On Longing and Belonging: the promise of queer community in Berlin.

A qualitative study of queer loneliness and community building in Berlin

Carolin Grimmer

Supervisor name: Alma Persson, Gender Studies, Linköping University Master’s Programme Gender Studies – Intersectionality and Change

Master’s thesis 30 ECTS credits

ISNR: LIU-TEMA G/GSIC2-A—20/003-SE

ABSTRACT Many queers are drawn to ‘the city’, as an (imagined) more progressive, and queered space. Its urbanity may offer anonymity as well as community. A major city means both the presence of diversity, of other queers, as well as possibly a queered understanding of ‘the city’ itself, with rich queer histories and cultures ingrained into the public and private realm. But then again, the realities within the city of Berlin is often a different one. Finding community that works, a multitude of exclusions plus the need for safer spaces make it harder to connect and are part of the experience of queer community. I try to understand the queerness within the feeling of yearning, of trying to find a place where one belongs and connect it with the feelings of disappointment and loneliness. I conducted interviews following a semi-guided structure. In their analysis, I hope to understand how urban queer loneliness is experienced and understood.

Key words: #queer loneliness #queer community #intersectionality #queer city #queer history #queer community #chosen family #exclusions

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Table of Content Acknowledgments ………………………………………………………………………………... p. 5 Introducing: The Promise of a Queer City ……………………………………………………….. p. 6 Research Questions, Aims and Limitations ……………………………………………………….p. 8 Theoretical Views ………………………………………………………………………………… p. 12 On Intersectionality ……………………………………………………………………… p. 12 On Disidentification ………………………………………………………….………….. p. 13 Terminology: On Unbelonging and Loneliness ………………………………………..... p. 13 Literature Review: On the Field of Longing and Belonging …………………………………….. p. 15 Historic Queer Longing and Belonging…………………………………………………...p. 16 On Community and Care ………………………………………………………………… p. 18 Hierarchies and Exclusion ……………………………………………………………….. p. 21 Norms and Stories ………………………………………………………………………...p. 23 Berlin and Its Queer Potential …………………………………………………………….p. 25 Conclusions ……………………………………………………………………………….p. 27 Methodology ………………………………………………………………………………………p. 29 On Qualitative Research …………………………………………………………………. p. 29 Procedure ………………………………………………………………………………… p. 29 Deciding the Target Group ……………………………………………………… p. 30 Recruitment ………………………………………………………………………p. 30 Screening Potential Participant ………………………………………………….. p. 31 Data Collection Process …………………………………………………………. p. 31 Data Analysis ……………………………………………………………………. p. 33 Reflectivity and Positionality ……………………………………………………………. p. 33 Ethics ……………………………………………………………………………. p. 34 Limitations …………………………………………………………………...... p. 36 On Whiteness ……………………………………………………………………. p. 36 Analysis …………………………………………………………………………………………... p. 38 Coming Out 2.0 ………………………………………………………………………….. p. 38 C. – Trying to Make It All Work ……………………………………………...... p. 39 L. – Bigger Consequences ………………………………………………………. p. 41 O. – Courage to Come Out ……………………………………………………… p. 43 Y. – Starting from Scratch ………………………………………………………. p. 45 J. – A They and Also Femme ..………………………………………………….. p. 47 Summary…………………………………………………………………………. p. 48 Queer Norms of Belonging ……………………………………………………………… p. 51 Queer Kinship Norms …………………………………………………………… p. 51 Community Building Norms ……………………………………………………. p. 56 Summary ………………………………………………………………………… p. 66 Queer Communities of Care …. .………………………………………………………… p. 68 Organizing Community …………………………………………………………. p. 68 Community Care and Creativity ………………………………………………… p. 72 Self-Care within Community Care ……………………………………………… p. 75 Summary ………………………………………………………………………… p. 78

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Concluding Discussions on Queer Loneliness …………………………………………………… p. 79 Loneliness in Relation to Fluidity ………….……………………………………………. p. 79 Loneliness Experienced in Relation to Self-Image ……………………………………… p. 79 Potential: Countering Loneliness with Care …………………………………………….. p. 80 Conclusions: What the Research Taught Me ……………………………………………. p. 80 Appendix …………………………………………………………………………………………. p. 82 Table of Questions ……………………………………………………………………….. p. 82 References ……………………………………………………………………………….. p. 84

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Acknowledgements

Thank you Fee for sticking around, for being my community when I had none. Thank you for constantly pushing me and holding me accountable. I know and cherish your love.

Thank you Wanda for being my literal rock during this thesis project. Thank you for helping with the small stuff and the big stuff, for believing in me and expressing it. I love you to the moon and back.

Thank you Alma for being the best supervisor for this project I could have asked for. You helped me tremendously with the loneliness and insecurities I felt as an academic.

Thank you to everyone I met throughout this gender studies program. Both teachers and students have touched my life in numerable ways. I’d especially like to thank the good old Lykke Tutor Group. You personify an important space for emotional connection during hard and isolated times. I am forever thankful to have met you all.

Thank you to the different queer communities I got to be a part of so far and the ones I’ll hope to encounter in the future. I love you. I owe you my life.

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Introducing: The Promise of a Queer City What initially brought me to the topic of this thesis was my own biography and my experiences after moving to Berlin as a lonely queer. When I moved to Berlin, it was ‘just for the summer’. I had no intention of staying here. I had to fill some time in between my BA and my MA and living with my parents in the small village I grew up in just wasn’t feasible anymore. The ‘Berlin Myth’ of queers roaming unbothered in the streets expressing themselves freely had of course also shaped my understanding of the city and the hopes I brought with me. It wasn’t what brought me here but precisely what made me stay. When I ultimately decided to stay, I had a small and beautiful community around me. People I, for the first time in my life, truly considered my queer family. Shortly thereafter, the group fell apart or at least started to not be a space for me anymore. A main part was racism towards the queers of color, with no small fault of my own. I fell into a deep state of shock and grief. Something that felt so glorious and stable suddenly wasn’t accessible or possible for me anymore. It made me think a lot about community, how it functions, what its needs are, how we can sustain it, how different identities can coexist, what the specifics of conflict culture are and what role Berlin and its mystification play in all of it. All those informed the hypotheses I brought to this research project. I thought most queers might have specific queer reasons to move or stay here. I wanted to know how others understand community and what they are looking to get from it. I specifically started to wonder about other experiences of queer loneliness in Berlin. How did queer people deal with the promise of a queer city that didn’t exactly come true for some either? I asked myself, when and how they experienced loneliness, hurt and shame. Thus, the idea was formed to look deeper into queer loneliness, its different shapes and faces and of course what informs it. I wondered about a specific kind of queer loneliness, not the one experienced by youth in isolation in the country side or elderly gays (mostly men) in care homes, both groups that have been studied and thought about quite a bit, but the experiences of those young adult queers who moved to a city full of promise. I also focused on marginalised genders (anyone but cis- men; with a strong focus on trans experiences). At least in theory, my subjects should have access to queer community. Many don’t have access to community or feel lonely despite it. And the reasons are vast and unfortunately outside the scope of this project. I will nonetheless further zoom in on the individual experiences my research participant made and form conclusions on how they experience loneliness from the qualitative data I have conducted with them in in- depth interviews. On which more will be described within my chapter on methodology.

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In the following chapter I’ll give insight into the questions posed by this research, what I aim to accomplish and what the limitations of this project are. Following that, I’ll give a short overview of the theoretical views I bring to this project. My literature review will address who and what has been talked about when it comes to queer loneliness. I outline the previous research within related fields and how they interact with my research questions. After that I’ll dive into the methodological structure, laying out how I conducted this study and interpreted its findings. I aim for a transparent process in explaining the choices I made and strategies I followed before, during and after collecting my data as well as the guiding ethical principles I observed. In the main body I’ll introduce my analysis and write about my findings of how I understand the phenomenon of queer loneliness within this data. The analysis chapter is guided by themes which I extrapolated from the data collected in the interviews. I will follow this with an introduction of my informants throughout the first chapter dedicated to one of the themes drawn from my results: ‘Coming Out 2.0’. In this chapter, I engage with peoples shifting identities when relating to sexual orientation and gender identities, as well as their understanding of health or ability. The second analysis chapter is dedicated to an exploration of norms within queer community in Berlin and how those in turn influence the participant’s experiences in community, including their feeling of belonging. The third chapter then is dedicated to queer care communities and how they relate to feelings of belonging. In this chapter, I evaluate different levels of care structures. From political engagement, to care and art groups, and the interconnected aspect of self-care. Lastly, I form conclusions on the meaning of queer loneliness when it comes to my participants experiences. In a concluding discussion I draw from the previously analysed themes and relate them back to my initial research questions and the previously done research.

