Left: It's not just a teenage vampire movie anymore: Twilight is the popular new monthly lesbian night at the Kitty Cat Klub in Minneapolis. Right: Jetset in the Minneapolis Warehouse District has a laid-back vibe compared with most downtown gay clubs. Another year, another Pride, and what's new in the Twin Cities gay scene? Well, the boy-based clubs like Jetset and the other flashy downtown joints have remained status quo. The only lesbian bar in Minneapolis, Pi, closed in November after just two years, followed by a collection of lesbian-themed club nights such as Booby-Trap and the Dollhouse -- the latter of which has already bit the dust. Meanwhile, Iowa legalized gay marriage before Minnesota could even make a move.
Outward Spiral, the only exclusively gay theater company in the state, is disbanding this summer after 14 years. The GLBT youth center District 202, formed in 1993, is ending day-to-day operations in July. At the same time, safe queer spaces can now be found everywhere from schools to corporations. While GLBT support services are still needed, it's becoming less clear where.
But these observations are only part of the story. Below the surface lies a diverse population of GLBT people with equally diverse views on the state of the community. So with one of the most popular Pride celebrations in the nation returning this weekend, what is it exactly that we in the Twin Cities GLBT community can be proud of? And where do we go from here?
Almost every major U.S. city seems to have its "gay ghetto"-- a four-block area cluttered with gay-friendly clubs, coffee bars and shops. But Minneapolis and St. Paul are relatively unique in that gay establishments are spread out across the metro, and in recent years more hangouts have adopted an unofficial "gay-friendly" reputation. The florescent rainbow sign in the window is no longer the only indication that gays are free to linger.
So maybe the broader city is ready to play host, but is the gay community ready to step outside its gay-only spaces and take ownership anywhere and everywhere it chooses to spend a night out? Is it safe to say the queer community is moving towards integration? Or is that just a step in the direction of assimilation?
"Our world is starting to shift," says Jeffry Lusiak, 32, artistic director of the disbanding Outward Spiral. "These very queer-specific spaces aren't needed anymore -- we felt our mission had been fulfilled." If Outward Spiral began with the intention of filling a gap in theater, today mainstream theaters are doing queer shows regularly, such as the Guthrie's current production of "The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures." "Our stories are being told," Lusiak says.
At the same time, as the broader hetero-society's view of GLBT persons is beginning to resemble acceptance, members of the queer community are also shifting their perceptions of how the community should function and present itself. Even the concept of "pride" is evolving into a more diverse, personalized sense of self. Once an umbrella term used to encompass an entire community, pride can no longer be explained via rainbows, Cher and/or Melissa Etheridge, and grimy nightclubs.
Twilight offers a relatively mellow space for sipping wine and hanging out with other queer women. Patrick Scully is the founder of Patrick's Cabaret, an experimental venue that has been hosting an eclectic mix of artists since 1986. Its rainbow flag flies high atop the building in the Longfellow neighborhood, marking an organization that Scully says is "not an exclusively queer place, but always a queer place." When asked if Minneapolis still needs distinctively gay spaces, Scully, 55, nods. "There are times when you build bridges and times when you need to be at home."
"We live in a society where [GLBT people] don't get to live our lives clearly on our own terms and we need to have those safe spaces," he says, flashing his bright blue eyes. "But that's not enough. We need to keep pushing the envelope, so we need to be everywhere. Not just completely on our own."
Heather Spear, 37, producer of the female-drag show Dykes Do Drag, calls these gay hangouts the "security blankets" - the places you go to find your ground. These flamboyant, multicolored establishments serve a multitude of needs for people of all ages and in all stages. Whether you need some new friends in the gay scene, a good lay, a night of dancing, a cure for your curiosity or just an escape from straight men, places like the Gay 90s and the Saloon can hit the spot.
Lusiak says these commercialized gay clubs are important for the history they represent and the rites of passage they still give today. "When you first come out, you want to be in fuchsia," he smiles, reflecting on how well-suited these bars were for him years ago. "But that's not my gay anymore."
