This is a story about feelings. This is a story about me.

I’ve been in the Superstore on countless nights. I used to live next to it for more than a year, and yesterday we were celebrating the fact that one of my former housemates with which I lived in that house was leaving London for good. A quick Latin drink in Escudo De Cuba and finishing in the Superstore seemed wholesome and nice enough.

I have been overcharged for vegan food on more Saturdays than I can count.

I have witnessed more mediocre drag shows than I can remember.

I have heard Kylie Minogue bleeding awfully into Cardi B many times.

The point of the Superstore was never quality or a concept. Clubs are places for us to get together, explore ourselves and feel loved.

Yesterday we got there a bit tipsy around 2 am, we waited a little bit even though no one was queuing and each and every one of us paid 10 quid to get in, even knowing that the place was closing in an hour or so. Was not a big deal. I always like supporting queer venues.

And then, my night was cut short. Someone (not a security person) tapped me on the shoulder and told me to go outside with them. I followed them not knowing what was happening, and outside, they told me that I was accused of assault. That word was used.

assault

/əˈsɔːlt,əˈsɒlt/

noun

a physical attack.

a military attack or raid on an enemy position.

a strong verbal attack.

a concerted attempt to do something demanding.

Not even on the nights when I’m feeling my sassiest I am coming from a place of hatred or bitterness. And I was definitely not physically attacking anyone. The ones that know me know this, I have nothing to prove.

I tried to briefly make my case, but the decision was unremovable. It is, apparently, policy. It is Superstore’s policy to cast everyone out when they have been marked as a potential threat to the overall atmosphere. All for the greater good, all for preserving our safe space. I was mad, yes, but I am not one to try to fight in a battle I cannot win, so 10 minutes after I paid my 10£ I ordered a 15£ cab and I left. Luckily my boyfriend came with me and I told the rest of my friends to stay and have fun, was not their thing anyway.

And you know, when you are in a car late at night slightly drunk and you have been in an unfair and violent position, we humans tend to think a lot. The echo of a word could be heard; assault.

And I thought about how many times my own queerness has been questioned just because I don’t subscribe to the new age aesthetic of queerness. I am well aware that I benefit from my cis male passing, but; even when my heart is in the right place, I am judged and my queerness is called into question.

Every time.

Do I not look queer enough? Did I not feel lonely when I was a teenager? Did I not hate the body I was in? Did I not experience pain enough that now anyone can boot me out without opening a conversation?

This is the world we live in. A world where middle-class queers who never have suffered a day in their lives conquer spaces made interesting by working-class artists and pervert them into using our own ideas and policies against us.

A world in which we need to tailor the environment for people with a very limited set of skills.

I still love every new queer kid that arises, in any shape or form, but we as queers must identify our family righteously and protect each other. Without constraint, without a policy. The world is against us, they are killing us. I don’t think is good that we take the small spaces to point fingers and accuse our own kind without proof, without conversation, in a unidirectional decision that made my little queer heart feel exiled.

Another time, another place, I still do not belong.

If a policy can be exploited, that policy must change.

Count your blessings, count your privileges. Queer people are made of fire, we are forged in pain and alloyed in beautiful forms.

There is nothing left for me to do but write this text. Remember that not everyone with non-normative pronouns is our ally. Remember that words like “community” and “assault” are thrown away far too easily. They are watered down, and they are losing their meaning.

Remember that not all the spaces that look safe are safe.

Because yesterday, I did not feel safe.