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Research Question, Aims and Limitations Through the process of defining my research questions, I let myself be both guided by my initial interest in queer loneliness as well as in turn what kind of data my interviews actually produced. As I was interested in how Berlin and its mythological telling as a queer haven would influence people’s experiences with loneliness and community, it became apparent that the city has an effect on participant’s identity and self-discovery. This was relevant to my research questions. It quickly became clear that there are three main aspects: the self, experiences of loneliness and community. Those three are inherently linked and woven together. Thus, my main research question was: How is queer loneliness experienced and understood in the context of a contemporary queer city. This question is in itself referring to two different parts. First the experience itself and secondly how it is understood by my participants. My underlying question was about the way people experience loneliness and the kind of feelings that are brought up by it. When it comes to my informants understanding of their own process, their value statements regarding community and loneliness became relevant. This relates to my participants hopes around community and connection which is potentially counteracted by what actually happens and how they themselves act in community. This part of my main question is embedded into a bigger picture understanding of the self, community and Berlin. In this research, queer loneliness and how it is experienced, was embedded first and foremost into the experiences made with community. It is also embedded into hypotheses about the potentially failed promise of a queer city. My sub research questions thus focused on community specifically and how Berlin as a city and its queer communities are being perceived: • On queer community I asked: How is queer community experienced (including the problems of finding queer community)? And how do possible experiences and feelings of exclusion inform the experience of loneliness? • Relating to Berlin, I asked: How do queers engage with the myth of Berlin? This question doesn’t rely on a hypothesis of an actual myth but rather on how participants’ experiences, hopes and behaviours are informed by the act of mythological telling and how they differentiate between actual culture or myth. Related to that is the question about the role that the city of Berlin plays when it comes to queer hopes, norms and failures which will be explored in the analytical chapters.

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In total, I aim to better understand the interaction of Berlin’s queer potential and the participant’s experiences. During the process of conducting the interviews, certain research questions were added: e.g. how does people’s identity formation interact with the city of Berlin and its queer potential. This will be covered in the analysis chapter titled ‘Coming Out 2.0’.

Because my main interest lies with experiences surrounding community, I understand the term loneliness throughout this research broadly as the feeling of not belonging. I did not focus on dating or romantic and sexual partnership per se, but those still came up as interlinked with needs and hopes regarding community. Belonging as a feeling might be filled differently within queer culture. In some ways, loneliness connected to dating or sexual and romantic partnerships influences feelings of belonging to community generally. In this research, it is specifically true due to some of the queers in my study not living a strict separation between friendship and romantic or sexual partnership (comp. relationship anarchy, e.g. J.) I will further address the fact that this less strict differentiation in the chapters on ‘Queer Norms of Belonging’ and Communities of Care. Homo- and transphobia coming from outside the queer community have been studied before. I studied a group who’s experiences with negative affect haven’t been addressed in detail outside of literature representation or as intercommunity occurrences. I’ve chosen an area of study where I reach people whose experiences will offer a contribution to the field of queer studies and experience-based research done with queers. I aim not to address loneliness as a feeling that needs to be overcome, but as part of everyday life and woven through out queer biographies. Addressing feelings isn’t easily done, as they can be fleeting, non-linear, or contradictory. I see some general limitations in writing about feelings, in finding the right words, in lacking a practice, even within a field like gender studies (comp. Sedgwick ‘Touching feelings’ 2003). As such I also conducted this research in a fashion that aims to honour feelings in a way that hopefully offers something to my individual participants, too. Outside of academic goals, I aimed to create somewhat of a communal moment with the individual informants during our conversation. I will elaborate further on that in the chapter on methodology. I aim to support my participants in talking about emotions and emotional trauma in a way that allows them (and me) to heal and progress forward rather than feeling shame or guilt or an inability to express emotions that go against an ideal of ‘the happy queer’ (comp. Ahmed 2010).

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When it comes to discussions of intercommunity exclusion and conflict, I aim neither to uphold a stream-lined and simplified picture of queer lives, nor throw dirt at a marginalised community that has enriched my life. I aim to offer complexity, and to externalize my own queer loneliness, give the kind of space to others that I missed in moments of need. Of course, I am not a therapist. But I want to be an open ear and a friend to my community, with its complexities and short comings. Both in a literal practise as well as within this academic exercise. Thus, I aim for demystifying negative affect and to enable intercommunity conversations on feelings like loneliness further.

As this is a rather small scope qualitative research setting, my findings are not quantifiable and can only give a starting idea of the experiences and themes drawn from the specific stories regarding loneliness and community building efforts among queer adults between the ages of 24 and 45,1 who are not cis male and who have moved to Berlin having lived there for at least a year. As those are the people I selected after the rough outline I drew when writing the call for interviews, only their experiences will be addressed. This excludes the experiences of e.g. older queers in Berlin and the age group of teenagers (or even kids) or people who grew up in the city. Themes like living through the AIDS epidemic or fear and insecurity or potential economic instability connected to older age, thus, as well as aspects of living with parents or guardians as a queer person will not find a place in this research. As previously mentioned, both the age group of rural queer teenagers and elder cis male queers have been studied before when it comes to loneliness. Nonetheless, teenagers who grow up in bigger cities, or in Berlin, as well as elder queers with marginalized genders (e.g. lesbians and trans people) would be a very informative group to be studied as well. I excluded them from my research as I anticipated too vast an outcome of findings when it comes to e.g. generational differences both in culture as well as experiences of hardship. Another group that would be interesting to study specifically when it comes to community are queers in religious communities as well as specifically and exclusively a study on BIPoC2 queers’ experiences. I interviewed five people of which four have been in academia and one self-identified with a working-class background. So, I also lack some more in-depth representation of the experiences of working-class queers. In hindsight I wish I had gone more into detail around questions of

1 This is the age span of my actual participants, in the initial call I set it between 21-45. 2 Standing for ‘Black, Indigenous (relevant to a lesser degree in Germany), People of Color’.

10 conflict and conflict culture within my interviews. This could have been a very relevant addition to my questions. Nonetheless, it might be worth to make them into their own research project. Another aspect I am not studying, are the explicit causes behind loneliness. They will be discussed if they come up but only in relation to experiences made by the informants and not further analysed. There also wasn’t a set focus on coping mechanisms either. Even though they come up subtly with questions on experiences and care, they are not explicitly part of the questions I am trying to answer. My research is mostly set pre-Covid-19 and my interviews fell only into the first round of restrictive measures in Germany, around the end of March and beginning of April 2020. So, it doesn’t address the specifics of community spaces experiencing a pandemic or individual queers’ loneliness due to those circumstances.

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Theoretical Views On Intersectionality This research project is situated within intersectional theory. I follow an approach that aims for complexity and an understanding in which identities don’t fall into an either or but are interrelated and interacting. In Crenshaw’s original work on the topic (1989) she focuses on black women and how their racialized and feminized identities aren’t understood or researched together but separately, if at all (e.g. as single-issue). In reality, they are interconnected, interlinking and interdependent. Since then, intersectional research has been widely applied throughout different fields of the humanities, among them being feminist and queer studies. Through that process, they went through translations and interpretative moments that have added to the theory. In my research I find intersectional theory most relevant in relation to the interlinking fluidity and multitude of gender identity and sexuality, this is of course situated more broadly within queer theory. It’s especially helpful in understanding complexities (within gender and sexuality) along both an axis of oppression and privilege (e.g. Levine-Rasky 2011). Lewis gives insight to the topic of theory translation, how it bends and shifts when moving from one location or context to another (2013). She writes about intersectionality and how it is being translated into an European context,3 arguing for the importance of location when talking about the practical and academic interpretations of intersectionality. This relates to my approach to the theory. It has been translated in the sense of how it is understood as a practise within a European, specifically the Berlin (community) context.4 My research then follows the translation into a queer field. Of course, intersectionality was not originally practised as an academic analytical theory but has been on the minds and in the hearts of those, who occupy more than one position of ‘otherness’ for a long time. Within the queer political spheres that reference the theory, multiple and ongoing steps of translations and rewritings occur. The part of the queer community which discusses and lives intersectionality is shaped by a multitude of experiences. By white queers who studied gender theories, by queers of color who did the same but potentially with a different motivation and outcome, by those who don’t share the language, but embody the theory. Language and translation like this, becomes a multi-layered process which can hardly follow one distinct version of a theory, but needs space for many interpretations and lived realities. The awareness for fluidity and multitudes within translations

3 While originally coined by black women within the U.S. (Crenshaw). 4 Which will be relevant when approaching queer community culture.

12 and how it affects lives within specific local contexts is what I extrapolate from the theory of intersectionality for my research project.

On Disidentification Similarly to my approach on Intersectional Theory, I understand Disidentification within its potential for translation or relationality to my field (comp. ‘Making Theories Work’ Davis 2014b). Originally coined by Muñoz, its main subject is racial identity in relation to performance and representation. Feminist and queer theory and practises have since drawn from it. How I understand and adapt the theory is also relevant to my research. Disidentification as a term does not mean a counter-identification. It is situated in between identification and counter- identification (Muñoz 2005). It straddles an in between state of belonging and unbelonging. Thus, questions of belonging are part of this theory. I situate my research within trans and queer studies, which historically are arenas of posing disidentificatory questions (comp. Lykke 2014). The questions I try to answer follow a disidentificatory approach regarding queer community. This means asking how loneliness is experienced within community settings which might have the potential to counter loneliness. The interaction of my participants with those feelings and those communities then offers insight into their own potentially disidentificatory practises. In addition, my theory will be informed by some of theory which stems from previous research. I will be combining my theoretic views addressed here with parts of my literature review (comp. a praxis of mixing theory in Halberstam 2011). Most of the theory I will be referring to is aligned with queer and trans theory5, reaching over to works on community, love, transfeminism, queer norms and care.

