, transitioning from the Mean Gays set to a queer subversive vibe, adding drag nights and brunch Sundays. This adaptation has often made them resilient. I should close with a disclaimer: Mine is not the “authentic” experience; there’s no such thing. And that’s what makes Lin such a wonderful guide. There’s something in Gay Bar(s) for everyone. For those dreaming of when the music will start playing again, and cruising will no longer violate the health code, “Gay Bar” is an antidote to our abstinence until we can revive the real thing.

 

Khelil Bouarrouj is an activist who writes about LGBTQ issues.

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Washington Blade responds to concerns over White House pool duties

Inaccurate media reports create confusion but we stand with our colleagues

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A photo from inside the White House on Monday. (Washington Blade photo by Joe Reberkenny)

Last week, President Trump announced his unconstitutional ban of CNN, MSNow, and Politico from the White House. Coincidentally, on Monday, it was the Washington Blade’s turn to serve as the print pool reporter on duty covering the president’s actions that day. This important responsibility is shared and rotated among the print members with each serving roughly once per month. The Blade is the only LGBTQ outlet with a seat in the briefing room, a slot in the pool rotation, and membership in the White House Correspondents’ Association, something we fought for decades to secure after enduring years of discrimination, ridicule, and resistance to openly queer journalists working inside the White House. We take our responsibilities there seriously. 

There are two pools that cover the president: broadcast and print. The other four members of the broadcast pool — ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox News — agreed to boycott their pool duties. There has been no boycott among the print pool, which is a separate entity. I called the president of the White House Correspondents’ Association on Monday to confirm that no outlets in the print pool were boycotting. 

A boycott by the Blade would set us back and lead to our expulsion from the pool and briefing room and our replacement by a right-wing outlet sympathetic to President Trump’s approach to attacking the media. The LGBTQ community is far better served with the Blade in the room than a far-right blogger taking our seat.

Let’s be clear: the Blade stands for diversity, equity, and inclusion and we stand for the First Amendment and freedom of the press. In solidarity with the broadcast pool, we made two important decisions on Monday — the first day anyone had to think about any of this. First, we refused to take or share any videos or still photos of the president, which would have undermined the broadcast boycott. Second, when Politico’s turn comes up for pool duty in mid-October, the Blade will not fill in and cover for them while they are banned. Politico must be readmitted and allowed to do their job. 

After a rough day navigating and reporting on all of this, the Advocate published a reckless and inaccurate story suggesting that the Blade had crossed a picket line. Not true, as there is no print pool boycott. They claimed that I wouldn’t talk to their reporter. Also not true. I called their reporter within 90 minutes of receiving his message and he didn’t take the call or call me back. Their story named me and our White House reporter, immediately exposing us to public criticism and worse. The environment in D.C. is so toxic and even violent these days that subjecting our staff to unfair and false accusations like this invites harassment, doxxing, and worse. To do that without even talking to us is next level irresponsible and the antithesis of journalism.

On Tuesday, I talked to two reporters and an editor at the Advocate but they refused to retract anything in their inaccurate story. If the reporter had returned my call, I could have explained all of this but they are more concerned with clickbait and sensational headlines, a dangerous practice in these troubled times. 

Back to the pool. The Blade was in the briefing room in the Reagan era, when Press Secretary Larry Speakes made jokes about AIDS and the reporters in the room laughed out loud. We endured all of that abuse and worse for decades, always standing in the back of the room and never being called on. The Blade’s journalists persevered. When President George W. Bush was re-elected in 2004, the Blade’s White House credentials were revoked amid an earlier press crackdown. Notably, no one boycotted or stood up for us. When Barack Obama won election in 2008, I received an email from his communications director informing me that effective midnight on Jan. 20, 2009, the Blade’s credentials would be restored. 

So we have had quite a ride navigating administrations and their changing requirements for gaining access but always playing the long game. As Barney Frank used to say, “If you’re not at the table, then you’re probably on the menu.” The Blade is at the table and we do our best to ensure the LGBTQ community’s issues are addressed by both parties. 

Thanks for reading and supporting the Blade’s work. If you have questions about our approach, you can reach me at [email protected].  


Kevin Naff is editor of the Washington Blade. Reach him at [email protected].

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Young people should know history of the fight for human rights

Trump is working to erase contributions of marginalized people

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From left, Rep. Bella Abzug (D-N.Y), Frank Kameny and Rep. Shirley Chisholm (D-N.Y.). (Photos of Abzug and Chisholm public domain; Washington Blade archive photo of Kameny)

When talking with otherwise really smart young people, I am amazed how little knowledge many of them have about the fight for human rights in the United States. Our country was founded by white men, who didn’t think about giving full rights to Black Americans, women, the LGBTQ community (what they knew of it, or called it). They wrote in the Declaration of Independence, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” But that referred to all white men, and intentionally didn’t mention women. For 250 years, the country has been trying to make up for that, and making progress in fits and starts. We have yet to fully succeed. Today the felon, and his fascist aides, in the White House, are working daily to take us backwards. 

