Salome is on stage, and Salome is beautiful.
It’s early in the night and there’s a slight crowd huddled together around her in the club, no more than a couple dozen people upstairs total. Heads nodding to the beat. It’s early, with only a few drifts of conversation — “Did you hear about So-and-So?” “No, can’t be, that’s so unlike him, but then, I remember this one time, in September” — fading in and out of earshot. It’s the Village on a Thursday, Ke$ha’s on the speakers, warbling, “Let’s make the most of the night like we’re gonna die young,” and that’s good enough for everyone here right now.
Salome is on stage dancing and she’s a vision from the ’40s, all dark flowing hair and severely gorgeous glasses. She’s good, too good for this crowd, too good to be on so early in the night, too graceful in her slight flourishes for them to notice, too funny in split-second poses for them to laugh, too sharp for anyone to catch her edge. The crowd just stands around, mutely devoted, watching her dance, applauding the odd provocation (slap on the bum, wink and a kiss) tossed their way. Her hair comes down, her shawl comes off. The crowd cheers.
The LGBTOUT execs are standing around in one corner near the tables, quiet in conversation. Doug’s manning the ‘door’ tonight, right by the stairs, and after a smoke outside Rochelle joins him handing out gift bags, greeting people as they come up. There aren’t many yet. Second floor of Crews & Tangos, 10 pm, and it’s quiet. Josh is by the bar, polishing clean glasses. Matthew’s by the tables, looking thoughtful.
“See, usually — last year, yeah — we had them Fridays,” he says, hands neatly adjusting the brochures and cards on the table, sec pamphlets, upcoming events. “But the Barn closed down over the summer, most places already have schedules set up way in advance, and this was the only time we could get an event, so…”
So here we are. LGBTOUT’s first Homohop of the year, mid-January, on a Thursday, at a different bar, no cover charge, and no longer an all-ages event. It’s survived, and the LGBTOUT execs in charge are mostly familiar faces from last year, but it’s so different now, not just slightly different but almost outrageously so. Just about everything but the name is new. “It’s still around,” goes one argument. “But at what price?” goes the other.
And then, there’s the added worry of money. Without cover, the Homohop’s only way of making money tonight is drink sales. If things go well enough, Crews and Tangos will agree to host it again. If not, the Homohop goes away for what might be a very long time.
There’s a tension in the air, not nervous exactly, but ‘what ifs’ and ‘I hopes’ are on the tips of tongues, as everyone bustles around trying to get the place in order. Homohop’s still around, yeah, if only for a night, but what about tomorrow? The atmosphere’s full of these sorts of questions: The drop-in’s going well, at least compared to last year, but are we ever going to get new space? What about the execs? Will tabloid fervour about SEC and their party at Oasis Aqua Lounge spread to other campus groups like us? A hundred and one things to worry about before the music and the lights take over and the party can start.
People are coming up the stairs now, Doug and Rochelle hand out the gift bags one by one, and suddenly there are no more gift bags. Josh is pouring drinks as fast as they’re ordered, and there’s finally some movement on the floor: small groups, three or four people at most, have started dancing. Salome twirls on the dying bars of ‘Die Young,’ poses and winks with great camp style, and the night begins.
* * *
The Varsity
When?
DOUG
I came out when I was 15 in high school in Venezuela — actually, I was outed by this creepy guy.
AYYAZ
I was not out in Qatar.
The Varsity
What was that like?
DOUG
In the end it really didn’t matter, ’cause I had already been coming out to a few people. Being gay isn’t something I’m going to hide about myself.
AYYAZ
It was not something that was talked about in Qatar. There were no real labels of that sort there.
The Varsity
But I mean, how was that for you back then?
DOUG
Yeah, it was really hard for a while, as the only out guy in the school. I went from basically being unknown to being ‘The Gay.’ Even my teachers knew.
AYYAZ
[Pause] Some interesting dynamics in high school, yeah.
The Varsity
Country-wise, I mean … how is it like?
DOUG
It’s sexist as fuck; macho culture is the only thing there. There are some gay people there but there’s not really much [of] a community. Very clandestine organizations. There’s a march, but going there is such sacrifice.
AYYAZ
One of the things with Qatar is there was greater acceptance of not being hypermasculine, or anything like that. There’s more affection in Qatar between men — I should say, between heterosexual men. Two men holding hands is not considered an issue at all. You don’t see that here at all.
* * *
When I heard this magazine’s theme was ‘Dialogue,’ I said “huh” and that was that. After a thankfully abandoned attempt to say something intelligent about the Socratic dialogues, I decided to try a new angle and trundled over to the LGBTOUT’s drop-in. I needed inspiration, and old newspaper instincts die hard. I knew a couple people who worked there, so I figured maybe they could say something about dialogue and give me a lead, or inspiration, somehow.
I met Cathie and Ayyaz at the drop-in centre, located under a neat arch in University College just off St. George. Both are executives and volunteers for LGBTOUT. Cathie joined this year, while Ayyaz joined in 2011.
LGBTOUT, which was founded in 1969, is the oldest university lgbt group in the country, and does much of what you would expect an LGBT group on a university campus to do: organizes social events, provides references and support material for students with questions, and runs the drop-in centre, which currently functions as a catch-all conversational centre of sorts.
“Overall there is a huge need for a space for people who aren’t out to their friends and families,” Cathy said of the drop-in centre, which aims to give them space to talk about it. Quite a few people, including several current and former execs in LGBTOUT, have first come out publicly in the centre.