Terminology: On Unbelonging and Loneliness I use unbelonging as a term that specifically expresses an experience of loneliness within a broader feeling of community. This term functions as both an active and passive marker of not- belonging, thus referring both to distancing oneself and/or to being distanced and ‘othered’. As previously explained, I use Muñoz’ theory on disidentification which refers to an in between state of identification and counter-identifying (Muñoz 2005). Unbelonging as a term throughout my paper and in relation to Muñoz’ concept, does not completely turn away from the identity

5 I have purposefully chosen a majority of theory written by people who are affected by the issues themselves, e.g. are trans (femmes) themselves.

13 to which it relates. It straddles the in between of yearning for belonging, which is met with some limitations, resulting potentially in feelings like loneliness.

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Literature Review: On the Field of Longing and Belonging My research centres on feelings, and especially ideas around affect and negative affect in relation to mental health. Within this topic, I wish to examine queer loneliness and related emotions of fear and shame. These are emotions that I personally experienced when I moved to Berlin, a city that has acquired almost mythological status as a queer haven and a place to find community. Throughout the book ‘Queer Constellations’ Chisholm looks for historical and literary examples of culturally queer spaces and utopias within queer metropolises. She identifies the queer city6 as a place that historically links to community and becomes a monument within the “experimental narratives of queer memory” (2005: 104). Nonetheless, her main question is related to the so-called ‘wake of the city’, which she embeds within capitalism. In her conclusion she draws a rather pessimistic picture, which locates utopian queer cultural spaces within cities of the past. Within my research I build on this memory of a glorified queer past as informing the ongoing mythological (re-)telling of a glamourized queer Berlin.7 When first approaching the intersections of sexuality, gender and mental health I intend to focus in on the promise and hope for contemporary community within the queer metropolis of Berlin and how this mythological reading of the city is often unfulfilled, potentially resulting in loneliness and depression.

It is important not to frame loneliness as a purely negative emotion or something to be overcome. This is a common reaction to the idea of loneliness, and seen through a queer lens, it is almost antithetical to some LGBT narratives that focus on mainstream concepts of pride, happiness and linear progress (Love 2007, Muñoz and Duggan 2009, Ahmed 2010). I am interested both in demystifying negative and antisocial emotions within my own community and locating the (untapped) potential within counter movements and disidentifications (Muñoz 1999). I chose some key texts that focus on feelings of unbelonging:8 They talk about the complicated experience of gender transgressions (Butler 2001) and the experience of being othered through

6 For her queer cities are metropolises which are known for their queer people, culture and history, e.g. London, San Francisco, New York, Paris. 7 My informants did speak about myth informed by historical aspects of queer culture within Berlin, e.g. sexual culture and party culture. 8 This term functions as both an active and passive marker of not-belonging, of distancing oneself or of being distanced/othered. As I have explained above in my chapter on theory I use Muñoz’ theory on disidentification which refers to an in between state of identification and counter-identifying. Unbelonging as a term throughout my paper in relation to Muñoz’ concept, does not relate to a complete turn away from

15 media representation along the axis of race (Hall 2013). Adding to that I will examine texts on queer experiences of loneliness and negative affect.9

Historic Queer Longing and Belonging In her book Feeling Backwards, Love states that “[w]e need a genealogy of queer affect that does not overlook the negative, shameful, and difficult feelings that have been so central to queer existence in the last century” (2009: 127). In her writing she mainly examines works of fiction which represent queer loneliness in the recent past (modernity) and does not claim that these experiences are simply historic, rather that their causes and effects may have slightly shifted but are still similar and thus linger on. Alongside this, she focuses on how the gay liberation movement has created hierarchies (or at least hierarchical priorities) within LGBTIQ+ communities, by focusing on certain rights (gay and lesbian mainstream goals such as monogamous marriage) whilst leaving others10 behind (Love 2009). This may be a basis of how intercommunity discourse and dynamics still exclude and discredit trans or bisexual people or those who do not fit in other ways (comp. Serano 2013, Gailey 2017, Holm 2017). By focusing on queer loneliness experienced by different LGBTIQ+ writers and their fictional characters (e.g. queer transgender experiences, homosexual women and men), Love gives an insight into the differences and commonalities of the subjects within the field of queer loneliness. She also offers explanations of cause and effects that go beyond the field of literature. The aspect I found most interesting in her writing is the shame felt by queers for not feeling pride, for not being happy, or for feeling backwards in any way. Ahmed writes similarly about the demand for happiness in her work from 2010, which I will review later in more detail. Nonetheless, Love also represents the move to situate and analyse queer loneliness mostly within fiction and/or the past. My research will build on some of her understanding of feelings while adding other subjects by looking at the present situation within real life urban community. Ann Cvetkovich also looks to the past in her Archive of Feelings and adds a focus on experiences of loss during the AIDS epidemic (2003). For her, this informs a transnational

the identity to which it relates. It straddles the in between of yearning for belonging which is met with some limitations, resulting in feelings like loneliness, but the process of disidentification doesn’t stop at loneliness. 9 With negative affect I am referring to a range of emotions that are inconvenient or difficult. 10 Poor queers, crip queers, gender non-conforming queers, queers of colour, bisexual queers, fat queers, ugly queers, sex worker queers, slutty and polyamorous queers, drug user queers, trans queers, angry and unhappy queers, queers without papers, and of course the intersections in between all of these above; comp. hedva 2016, Alok 2018, Lieffe 2018.

16 trauma which even queers who have not been affected personally can still carry with them today. Cvetkovich highlights lesbian suffering which has not been represented or studied to the same extent as gay male suffering, alongside intercommunity moments of solidarity, such as the creation of ‘ACT UP’11. She gives insight on how loss and grief can be carried by a community or movement and informs future actions and experiences (like the activist demand for same-sex marriage rights), just as much as its survival can form meaning and identity. The very literal loneliness stemming from the high death rates of chosen family has a detrimental effect on those surviving and here she offers yet another historical account of negative affects but on a different scale. Grief, depression and loneliness become so extreme that survivors both become numb and try to counter them actively (e.g. by non-normative funeral celebrations). She also writes specifically about lesbian loneliness historically, as well as biographical and day-to-day trauma. Most of this focuses on experiences that are outside of community, and I have chosen to focus on the chapter on AIDS as it was more of an intercommunity experience. I want to draw from her understanding of community built through negative circumstances and how trauma is still written into queer existence. Currently in Berlin the LBTIQ+ community is not experiencing anything comparable to the AIDS crisis12 but nonetheless we see how marginalised groups among queers separate and reorganize along other lines of discrimination. For example, queers of color often have cause to separate into safer spaces because of racism and the dominance of white queers within most LGBTIQ+ spaces, thus actively practising disidentification (Muñoz 1999). Cvetkovich talks about queer feelings publicly expressed (comp. ACT UP) which can help to cope with trauma and negative affect (like shame 2003, and depression 2012). I am aiming for something similar and by talking to other queers about their loneliness, I want to demystify the feeling and use it as a powerful agent for connection as well as marking it as a visible part of the ongoing reality of queers.

11 Stands for ‘Aids Coalition to Unleash Power’ and was founded 1987 mostly by lesbian and gays. 12 A possibly comparable reference to a similar event might be the current opiate crisis within the U.S., which is asymmetrically affecting rural populations and rural queers. A relevant resource, addressing specifically queer drug users in rural areas is Queer Appalachia (2019), especially their page ‘QA Harm reduction’ (2019). This in itself would be a rich research topic, but it is unfortunately to far removed from my main location and subjects.

