Historically, gay bars and nightclubs have been safe spaces for LGBTQ+ people, a space where the lights are dark, their fears appeased, often with the help of alcohol. 

“A lot of our spaces began life as pubs, as nightclubs, because there was no other place to go, really,” says CJ De Barra, a non-binary, Irish, neurodivergent author, journalist and historian.

CJ, originally from West Cork but now lives in Nottingham, refers to themself as an accidental historian – not a trained one. They credit their 20-year journalistic career in helping them collect Nottingham’s diverse queer history. 

Their work which is stored on the Notts Queer History Archive, consists of over 170 interviews spanning three years.

“I’ve interviewed some incredible people,” says CJ. “From gay men in the sixties, trans activists in the seventies, all the way up to the lesbians of the 2020s – I’ve kept it really open. If you’ve experienced any of Nottingham’s LGBT scene, that’s it – regardless of what your gender or sexuality is.”

CJ documents the Notts Queer History archive on Instagram, with a separate page dedicated solely to the archive.

CJ believes historically, pubs and clubs that were open to queer communities weren’t as bold and brazen as they are today.

“There was no giant, great, big, rainbow flag out the front of a bar that said ‘This is where you go’,” they say.

“It was all word of mouth. You’d have a signifier that you were part of the community – you would rely on someone else to tell you where to go.”

Usually, CJ says, these places would be a back room, a side room, a pub or a club, with a manager or landlord who was either sympathetic to the queer community or recognised the fact that these were people with money, and they had nowhere to spend it. 

They believe that this was the reason the LGBTQ+ community got so accustomed to having bars and nightclubs be the spaces that they met in. “That never went away over the years, because there were so many [failed] attempts at getting LGBT community centres – certainly in the case of Nottingham – up and off the ground,” they say.

“An attempt ran from the mid-eighties to about 2005, where the community got as far as having a building and renovating it, only to realise that it wasn’t viable, eventually dropping it.”

CJ believes this is one of the reasons the community hasn’t gotten out of the nightclub and drinking culture embedded into the lives of queer individuals. “If you are in that setting, you are very much exposed to, and at the mercy of, the alcohol industry – because you have to buy something to stay,” they say.

The author also believes the drinking culture in the UK and in Ireland is largely inspired by the way the two countries interact with alcohol. As an Irish person growing up in a rural area of Cork, CJ was isolated in their queerness and drinking gave them the Dutch courage they needed. 

They also spoke to a lot of people who mentioned that they had to do several laps of the street where the gay bar or establishment existed, just because they were too scared to go in. 

“I remember going to my first pub, which was Taboo in Cork – it took me several attempts to go in as I was alone, as I didn’t know anyone else who was gay to go in with me,” says CJ. “I would have felt so much more confident had that been the case.”

CJ believes that alcohol is being pushed on queer individuals even more now, with Big Alcohol sponsoring Pride events and other LGBTQ+ spaces – targeting people who might feel nervous or shy at these events.

They say: “In that moment, a pressure to drink, just to take the edge off, is present, and that is the alcoholic shadow that looms over the queer community.”