“There’s also a social need and a great social value in having a social space for lgbt students on campus,” she adds.
Of course, LGBTOUT is a student group on campus, so life can be complicated and uncertain. Right now the drop-in centre serves as both a social centre and a place for people to talk over their problems, hopes, and fears. Sometimes the mix works well, but other times…
After a long, enjoyable conversation about LGBTOUT and what they do around campus, I realized I’d forgotten about why I came and improvised a question about dialogue at the centre.
Both Cathie and Ayyaz stared at me in open-mouthed wonder for several seconds, before Cathie said, very gently, “That’s the whole point, sweetie. You can talk here. You can ask.”
I made a mental note to avoid stupid questions in the future, and asked Ayyaz, who had mentioned he was from Qatar, if he had the time for a quick interview later in the week.
* * *
The Varsity
What’s different in Canada?
DOUG
The fact I can be totally myself here is a little overwhelming.
AYYAZ
There’s a huge emphasis on the idea or label of ‘being gay.’
The Varsity
How so?
DOUG
Due to the fact I can be myself here, I’m starting to discover more about myself. It’s been such a beautiful experience. I got a chance not just to be the ‘gay guy.’ I am gay, but back home it wasn’t like that.
AYYAZ
It’s difficult to say exactly, but here there’s more of an emphasis on going with the prevailing majority idea of what it means to ‘be gay.’ There’s less freedom in a sense — remember earlier, about ‘coming out?’ That’s a very western thing. In Qatar, the idea of ‘coming out’ just doesn’t exist.
The Varsity
So for you, identities are … ?
AYYAZ
I find it problematic to say that I identified with the ‘gay identity’ because I felt that I would be misunderstood — that’s something that comes over from Qatar, because if you’re interested in men that defines all of who you are. The same things apply in Canada — if you’re gay here then it can feel in some sense that comes to define the entirety of your personality to other people.
* * *
Identifying as something is emblematic of our generation, and you and me and everyone we know is a beautiful and unique snowflake, and yet somehow we’ve already found a problem: what happens when a person’s group identity clashes with their personal identity?
I won’t get hilariously out of my depth theorizing about identity here, but something Ayyaz said about the western ‘gay identity’ struck me.
“It’s great that Canada exists, that it provides a model in some respects to other countries,” he began, and then trailed off to recover his thoughts. “But it’s… It might seem like a false complaint that ‘Canada gives you labels,’ but it’s a real problem.”
Ayyaz identifies as queer, not gay. Doug identifies as gay. For Ayyaz, the emphasis here on labels and how they’re used to define someone is worrisome; for Doug, it’s less of a problem. There’s not much of a point in taking the matter further. Both have valid and incontestable reasons for feeling the way they do. But I kept coming back to the differences between the two, differences of identity.
‘Identity’ is forced to play double-duty as both a personal idea and a public expression. There’s some undissipated tension here, some that recognition maybe the problem will never go away — it’s structural, in a way, when you think about all the meanings a word like ‘identity’ can have. Maybe there isn’t a solution, or maybe there is. Maybe the only way around the problem is to just keep talking, to just keep gabbing on with friends and strangers, offering confidences sure to be broken in the morning, to just keep up the conversations about what it’s like for you, what it’s like for me, and just talk talk talk until the sun comes out in the morning.
* * *
The Varsity
How has LGBTOUT been for you?
DOUG
It has been so rewarding.
AYYAZ
I think LGBTOUT has had a huge impact on my self-discovery; it’s shaped it in a more positive way.
The Varsity
I kinda need to shoehorn in a quote about dialogue here — what can you say about LGBTOUT and dialogue?
DOUG
[Laughing] We’re all very talkative and opinionated in different ways. It’s great. All the dialogue at LGBTOUT has made me realize the world of sexuality and gender in a much deeper way.
AYYAZ
My hope for LGBTOUT — for its future — is that some of the discourses and discussions I’ve started with the community continue, especially those that look at the intersection of queerness, race, and gender; where all those things collide, and where those differences need to be highlighted.
* * *
Later in the night, the execs are able to relax. The gift bags, free to the first 40 upstairs, nearly flew off the tables. Doug, liberated from hosting duties at last, is dancing. Natalie’s texting, Rochelle’s out for another smoke, and Ayyaz is manning the tables.
“Having a good time so far?” he shout-asks over the music, and I nod. There isn’t much more to say right now, it’s too loud for that, and so we both turn and watch the dancing for a while.
Looking over the crowd, I’m still wondering about Ayyaz’s comments about the ‘gay identity.’ Sure, there are a few common sartorial touchstones here, some shared reference points, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, is it? I can’t make up my mind, and decide maybe I can spend tomorrow thinking and talking about it again, but for now, it’s nearly midnight and the dance floor beckons.
Soon, it’s midnight, and then one. The crowd swells, surges, and subsides in time with the music. “Starships” by Nicki Minaj comes on, and then a Spanish-language club hit we can’t place, and then the music blurs and blends into one great, hours-long track. The crowd is still alive and moving well into the night, enough empty glasses adorn enough tables to feel hope that maybe the money situation’s not all bad, and then, all of a sudden.
The air is clearing, the floor is clearing, and it’s not only two-thirty, but last call, and suddenly it’s the last song, and upstairs it’s back to where it began: a couple dozen people huddled close together on the dance floor. This time though, they’re in motion to the last fading chorus of a song, and when it ends, as it must, the lights come up, the music dies, and there’s nothing left here but groups of people talking, already talking and talking about tonight and today and tomorrow.