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On Community and Care Whilst examining theory on community, I focused on texts that both speak of the need for community and the mechanism of community forming. When thinking about the participants in my research and their experiences of loneliness and attempts to find community, a well- known Maya Angelou quote (originally related to racial identity and racism) felt applicable: “The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned” (Sanyal 2020: 118). Sanyal, in her writing ‘Zuhause’ (approx. home) writes about feelings of unbelonging especially when it comes to BIPoC and non-white people with history of migration in relation to the nation state of Germany. Questioning ideas of how Germany culturally identifies home, family and belonging to the state, she gives insight into how community can be built around a shared history and memory and how that can ultimately be exclusive to others. She works with the term ‘imagined community’13 which gives insight into a constructed nature and in turn, room for a radical potential: What ultimately matters in order to form a community of belonging are common narratives which can be built by interacting in a way that allows for people to be their whole, intersectional selves. For Sanyal this offers up a perspective of hope which I find relevant to the strategies of disidentification within queer community. Writing from a standpoint of negative or unloving experiences in your family of origin, for example neglect, hooks (2000) gives an insight into the yearning to find love in other spheres and I would locate this as also an intrinsically queer experience. She describes in detail how loving friendships and communities offer learning potential just as a functioning family needs love and honest conversations to sustain its members (hooks 2000: 139).14 Thus, to function well, community needs to be a physical and emotional space15 that allows for growth and is able to sustain a multitude of identities, and thus the potential for change, friction and conflict. Community and friendship have been survival tools specifically for Black people and people of color (Allen 2012: 233), something that despite its limits still transfers to white queers (comp. Cvetkovich and the AIDS crisis) and thus potentially influencing the willingness to

13 Originally used by Benedict Anderson. 14 She personally doesn’t explicitly refer to queer loneliness but gives a short insight into the experience of her lesbian sister who needed distance from her unsupportive family of origin for a while. 15 Community and conflict are not confined to physical space but often times are played out online. Urban space also makes it more possible to avoid conflicts within physical spaces (e.g. never meeting personally at the same events) while keeping it alive online.

18 productively navigate conflict.16 In my research the understanding of what community means for lonely queers will be vital. On the subject of community care and care work, the concept of femme labour comes to mind. Not only as two areas that have historically been invisible (Fuchs 2009: 103) but also in terms of how contemporary femmes relate to aspects of care. At an Autostraddle roundtable titled “this is what we mean when we say ‘Femme’”, Rudy Loewe outlines a close alignment between their femme identity and how they relate to care:

“None of the ways I describe femme are based on how someone looks. When I re-discovered femme, it was really linked to witchy things, and spirituality, and care work. Femme is connected to emotional labor and healing. It’s based on the energy you put into the world, the connection you make with people and the care you have for them. It’s allowing a particular kind of tenderness to be part of your identity. That might sound really woo-woo, but it’s true. It’s not just an aesthetic. Having something based on just aesthetics is really dangerous because it removes the politics from things” (Cecelia 2016).

One specific area I found relevant and interesting within this research on care and community is the intersection of trans identity and the dungeon (Stryker 2008). The BDSM community is often portrayed in a way that offers opportunity for change and transformation, and even though Serano (2008) explicitly states that this is not necessarily a safer setting for trans women, the potential Stryker speaks of when sketching out a trans majority dungeon is very interesting:

“I want to claim that transsexual sadomasochism affords me a glimpse of nonunique revolutionary potentials – exemplifying the materially productive effects of extending and prolonging into the world poetically generated patterns of response to external conditions, demonstrating how body modification can become a site of social transformation, proving that the real can be materialized differently than it now is or once was.” (2008: 44)

To look at the wider context of this research, it is necessary to address representation and how queer and trans people are viewed or labelled by others, both from the outside as well as from within the community. Historically and politically, queer people have been subject to scrutiny by the outside. When it comes to pressure and fear of exclusion along the axis of race, Hall

16 In this context I find it relevant to also reference Schulman and her book ‘Conflict is not Abuse’, a controversial piece of writing trying to address personal attacks and the inability to face criticism within queer conflict cultures; see Bernard (2017).

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(2013) similarly talks about the limiting scope of representation of marginalised groups. Narratives about marginalised people are usually created by those in power, often times creating simple binaries of the good or the bad marginalised person (2013: 219). Hall specifically talks about black men and women in sports but I see parallels with sexuality and gender, especially when the (only) good queer is happy (comp. Ahmed 2010) and as undistinguishable from or adapted to hetero and cis normative ideas. The exclusion of queers of color from white queer spaces is described by Haritaworn through the ideation of a binary of ‘the hateful other’, and in Berlin this is especially relevant to the construction of Arab men, from which white queers ‘need to be protected’ (Haritaworn 2015). The more limited representation of a group of people is, the faster its members are assumed to be stereotypical copies of those representation. This is highly relevant for queers of color. Hall goes even further and uses terminology such as “polluted” vs. “purified” (2013: 226). The ‘other’ in his words becomes strongly marked and needs to be made normal, adapt17 or be excellent at everything they do, in order to fulfil the promise of an ableist notion of purification (comp. hedva 2016). The effects of this limited representation and othering do not stop outside of community (Serano 2003) but informs internalized homo- and transphobia, as well as violent intercommunal behaviour (comp. Cheng Thom 2017). Having to be a representative for one’s group (and within one’s group) is described as limiting at the least (Hall 2013). This translates into personal experiences18 I have had within the Berlin community, where many of us try to be as politically aware as possible, mostly within the realm of politics aligned with the (radical) left, and are deeply afraid of making mistakes thus reaching for nearly impossible perfection within our social justice efforts. Of course, within a diverse community of people who use the label queer, there still exist those with more power and those without, which can shift along different axis and result in a more fluid concept of the ‘other’. We as individuals and as a community must navigate both being the ‘other’ and our potential to other somebody else. This heterogeneity can result in more violent expressions within call out and conflict cultures:

“Righteousness and Exclusion: The moralizing paradigm of social justice Discourse (as the kids are callin’ it these days) when unchecked also leads to a frankly unpleasant tone of superiority and self-righteousness. Those who are not “rad” or “woke” are considered

17 Even if sought after, adapting to norms isn’t possible for everybody or is at least limited, e.g. a black woman can rarely ever adapt as much as aligning herself with the norms of white masculinity. 18 I am white and see it as parts of my politics to act and think in solidarity with people affected by racism and I have made many mistakes throughout my journey of learning and unlearning.

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either unworthy of respect or treated as unenlightened potential converts. Frequently, these unworthies are elders, working class/poor individuals without access to the language of social justice, or whose cultures of origin hold differing belief systems. Social justice movements, then, become counter-productively centred around white, middle-class, university- educated Millenial Anglophone North Americans and those of the rest of us who are able to force our way in.” (Cheng Thom 2017)

As seen above, the aspect of intercommunity structures, divides, differences, exclusion and conflict are similar. Academic research on inner community structures and how queers interact with them is nonetheless limited. It often follows a single-issue approach in which specific identities or positionalities are evaluated and along those identities there is research done on exclusion or discrimination. I intend to address those positionalities within this study and look at research on those who are ‘othered’ within the community.

Hierarchies and Exclusion Muñoz addresses, among other things, the rich history and importance of cruising pre-AIDS and HIV in his book ‘Cruising Utopia’. Nonetheless, even within this time period or context which is, in ways, framed as a utopia or at least mythologized, Muñoz emphasizes that within sexually liberated contexts and times, hierarchies and exclusions were a daily occurrence: “[…] those pre-AIDS days of glory were also elitist, exclusionary, and savagely hierarchized libidinal economies” (2009: 34). The research done on cruising or other areas of (liberated) queer sexual culture, with this book not being much of an exception, is mainly focused on gay cis men. Nonetheless the notion about intercommunity hierarchies is very much relevant when it comes to other queer communities and time periods as well. Another related realm of mythology is club and party culture which functioned as an important (and in part sexualized) community area. Historically club culture, especially disco, was made for and by queers and black people. With its popularisation, it became extremely hierarchized by desirability and celebrity status, and thus mostly inaccessible to its original creators and benefactors (comp. Garcia 2014). Today the exclusivity of clubs that started out as explicit queer spaces is still present within Berlin, e.g. Berghain, which is famous for its ‘tough’ door policy. Access to social capital and a performance of ‘coolness’ are essential to ‘get in’, when queer spaces become more commodified. Those two examples represent moments in time which are assumed to be (or at some point were) free, safe and empowering but have since been co-opted or destroyed either by

21 mainstream dominance or a virus (and the combined neglect by government officials when it came to health care). They are also both now shrouded with a level of nostalgia and mythology which obscures the original experience from current conditions. When looking at contemporary community structures, conflict culture and exclusions are also relevant. Separatist movements, safer and counter spaces as well as counter community structures are part of a long queer history (comp. Haritaworn 2015). I will now examine examples of specific identities and their experiences within community. Femmes, when it comes to being accepted and acknowledged as a queer identity, have struggled for a while to come into their own (Fuchs 2009). There seems to be a persistent misunderstanding or ignorance regarding the political identity of queer femmes even, or particularly, within queer spaces and discourses (Dahl 2008, Fuchs 2009, Brightwell 2011). They are often less visible or encounter assumptions about reproducing heteronormative femininity. Alongside this scrutiny, they are often under pressure to prove themselves to be part of queer community and history as well as being labelled as a less ‘radical’ queer identity (ibid). Bisexuality, especially female bisexuality, endures a similar fate. Being assumed to be ‘half straight’ or to have ‘straight privilege’ makes it harder for bisexuals to be considered a valid part of queer community, often in relation to who, or to be exact, which gender, they are dating at the time (Eisner 2013, Serano 2003). In the already before mentioned book ‘Excluded’ Serano explicitly focuses on trans feminine experiences among queer community and she examines transphobic attitudes along ideas of gender essentialism. Transmisogyny finding its extreme within TERF19 circles who are often part of major community spaces and events, and thus part of decision making when it comes to being in, or exclusive of trans women within, queer spaces. In terms of working-class identities, access is mostly negotiated around knowledge. Lieffe (2018) inhabits a multitude of marginalized positionalities, being trans, femme and working class. In her text she describes encountering a queer community in Berlin which is hierarchized around access to (mostly academic) knowledge and its impact on her access to and feelings toward community. Exclusion or disregard for disability is most visible within organizing structures. Many queer events, e.g. demonstrations for political goals, are not accessible to many disabled queers (comp. hedva 2016), and I have deliberately chosen to look at ‘Sick Women Theory’ as an example of a non-academic text. Alongside its concrete example of lived experience, it is a

19 This stands for ‘Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist’ (self-identified).

22 central piece of writing on the intersectional understanding of how chronic illness, including mental health issues, factor into activism, social justice work and the overlapping work done at (and through) universities. Within McRuer’s text on ‘Compulsory Able-Bodiedness and Queer/Disabled Existence’, the layer of visibility is added. McRuer looks at the potential of media representation to counter norms, specifically the neutrality of heterosexuality and abled- bodiness.20 Visibility is an important factor for queerness as well as disability, as not all queerness and/or disability are visible to the eye (comp. ibid). This visibility nonetheless is linked to power and associates belonging and beauty with value (Phelan 1993, Wendell 1996).