For that reason alone, it is important for younger generations to understand the fight for human rights, know who was fighting for those rights, and understand it is an ongoing fight. Often, when listening to some millennials speak, one would think the world began with them. They either forgot, or never learned, about all those who fought for the rights they now have. I realize this was true for previous generations as well. In 2016 I co-hosted a fundraiser for Pete Buttigieg during his run for president. He is an undeniably brilliant guy. Yet when he spoke of marriage equality, he just thanked Justice Kennedy for it. I reminded him after he spoke, while it’s nice to thank Kennedy for his vote, it shouldn’t be done without acknowledging the many activists who worked for decades, to get to the point that allowed Kennedy to cast that vote. In the same way it was clear to me during the Hillary Clinton campaign for president, many young women didn’t understand the work many of their own mothers had done, to fight for their right to control their own healthcare, and women’s rights in general. They took for granted the rights they had. Now, after losing some of them, many will realize the fight for their rights is never-ending. 

When I speak to younger members of the LGBTQ community, I am amazed how many don’t know the history of the AIDS epidemic, many thinking it was always a disease you could deal with by taking medication. They don’t understand the work so many activists did to bring attention to this devastating disease, and get the healthcare so many needed. Those like Cleve Jones, Larry Kramer, Dr. Anthony Fauci, and so many others. Recently, I realized how many young women don’t know the names of Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Shirley Chisholm, Bella Abzug — women who fought for their rights. And this is just recent history, no less knowing about the Suffragettes, the strong women who fought for their right to vote. I’ve met young women who don’t know what the ERA is, and others who think it passed. Many don’t know the nation couldn’t get 38 states to approve an amendment to include them in the Constitution. The same for young members of the LGBTQ community who don’t know what the Equality Act is. Others think it passed, and are shocked when told it didn’t and in 27 states, they can be married on Sunday, and kicked out of their home, and fired from their job, on Monday. They don’t know names like Frank Kameny, Harvey Milk, Barney Frank, or the history of the Mattachine Society, or the Stonewall Riots.

Our current president is trying to wipe out all this history, and reverse any progress that has been made. Knowing this, it makes it even more important for school systems across the nation to fight to educate our children. We should ensure no child can graduate high school, without taking a course called “The 250-year fight for human rights in the United States.” They need to understand the history, and learn about the people who fought for their rights. They need to know how far we have come in 250 years, and understand, as we begin the next 250, how far we still have to go, to ensure real, full equality, for all.


Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.

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What LGBTQ veterans are building after ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’

DADT repeal took effect on Sept. 20, 2011. Trans servicemember ban reinstated

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The Pentagon (Photo by icholakov/Bigstock)

Fifteen years ago this month, the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” took effect. At the time, the importance of the change was obvious: gay, lesbian, and bisexual Americans would no longer have to hide who they were to wear the uniform. What was harder to see was what would follow: a generation of LGBTQ veterans able to carry their service openly into American civic life.

Earlier this month, Alaska state Rep. Andrew Gray, an Army veteran, stood before the Anchorage Assembly and asked the city to recognize Sept. 20 as LGBTQ Veterans Day.

His former command sergeant major, Mike Grunst, followed him to the microphone. A 35-year veteran who had served in combat, Grunst called troops who had served while hiding who they were “the bravest I have ever served with.”

Then Denise Sudbeck stepped forward. A Vietnam-era Navy veteran, she thanked the country for the privilege of serving and asked that the next generation have the same chance.

The Assembly approved the recognition.

Nothing about the scene required a new vocabulary. A veteran made a request of his community. A commander vouched for those who served beside him. Another veteran asked that younger Americans inherit the opportunity she valued. They entered the civic record simply as veterans.

That identity can do more than win recognition.

When federal policy abruptly ended the careers of transgender servicemembers this year, veterans and servicemembers in California began asking a practical question: What happens when those Americans come home?

Republican Assemblyman Jeff Gonzalez, a Marine combat veteran, began one hearing with questions about transgender military service. He listened as veterans explained how the military handles medical care and deployment case by case.

Then the discussion turned to separation.

“I don’t wanna see any veteran homeless,” Gonzalez said. Before the hearing ended, he was asking: “How can I help? How can I understand? How can I be a good advocate?”

The legislation that followed would provide housing, employment and transition assistance to discharged servicemembers. Republican state Sen. Shannon Grove spoke for it. The Senate passed it 32 to 0.

Americans have plainly not settled their disagreements over transgender people. Nor should military service be a prerequisite for rights that belong to every citizen.

But military service creates relationships that are difficult to reduce to the abstractions of the culture war. Before a legislature, “the transgender issue” can become a veteran who deployed, an officer who led troops, or the person who once stood beside you.

The political question changes because the human relationship has already changed.

The pattern is beginning to appear across the country. Kansas is among the states recognizing LGBTQ Veterans Day for the first time this year. New York and Virginia are pursuing broader state-level programs for LGBTQ veterans.

Sept. 20 is deliberate. On that day in 2011, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” ended.

We usually remember repeal for what LGBTQ Americans gained: the ability to serve openly. Fifteen years later, we can also see what the country gained.

A gay veteran can stand before his local government beside the commander who once led him. A transgender servicemember can sit before a legislator who begins with doubts and ends by asking how he can help. A veteran from an older generation can ask her neighbors to give those who follow her the same chance to serve.

This is citizenship in practice.

The enduring legacy of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” repeal is not only that Americans were finally allowed to serve openly. It is also what they can now build after coming home.

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