Reykjavík Grapevine - 25.09.2015, Side 28

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This strikes me as odd for a number of rea-
sons. The first being that, while yes, rela-
tive to some far more populous cities of
the world—Shanghai, Istanbul, Lagos, São
Paulo, New York City, etc. (thanks, Wiki-
pedia!)—Reykjavík's approximate 120,000
is rather small. Further,
this question also deals
greatly with historical
population growth over
time—go back to 1901,
and the population was
only a bit over 6,300.
But, still... A popula-
tion of 120,000 seems
significant to me—
though to be fair, I did grow up in a small-
ish town (15,000 in a good year). And I can
think of plenty of cities with populations
smaller than Reykjavík’s that foster vibrant
gay scenes, if not full-fledged gaybour-
hoods.
And yeah, the development of “gay-
bourhoods” was historically aided (though
not exclusively) by the existence of a
highly trafficked urban space with large
international shipping ports, naval and
military bases and heavy involvement in
major wars, as well as a significant history
of cosmopolitanism, internal migration
and immigration from abroad, and...
Well, I think I just answered my own
question, didn't I? And it's nothing against
Iceland—that's just not how things worked
here. Historically, at least.
There are a few historical spaces I
was able to read up on. Known to those
“in the know,” ya know? Informally, and
before LGBT+ was even a conceivable ac-
ronym. Walking through Reykjavík, I feel
as though I'm surrounded by hidden his-
tories. Historical gay spots, as far as I could
find, were highly secretive and unofficial,
rarely documented, and limited in number
and size out of necessity—this wasn't es-
pecially news to me.
What struck me more, as I learned to
accept that a lot of what I was looking
for in terms of historical
narrative would remain
in permanent obscurity,
was the following: where
exactly were the present
scenes? I mean, it's one
thing for a “gaybour-
hood” to not have existed
in the past—but where's
the presence now? Why
does it appear as though not much new is
forming?
It wasn't long before I started to find
various explanations for the lack of gay-
bourhood, queer scene, or various cultural
presence in contemporary Reykjavík via
the wonderfully enlightening netherworld
of tourist-information websites. One of
the more striking quotations I found goes
as follows, taken from Guide to Iceland's
website:
As for gay-culture, there isn't much,
because there does not need to be. Gays
participate as regular members of society,
and in Iceland there are openly gay people
in all sectors and levels of society. And as
such, there is no gaybourhood...
Forgetting (as much as I'd prefer not
to) the use of “gay” in place of a wide vari-
ety of different identities and experiences,
I wonder how much truth there is to this
sentiment. Yes, Iceland is ahead of the
curve in many ways in terms of LGBT+ le-
gal rights—impressively so. But legal rights
are hardly the same thing as acceptance
(which, by the way, is hardly a victory—
see the Riddle Scale), and certainly legal
rights are not the same thing as actual
safety, security, comfort, self-determined
expression, etc. I don't buy that culture
is born exclusively as an act of defiance,
or out of need for defence, and thus dies
out when the need for protection is gone
(which, mind you, it certainly is not).
So, to answer my question, the “gay-
bourhood” as of now exists alongside the
straightbourhood (i.e. the World). Reyk-
javík has the outward appearance of an
assimilationist's utopia—lesbian beside
queer beside trans beside intersex beside
bisexual beside gay beside straight beside
etc., all dancing contentedly in the same
small club, no difference between them.
Except that there are differences—dif-
ferent experiences, different wants and
needs, different discrete identities and
worldviews. And there is no way that ev-
eryone can or should always exist together
like this.
It's great that all spaces are open to us,
and that many (though not all) can feel rel-
atively safe living as ourselves. But no one
wants only to co-mingle—with heterosex-
uals, or with adjacent letters. In speaking
to LGBTQ+ persons of Reykjavík (while
knowing there are still many more to talk
to, and still much, much more to hear), one
does seem to detect a want and a need
for them to carve out discrete spaces for
themselves. Though I wonder how much
room here there actually is to do so.
I've asked around. Though the sample size is hardly one that would hold up under intense
scrutiny, a pattern has begun to emerge. The question “Where's the gaybourhood?”, when
raised in Reykjavík, will most likely be met with the response (after several, strangely long
seconds of quiet contemplation): “Well—it's a very small city.” Whether my interlocutor is
heterosexual, or part of the alphabet soup, the answer is the same.
Photo
Axel Sigurðarson
Words
Samuel Wright Fairbanks
28 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 15 — 2015CULTURE
Where's
The Gaybourhood?
On Iceland's
Assimilationist Utopia
I don't buy that culture
is born exclusively as
an act of defiance,
or out of need for
defence, and thus dies
out when the need for
shielding is gone.