Norms and Stories Butler’s Text on Doing Justice to Someone (2001) follows the case of John/ Joan, a cisgender, non-inter child who, after an accident, is medically experimented on and made into an allegory for trans and/or inter experiences by his doctor who wants him to be raised and socialised as a girl. What I find interesting and relevant is how external and essentialist understandings of gender (e.g. which toys are being played with) become the expert voices on something that only the child in question can know or decide. He is supposed to stand in for something he simply is not, and those expert interventions eventually led to John feeling that he has failed, alongside feelings of anger and loneliness:

“John understands that there is a norm, a norm of how he was supposed to be, and that he has fallen short of it. […] And there is the norm, and it is externally imposed, communicated through a set of expectations that others have […]” (Butler 2001: 631).

In the end, John’s story cannot function as quantitative or qualitative data in comparison to queer or trans experiences, but his punishment for any (assumed) gender transgression is nonetheless relevant to my own research by gaining a deeper understanding of feelings of otherness, failure, shame and loneliness in connection to gender (transgression). Further relating to transgressions, I found the following in Halberstam’s ‘The queer Art of Failure’:

“[…] I propose that one form of queer art has made failure its centrepiece and has cast queerness as the dark landscape of confusion, loneliness, alienation, impossibility, and awkwardness. Obviously nothing essentially connects gay and lesbian and trans people to these forms of

20 Representation within media is very limited and follows a kind of ebb and flow rhythm. Media representation alone does also not suffice to counter norms of abled-bodiness and heterosexuality (comp. McRuer).

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unbeing and unbecoming, but the social and symbolic systems that tether queerness to loss and failure cannot be wished away.” (2011, p. 97-98)

Halberstam describes heteronormative norms as the main culprit when it comes to a basic understanding of what makes queer failure. He writes about failing queers who are unable to fulfil the norms of a cis straight capitalist society. Similarly to Love (2003) and Ahmed (2010) he phrases queer failure as a potential, something to be embraced. Nonetheless, there is another layer of queer failure within queer spaces: the failure of fulfilling homonormativity. Norms of whiteness, ableism, and gender performance influence who is desired and thus gets access to a space that is closely linked to desire yet often prides itself in questioning prevalent (mainstream) desirability politics. While Halberstam mostly examines capitalism and its commodification of bodies, thus especially elevating butch lesbian performances as failing these norms (2011: 95) trans women are not mentioned despite following the same guidelines of failing on multiple, intersecting levels.21 Politics of desirability and social capital are not only external factors that affect queer people but are also upheld internally within queer communities themselves (comp. Cheng Thom 2017). The question of which norms benefit liberation was famously posed by Lorde in 1981. In ‘The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House’ she refers to the dangers (and pointlessness) of orienting oneself along the same structures which uphold one’s oppression. Originally this text speaks about racism and black liberation, however I do think it still relevant in the context of queer liberation efforts and the issue of norms and counter norms. The norms of story-telling and normative historiography is critiqued within Hemming’s text ‘Telling Feminist Stories’ (2005). In it she describes how multiple waves of feminism have managed to exclude others, for example the movement of queer women of color. Simply seeing it as a temporarily fixed addition to the ‘second wave’22 of feminism dismisses the ongoing contributions of feminists of color. She argues for the complication of stories which also benefits a closer look at the upholding of queer norms within community as a form of practised intersectionality. On the subject of norms, the field of queer temporalities offers additional insight. The concept of queer temporalities highlights the idea of being ‘out of time’ by not following the normativity

21 When it comes to trans femininity both the patriarchal ideals of heteronormativity and cis normativity play together. Thus, trans women are often ‘failing’ at least twice. This will be relevant to some of my participants as they navigate intersecting identities within (queer) normative settings. 22 Hemmings critiques the oversimplifying approach of identifying only three to four ‘waves’.

24 inherent in heterosexual biographies (birth, marriage, kids; comp. Freccero 2007, Dinshaw et al. 2007). The inability to conform to these norms in the first place encouraged or forced many queers to challenge them (Freccero 2007, Keeling 2009) and alternatives to reproduction in a heteronormative setting are discussed in Haraway’s and Clarke’s writing on Kin Making (2018). They detail the complex history of discourse in relation to overpopulation and alternatives to reproduction. They are nonetheless very critical and give insight into how this topic is partially co-opted by neo-fascist currents within the environmental field (e.g. which countries and population groups are perceived to be at fault for ‘overpopulation’, whose children are valued and wanted and whose are not). This too is relevant for queers when it comes to the norms of kin and reproduction. Many queers, or specifically queers in certain relationship con-stellations,23 historically and judicially have been unable to have children (of their own or adopted). In recent years not wanting kids has been a valid and common choice for many queers. Negative experiences with the family of origin (comp. hooks 2000) already influence rethinking family structures for many queers, thus some aim for chosen family and critique reproduction in connection to heteronormativity (comp. Haraway and Clarke 2008). Koobak describes queer times similarly as ‘lagging behind’, which for me evokes a certain sense of pressure and associations with failure (2013). Combined with the Hemmings’ text (2005) from above critiquing the notion of progression of political and feminist thought linked to the passing of time, queer time is understood to counter this linearity. Hemmings critiques these ideas of an understanding of waves which move from past to future, from simple to more complex. When searching for a queer historiography, Freccero includes time and space. Multiple histories can happen simultaneously and time period or geopolitical context alone should not be misunderstood to form a unifying category of gay (Freccero 2007). She thus asks us to yearn for a more complex outline and representation of queerness.

Berlin and Its Queer Potential In both historical and current contexts, the city of Berlin has been chosen by many queers deliberately for its anonymity and freedom, some even revelling in the potential for solitude (Coleman 2009). This idea led me to further explore the benefits and potentials within (assumed) negative affects experienced and lived by queers in the city. Phelan (1994), Love (2007), Muñoz and Duggan (2009) and Ahmed (2010) all outline the dangers marginalised people may experience when becoming more visible. Hope, visibility and

23 Though not all, some trans and bisexual people for example.

25 happiness are described as potential traps leading towards (forced) complacency. Visibility and the gaining of new knowledge can be weaponised by those in power against groups who may have been existing in safety under the radar. Happiness as a demand from the outside (comp. Ahmed’s mention of parental worries when coming out, 2010: 92) is easily internalized and limiting bringing with it the request to adhere to (outside) cis and hetero norms. Love has previously (2007) described that within the shame of feeling ashamed, there can be a feeling of ‘doubled unbelonging’, both by disappointing parents or society’s notion of what a normal life is and by not representing the mostly ‘normal’ – and thus worthy of support and rights – queer. We as a group are often asked to display gratitude for the supposed ongoing linear progress which is simply not accessible for all queer folks along the axis of different marginalisation.24 Negative affect thus is often made not feelable and not mentionable (at least in the time and geopolitical context my research predominantly takes place). In my thesis, I will follow the counter discourses the authors above lay out by describing the disruptive potential that lies exactly within negative affect that is unveiled and spoken about (also comp. Cvetkovich 2012 on depression). On the subject of affect, I drew from Keeling’s understanding: “Most commonly, we talk about affect as a feeling or an emotion, but it is important to think about affect also as involving the mental activity required to make sense of the world […] [which] has both subjective and collective elements to it.” (Keeling 2009: 566). My research focuses on the meaning making and identity formation as well as the interaction with queer community, its norms and care structures. Using this kind of theory as a starting point, I wanted to use a very practical approach connected to value statements on individual and collective levels. Even though I did not choose affect theory as a main framework for my thesis, nonetheless Sedgwick and Ahmed are relevant when it comes to the field in which my research is situated. Sedgwick (2003) famously wondered how to articulate feelings into words through the means of affect theory. As I am working with difficult feelings and sensitive topics, questions on the ‘how’ have been very relevant when conducting the outline and actual atmosphere of my interviews as well as writing about feelings. Ahmed’s ‘Queer Phenomenology’ (2006) works as an in-depth theory along the specific intersection of queer experience and affect. Ahmed also offers additional insight into the theory of sociality and its codes, something that might work in connection to hook’s writing on community and love (2000).