Today Lusiak and his partner would prefer to find a nice wine bar instead of the stereotypical gay scene. Spear says she sometimes feels "more comfortable at a straight bar than somewhere like the exclusively gay Saloon." But she felt the defunct lesbian hangout Pi had a welcoming and inclusive feel, unlike most gay bars.
Pi's former owner, Tara Yule, says another nightspot similar to Pi is not likely to make it anytime soon. Asked if we need another lesbian bar, Yule said the "we" part is the problem: The multitude of subcultures within the larger GLBT community makes it impossible to appeal to everyone in one space. Contradictory to Spear's experience, Yule watched at Pi as disparate cliques like the "L Word" lesbians, the softball dykes and the gay punkers naturally separated.
"The community really segregates itself by age, race, class and cultures in general," Yule says. "All of these elements supersede our common need to be queer."
Yule thinks the new variety of monthly lesbian nights in town is a better fit for the diverse crowd. Ladies who want a place to bump and grind can do that once a month at Booby-Trap at the Bolt Underground nightclub. Those who want to sip wine among other queer women have that option at the Kitty Cat Klub's monthly Twilight. Attendance at these lesbian nights is guaranteed to be a full room of single women. Just like the straight crowd, these ladies are looking for a partner with similar interests to their own, not just someone with the same sexual preference. "The different cultures need their own spots," she says. "I don't know if it's possible for the queer movement to resolve its differences.
"If I were to ever open a new bar, it would be a 'queer' bar, a venue for like-minded people who really felt like they weren't a part of any specific [GLBT] community and wanted an alternative venue for urban enjoyment."
Is our only solid connection to one another our sexuality? Or should we be searching for something deeper? Perhaps it's time to find our queer sense of self -- the integral part of one's identity that stretches beyond the bedroom and inspires one to simply think with a "queer" point of view in all aspects of life -- a view outside of the straight-edged box, one with fluidity.
Esme Rodriguez, a drag performer and instructor at Macalester College, says identifying yourself as "queer" goes beyond sexual preferences. It's a mind-set that's open to all possibilities. "Being queer is about living life on a nonlinear journey. I know straight people who identify as queer."
At the same time, does the GLBT community's move toward integration walk a thin line with assimilation, running the risk of disenfranchising its own members? When mainstream-appearing GLBT people begin to receive mainstream entitlements, do they end up marginalizing the more provocative aspects of the movement, like drag queens, leather daddies and the often-misunderstood transgender community? Rodriguez warns about the dangers of compartmentalizing identities.
"There's a strength in building communities," she says. "But not everyone has to have the same identity card."
More gay bars are not necessarily the answer, but neither is fewer. Maybe we need a push for more queer-friendly spaces as well as a push for disempowering the stereotypes of what it means to be gay. For this year's Pride, we could hold off on the booze, resist the urge to catch up on the local lesbian gossip for a minute and utilize this summit to spark some discussions about what the community really means to us.
"There's something I love about being queer -- not fitting into society or what's 'normal,'" says Lusiak. "But I'm not living my life how I am because of who I sleep with."
Spear agrees: "We're here, telling our stories ... and we're gay. It doesn't have to be our primary identity."
Integration can be confusing when determining how public your private life should be. Is coming out to co-workers a form of activism, or is it simply none of their business? Why do so many people have rainbow bumper stickers, announcing their sexuality to fellow drivers? What will push the gay movement forward faster -- loudspeakers or silence?
While Lusiak was attending a private Catholic college, his rainbow accessories were a must before leaving the house; it was his way of saying that "I, as a gay person, exist and I need you to recognize me," he says. But today gayness and queer people are accessible nearly everywhere.
"[Queerness] should be normalized, yet not. It shouldn't be looked at in that frame," Lusiak says.
Yes, we need equal rights. Yes, we need to feel safe. But we shouldn't have to conform to a mold in either direction. It's important not to let go of what makes us unique. Regardless of how much progress our society has made toward acceptance of GLBT persons, we still have a long road to total equality. As Scully puts it, "if gaining rights and freedoms means losing our souls, it's not worth it."
"It's only going to change when those of us who have the courage to stand up stay standing," Scully says. "And wear our rainbows on our sleeves."