24 Both relating to feeling and progress.

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To give a concluding picture, I wish to briefly look at the field of psychology (comp. Bielski 2009, Curran 2002, Doward 2011) The experiences of adolescent queers (especially in rural spaces) are part of some of my participant’s biographies, and thus inform hopes and fears. Depending on their age, worries about loneliness during senior years might not yet be on their mind, but nonetheless I would argue that many people are scared of being old, queer and lonely, especially because access to urban queer spaces is heavily linked to desirability and youth (comp. Muñoz 2005). These two life experiences form the pillars of many queer people’s futures and pasts and are thus part of the background on which my research is situated. Lastly, I want to include a word on coping mechanisms. I imagined that the subject of coping strategies might very well come up during interviews, however I have not focused on them too strongly as it would make the scope of my thesis project too vast. By sharing their personal experiences with the barriers of German medical and judicial transition, Seeck and Dehler add to a conversation of community care. They view the medical system as lacking and emphasize the importance of systems of interpersonal care (Seeck and Dehler, 2019). I chose to read and review this article specifically because I approached this research project with the premise that being trans can heighten experiences of exclusion as well as lack of access to support and/or community, and thus can often result in extreme loneliness (Serano 2013). This work both reflects on the situation of many (German) trans folks and gives insight into personal recollections of negative affect and loneliness whilst examining community as a source for care and support during the process of transition, all of which is relevant for the outline of my research.

Conclusions There is a significant amount of research covering queer loneliness as an effect of outside homophobia and sometimes transphobia but there is less research on the intercommunity dynamics and structures which may cause loneliness, or even conflict or exclusion within the researched age group in urban spaces. Queer fantasies of the city and of community contain multitudes and opposites: the city with the potential of anonymity and freedom, but also potential for loneliness and lack of connection. Community can stand in as a family of our own choosing, but it can only function when all feelings and experiences find room. Searching only for happiness can become a trap and there is no community without our own individual participation.

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Weaving together conflict cultures, queer norms, related exclusions and the fantasy of the city of Berlin with negative affect, I have outlined a backdrop of theory and research on which the generated data from the qualitative interviews I conducted will build.

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Methodology On qualitative Research I chose to set this research within the frame of qualitative interviews which “[…] lend themselves most naturally to the study of individual lived experience. In fact, when one wants to know how an individual experiences some phenomenon, interviewing has a certain primacy among the different methods” (Brinkmann 2013: 46). As I plan to address the phenomenon of queer loneliness, in regard to Berlin’s queer community, an in-depth qualitative approach presented itself as the most fitting. In this research I work with marginalized queer people. We25 have historically been the subject of study in ways that lacked complexity and in part has been used against us, especially when done by dominantly straight researchers (Gamson 2000: 347). In choosing qualitative interviewing I hope to “be less objectifying of my subjects, to be more concerned with cultural and political meaning creation and to make more room for voices and experiences that have been suppressed” (ibid). Of course, since the times Gamson has referenced in his writing much has happened in the field of queer studies and e.g. research from the inside is more common. Nonetheless, there is still a lack in researching queer existence and experience, especially when it comes to affect and emotion, and I aim to follow suit within a dedicatedly queer-feminist practise of research. Within Lykke’s Book ‘Feminist Studies – A Guide to Intersectional Theory’, one chapter spoke especially to me. Similarly to Gamson (2000), she talks about the goals of queer feminist research set into the context of a “critically analyze[d] dominant/included/majoritized position and the intersections on which it is built” (2010: 59). She both refers to heteronormative dominance, as well as the centring of gay cis men within research. In my focus on the experiences of marginalized positions, I aim to situate my research within queer-feminist legacy. Another aspect that drew me of qualitative research is described by Ramazanoglu and Holland (2002). They hypothesize qualitative research, especially in the format of interviews, to be empowering for the person in focus. The interview is interactive, the interviewee can use their own voices and will be represented along their own stories.

Procedure After deciding my initial field of interest and what questions I’d approximately would like to answer, it became clear very quickly that an in-depth qualitative setting would work best to uncover and do justice to experiences. Initially, I played with the idea of a group setting.

25 I am queer myself.

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Because of the research on community, I imagined to do a group interview in a kind of focus group setting (comp. Madriz 2000). As I wanted all my participants to have enough room for their individual experience, and not just give the most extroverted ones the space, I eventually decided to conduct interviews in a two-person setting. In designing my research, specifically which questions I’d like to pose and how I’d like to pose them, I relied most on Brinkman’s chapter two in his book on ‘Qualitative Interviewing’ (2013).

Deciding the Target Group As I was interested in people’s experiences connected with a change of their surroundings, I decided to focus in on people who had not grown up in Berlin but moved here. Other criteria were age group (21-45) and being queer but non-cis male and resonating in some way with the topic of loneliness connected to community. The reason behind choosing this specific group is the lacking research specifically done along those criteria which has already been elaborated in the chapter on research questions, aim and limitations.

Recruitment After deciding my target group I posted on social media with an in depth description (so as to ensure interested participants can make informed decisions) of my aim and topic, who I was and who I was looking for. I was looking for queers between the ages of 21 and 45 who had moved to Berlin and had been living here for at least a year. I also asked for experiences with or a resonance to the topic of queer loneliness in connection to community. I decided on the age span to limit my study to young adults post teenage experiences of loneliness and limited it to an age demographic that I hypothesized wouldn’t connect queer loneliness first and foremost with AIDS and HIV. This is also the age group I found to be the least researched when it comes to experiences of loneliness. I specifically called for queers of marginalized genders (like women, femmes, non-binary and trans people.) On top of that cis gay male loneliness had been studied explicitly before while other queers’ loneliness had not.

I decided for an online route because of the relative wide range and amount of different queer people I would reach through social media. I gave a shorter kind of abstract in the beginning of my posts. I asked friends to forward on their (bigger) social media platforms (e.g. Instagram) and posted both on my private Facebook account as well as four queer focused Facebook groups, I limited the time for answers and had responses both through Facebook and the email

30 address I had put within my post. I also sent the description of my project to a small number of friends and acquaintances I was interested in interviewing. I got an overwhelmingly high response within the first few days via email and decided to close the call early.

Screening Potential Participant After reading through all responses I got (including one close friend and a few acquaintances), I tried to make sure they all knew the scope of my project and answered any of their question. Lastly, I had to make a choice, which turned out harder than initially expected. I had gotten 25 emails and in total it was 31 people interested in participating. Initially I wanted to represent a wide variety of people with different positionalities but I realised I would then probably not be able to go into as much depth within those results. In the end I asked six people whose experiences interested me the most and who I hypothesized had a few shared experiences.26 I got five positive responses. One of them being a very close friend who I decided would be my first interview. I used it as a trial run, after which we added a feedback round regarding my questions and the general setting. I also used their results in my findings. The next steps with my potential participants was going over in detail what exactly would be their role and their rights. All written down in a short contract like document. I sent those ahead of the recording and went through them once more verbally in our sessions.

Data Collection Process As to emphasize and assure the participant’s comfort and access needs, I had them choose the interview location. Because I started conducting them just at the beginning of stricter Covid-19 measurements only my first interview was done in person (in a private setting). Following safety recommendations all others were done via Zoom. Seitz (2016) argues that with online calls there is a potential “loss of intimacy compared to traditional in-person interviews” (229). Cheng (2016) says research so far does not support such a claim. Nonetheless specific care should be put into preparation (technically) and building rapport with the participants. I e.g. checked in with them about creating a zoom account ahead

26 I was most drawn to those responses which had information about why the participant was interested in participating and who they were/ were they identified along the spectrum of queer, showcasing a deeper interest in participation. I understand mental health, which I categorize to be set within the broader frame of disability, to be an important factor and thus I wanted this represented within the positionalities. Other shared identities I thus focused on where along the axis of neurodivergence and disability. Being marginalised because of gender, especially having trans experience, was the second shared identity I could locate within the bulk of participants who were interested.

31 of time. With the age group I was researching I did in part assume some technological savvy. It may have even been an advantage as I worked with an age group that is more used to being vulnerable online.27 I still was very clear with my instructions via Email ahead of the interviews and encouraged the participants to address any questions regarding technology or the general process. We had no problems with the online call technology I decided to use after this preparation.28 When it comes to emotional and interpersonal skills it is “[…] even more vital to listen to the tone of the participant’s voice and be very conscious of their facial expressions. Researchers should use their own facial expressions deliberately to convey understanding and emotion, too.” (Seitz 2016: 232). I made a practise of writing notes on paper next to the Zoom call, to note down when I felt a switch in tone or other non-verbal cues which made me want to dig deeper into the topic without interrupting them right this moment. I displayed facial expressions and non-verbal cues like smiling and nodding as well as verbal signs of agreement or understanding to show the participants my interest and active listening. This, as well as starting with casual conversations (and keeping heavier questions to a later time) made it easier to build rapport and intimacy with my informants (comp. Seitz 2016, Cheng 2016).

The interviews where between 50 and 190 minutes long29, with the average interview being more between 60 and 120 minutes. In general, the interviews were semi-structured, as to allow participants to bring out their own themes and experience they deemed relevant and related as well as support the effort in building intimacy and rapport. By focusing their agency to answer only the questions they wanted to answer as well as only in such a manner or depth that they would still be comfortable with, I hoped to create a feeling of trust and safety which I deem highly important within a realm of vulnerable/ sensitive topics and question.

A significant part of one of my recordings (20 minutes from 50 in total) was lost due to a technical error. I decided to not redo the interview because it wasn’t possible in accordance with my participant’s health needs at the time. In addition to that, the rest of the transcript was dense enough to draw out themes and conclusions.

27 At least in comparison to an older generation. 28 There were no problems with video or audio. 29 The big discrepancy in duration came to be because of relating access needs, one being set out to be shorter as to take care of the participant’s energy levels and the other taking longer as to allow for more time when it came to focus (in relation to ADHD).

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During the transcription process, I first decided to write down everything (every uhm, like and repetition) as to get any extra information I could. I was hoping that these semiotic repetitions or disruptions would be helpful to understanding subtext and emotion and mitigate physical distance. During the interviews I noted down any specific moments that seemed emphasized by the interviewee or important to my research questions. Because I went through multiple rounds of coding the transcripts, I eventually needed a more readable text, and it made more sense to redact the repetitive parts. Instead, when relevant, I added information in brackets that tells me about shifts in non-verbal communication. After the interviews, I wrote short intros, including participants’ ways of meeting me and presenting themselves non-verbally (e.g. if they dressed or acted in a specific way during the interview).

Data Analysis To achieve the best results, I decided for a mix of strategies (comp. Gery and Russell 2003). I relied on coding, mind mapping and cross-referencing, including narrative analysis, between the different interviews. The coding styles I relied on the most where descriptive, in vivo and in part value coding (comp. Saldana 2013). I chose those in addition to a narrative analysis approach (Feldman et al. 2004), which looks for stories within my informants’ text in a way to categorize it along topics and themes. The narrative analysis aspect was also used to get into a deeper understanding how they describe their experiences through identifying stories and find underlying subtext when it came to their values, wishes and needs (e.g. in regard to the kind of community they are looking for). I used mind mapping as my main way to look beyond the individual story line and get into themes. I put specific questions into the middle of my mind map and tried to find references to them within the different transcripts and my coding, cross referencing them in the end. On that basis I started to evaluate and interpret how the different participant’s stories related to the themes I had worked out. During my analysis, I let my interpretation be lead by the themes, and shortly gave reference to relevant literature. In my discussion chapter I then linked conclusions from my analysis chapter with my research questions.

Reflectivity and Positionality Following Haraway’s ‘Situated Knowledge’ (1988) I don’t claim objectivity, but a kind of knowledge production that is highly interlinked with my experiences and positionalities. The values, and theories I bring with me into this research are not only interesting but also affect

33 the research situation along power relations or imbalances (comp. Ramazanoglu and Holland 2002: 158). Thus, I will shortly reference from which positionalities I am writing. I’m conducting research as a white, queer, crazy, non-binary femme, living in a precarious financial situation with a middle-class background. This is also how I situated myself within my written call for interviews as to make sure that my informants have a rough idea about who I am and what influences my knowledge production within this research.

Ethics In the in-depth document ‘Good Research Practise’ (Swedish Research Council 2017) ethics within qualitative research are first and foremost defined by questions of protecting the research participants. Ethics in my research did not only relate to anonymising my participant’s name and other information that could allow them to be identified. Conducting these interviews meant talking about potentially vulnerable subjects with the participants and which called for emphatic and active listening and a general sensitive handling during my interviews (comp. Cheng 2016, Gamson 2000). Starting from what I was writing in the call, to email conversation and later on in the actual meeting I emphasized that a) I’d inform them clearly and checked in repeatedly throughout the research process to best enable them to practise informed consent30 b) my attitude towards them was that of an interested queer peer and would offer a space for their experience hoping to make it a moment of shared community. I positioned myself in the written call to ensure a closer understanding of who and what they would expect, similarly to what Cheng recommends when recounting some of their projects: “Mutual credibility and rapport building are of primary importance, particularly in sensitive projects. I prefer a self-disclosure strategy from recruiting samples. The invitation letter accounted for not only the standard information such as project objective and procedures but also a self-introduction” (2016: 6). Through every step of this process I tried to have their comfort in mind.31 I tried to make them feel more at ease by e.g. vocalizing agreement and empathy and using other signifiers of active listening. Like I said I had chosen a semi-structured interview, this was also in part because I wanted to be able to follow their lead when certain topics would make them uncomfortable (Swedish Research Council 2017, Cheng 2016). Qualitative research like this was a very

30 I informed them that, e.g. the study and interview question might get personal, they had the possibility to always skip questions or only go into what they actually wanted to talk about, etc. 31 I asked for my participant’s pronouns early on in our contact and repeated the question during our Zoom call.

34 deliberate choice not only because of the aim of my research questions but also because I wanted to project my interest in their complex lives and experiences (comp. Gamson 2000). I tried to build rapport with them by starting slowly and giving ample space during the beginning of our interview dedicated to getting to know them as a person. I did go into the interviews with the clear attitude of our zoom call (and the one in person interview) being a mini community space where their experience would be heard. I reflected a lot about my role in this research. Not wanting to feel like I am extracting their knowledge and vulnerable experiences for my personal gain, e.g. earning a master’s degree, (comp. Greenwood and Levin 2000, Fine et all. 2000, Gamson 2000)32 was key in the way I interacted with them. Brinkman (2013) also poses the ethical question of potential consequences, both negative or beneficial the research can have for its participants. I made a point of offering to stay in contact with my participants during the whole process of this project. On another non-academic level, and to do justice to the many people who were interested in this topic, I am planning a small scale art project (like a zine) in which any of the people original interested can partake.33 My hope within the academic setting is both to add valuable findings to the general field of queer experience- based research, as well as having brought something to my individual participants personally. Ramazoglu and Holland phrase this potential as such:

“Even a small-scale study has the potential to change the possibilities of people’s lives. The liberatory potential of feminist knowledge is rarely straightforward, however, because of the contradictions and complexities of gendered social existence.” (2002: 163f.)

Ethical considerations also touch upon how I record and store the sensitive data my informants were willing to share with me. The Zoom meeting Rooms were protected by password which was only shared with my participants. The vocal recordings were done with my phone and moved to my password protected laptop with a back-up on an external hard disk. The transcripts and consent will be stored privately for the next three years and destroyed afterwards.

32 Of course, in part this is what I am doing after all. 33 When sending emails which gave a notification upon being part of the research or not, I also gave the interested people an opportunity to have their contact stored until after the academic part of this project was done. That only of course if they were interested in partaking in a non-academic project regarding the topic later on.

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Limitations As already accounted above, I decided for a more intimate setting of two people interviews (me and the participant). It would have been a very interesting study, too if I would have made it a group setting. Especially relating to the topic of loneliness a community setting might have given an extra layer of empowerment. Nonetheless, as corona measures became more strict this wouldn’t have been possible at the time these interviews were conducted. A research in community setting might have brought up only slightly different results. I deliberately try to write in a relatively non-academic way. But still this might be an access issue for people interested in the topic. I plan on doing further creative work with others, after all I had many responds and decided to ask if I can contact interested folks again with e.g. the creation of a zine. I did not and could not write about a general queer experience, this is a very specific research connected to queer culture in Berlin specifically in the years leading up to 2020. Even without intending to produce a quantifiable research result, this thesis is still just scratch on the surface. I have been drawn to the topic of queer loneliness and see a lot of potential in its further studying. Most of the research has been done in the field of literature, leaving experience still a vast field that might be studied further in different age groups, and along different axis of oppression and power dynamics.

On Whiteness The lack of representation of BIPoC voices in this research is unfortunate and something to be reflected upon. I got most responses from white queers (second but to a much smaller percentage were latinx34 folks). I positioned myself as white in the call for participants. This was done in part so people of Color, Black and Indigenous people could make an informed decision about sharing their insight within this power imbalance. Nonetheless I would have liked to have heard their voices. I also wondered about how community historically, might be a more reliable structure within racialized groups and how that would affect loneliness (both within predominantly white queer spaces as well as possibly being a different issue within BIPoC spaces). I can only hypothesize at this point. I would love to read research on queer BIPoC’ experiences of loneliness within Berlin. As a white person, I don’t feel qualified to conduct such a study (along my research principles and ethics). The

34 Latinx is a gender inclusive way of refering to people of latin descent.

36 requirements for conducting such a research project in a non-harmful way are significantly outside the scope of this project or my past academic experiences. To avoid tokenising non-white people, I avoided choosing only one non-white participant to fill a quota. For this reason, I recruited more than one participant with experiences of other marginalisation (i.e. trans identity or disability), which was not possible with race. Upon further reflection, this could have been communicated to possible non-white participants instead of making a choice for them. Considering this, criticism directed towards the racial makeup of the project would be legitimate.

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Analysis Within the main body of my thesis, I will examine the themes that presented themselves during my work with the transcribed interviews. My methodology included coding, mind mapping and cross-referencing, and I have arranged the following chapters according to the themes that arose during those interviews. In the concluding chapter on discussions, I will also relate the findings back to my research questions. Queer loneliness is present within all the themes, sometimes more subtly, sometimes more explicitly. When addressing it throughout my chapters, I often refer to it more broadly as a feeling of ‘unbelonging’. As previously explained, the feelings and experiences connected to queer community will be the main focus. In the next chapter, I present the people who were part of this study, as well as how their identities and coming outs interact with, and have been formed by, the queer community around them.

Coming Out 2.0 This theme addresses the interaction between identity formation and the queer city. In their stories, all the participants talk about the forming and/or further exploration of their gender and sexuality. For most of the participants (four out of five) this was not the first time they had a coming out or reflected upon their gender and/or sexuality. Coming out 2.0 thus refers to a non- linear process, which is not fixed in time or identity and refers to a coming out process that does not happen just once, at a certain time in life, or refers to only one unchanging identity. All participants in this study described experiencing shifts involving their gender or sexual orientation after coming to Berlin. Some figured out their identity only after moving to this city, others felt more comfortable and able to come out or to live out after having known their identity but living (mostly) in secrecy. In both cases, being in this city was connected to certain hopes towards the freedom of existing as your whole actualised self without having to hide. While addressing this theme I will look more closely at two aspects: physical and emotional distance to what was before and experiencing a sense of normalcy in new physical and emotional surroundings. I will now go into analysing all the participants’ experiences along this theme and connect them to the perspectives highlighted in the literature reviewed earlier. This chapter is an opportunity to contextualise the participants and understand their experiences.

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C. – Trying to Make It All Work C. was the only participant who came out to herself after moving to Berlin. She was also raising a child which had further affected her coming out 2.0. Her coming out process moves through multiple stages of making connections and losing them again. Those shifts, some deliberately some outside of her control, happen after disclosing or actualizing more parts of her identity. She also experienced three very different situations: firstly, having a child but no friends with children, then making connections with other parents but drifting apart from them after coming out as queer. She also had a hard time finding people who are understanding and accepting of children amongst the queer community:

“[…] when coming out towards myself and other people, the few parent connections I had, they somehow, it somehow changed a lot. It was the second time within a few years that connections somehow broke off. And then the first queers I knew or the first queer circles I knew were all without kids. […] Then for a few years I tried to make it all work, and also me. [In the end] I kind of had to decide against people who can’t get along or don’t want to get along with children because it wasn’t feasible for me anymore. For years I had the feeling that I had to split myself up and I just didn’t want that anymore. And now, very slowly, in the last years, like two years or a year, there are people who I feel like I’m included there and I can make everything work, or well, I don’t actually have make anything work. I can just be my whole self there, and my child can be his whole self.” (C: 6)35

She experienced in part a typical coming out process where losing people as a result of coming out is not uncommon. In her case it was nonetheless heightened by having a child and then experiencing multiple layers of not being welcomed or accepted in her whole experience, identity, and day-to-day reality. After realizing she was queer in the first place, she ultimately came out again by actively deciding not to be around people from her queer community who

35 German original: „[…] mit Coming-Out so vor mir selber und andern Menschen, gingen so die paar Eltern- Connections oder die paar Connections, die ich hatte, sind dann irgendwie noch mal, das hat sich noch mal sehr verändert. Es war das das zweite Mal innerhalb weniger Jahre wo so die Connections irgendwie zerbrochen sind. Dann so die ersten queeren Leute, die ich dann kannte, oder die ersten queeren Kreise, die ich kannte, hatten auch alle keine Kinder. […] Dann hab ich n paar Jahre irgendwie versucht das alles so unter einen Hut zu bringen und, ja eigentlich auch mich. Ich musste mich irgendwie dagegen entscheiden, gegen Leute, die nicht mit Kindern können oder wollen. Weil es für mich nicht machbar ist. Ich hatte halt jahrelang das Gefühl, dass ich mich aufteilen muss. Und das wollte ich nicht mehr. Und jetzt so ganz langsam in den letzten Jahren, zwei Jahren, einem Jahr, gibt es die Menschen, wo ich das Gefühl hab, ja da bin ich eingebunden und wo ich alles unter einen Hut oder wo ich, naja, ich muss gar nichts unter einen Hut bringen, sondern wo ich halt einfach ganz da sein kann und wo auch mein Kind sein kann.“ (C: 6)

39 did not embrace her in all her human complexity as a parent. She wished to form community which would allow her to be herself fully. She also related to the city of Berlin on a personified level. As she describes herself to be unfinished, she also sees the same happening with the city. This is not a negative statement for her at all but relates to an energy of wanting to progress forward, explore and stay curious, as well as being content with not yet knowing everything about herself. When it comes to literature that reflects these conscious and active processes, Muñoz’ Disidentification (1999) comes to mind. In this theoretical framework he discusses first and foremost the experiences and political decisions made by queers of color especially in the field of performance (and the overlap between artistic and political performance). I would argue that C.’s process of finding her people is a kind of disidentification. She disidentifies with certain queer norms, of not having children36 which has very real consequences in terms of where she wants to go and whom she wants to share community with. Her experience is also reminiscent of hooks’ writing on love (2000), especially community love that can function as a counter specifically when not accepted or welcome by family of origin. Hopping from community to community for a bit, or to be precise, refining her community, she ultimately arrives where there is space for her growth and change. hooks describes exactly that necessity to allow for change and fluidity within a well-functioning community. It can be argued that adultism within queer spaces make it very hard for queers with children. By actively disengaging with the people who do not want children around she forges her own community space. Distance for C. is not necessarily the issue when it comes to a physical place. Figuring herself out in Berlin in part falls within the process of making new friends and connections. However, I’d hypothesize that she needed distance in an emotional sense to allow her multi-layered journey of coming out through and against her search for community. She identifies as femme and finds a lot of pleasure in playing with and breaking gender stereotypes. Being femme among a community of other femmes has a special place for her. Queer femmes often experience exclusion related to stereotypes of gender essentialism or assumed heteronormativity. C. experiences empowering complexity and subversion in her gender presentation.37

36 A specific experience here and not necessarily the norm everywhere for queers. 37 Her femme identity and community will be further analysed in the chapter ‘Queer Communities of Care’.

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Living out for her means giving the parts of herself which are contextually marginalized (more) space. Being a parent, and being a parent of a male child, restricts in certain ways her access to and in result, over time, also her interest in some flint38 spaces. At the time of this interview she was actively living as a bisexual, deciding to date men again after she deliberately did not for a long time. She described this as an act of reclaiming for her personally. Nonetheless, this highlights conflict or at least friction for some of the queer community she saw herself in. As this is a more recent process I cannot yet interpret it as another step in her coming out 2.0 process which will directly affect the community around her, but I would hypothesize that this again will shift something in her understanding of self and where this self is welcome and celebrated in its wholeness. Thus, this would also affect who she wants to surround herself with.39 Normalcy is something C. mostly experiences in Berlin and the adjoining county of Brandenburg. She describes her appearance being commented on by strangers whenever she leaves Berlin, but in the city she does not have to think about herself as the other or as someone who stands out. I concluded that being among a friend group she deliberately and carefully chose over the years would only heighten that experience of normalcy. The main limitation she spoke of in her feeling accepted and able to live out as her full self is not having many other queers or queer families with kids or similar living situations to her own around yet.

L. – Bigger Consequences L.’s coming out 2.0 is related to their gender. They speak about their bisexuality as a non-issue to their family of origin and other surroundings growing up. When coming out as bisexual nothing changed, but the gender exploration and potential transition they aspire to has very real consequences for how their surroundings, especially their family of origin and their community, sees them as their own physical appearance is changing or as they already have changed their name and pronouns.

„I do think there was a little bit of hope when it comes to trans and gender identity. On a level of I’d be able to express and live that, or something like that. Because for me it’s connected with

38 Flint is an abbreviation that stands for female, lesbian, inter, non-binary and trans, thus excluding cis-male persons. 39 Her bisexuality and some of the excluding reactions she gets for dating men will be further discussed in a chapter ‘Queer Norms of Belonging’.

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much bigger consequences. So, the thing of I’m bi was like, okay that doesn’t have actual consequences for my interactions with other people. But when I say I want a different name, different pronouns, maybe I want to change my appearance, maybe even drastically and medically, then that affects the relationships I have to other people much more.” (L: 42)40

For L. it becomes clear that physical distance to their family is an important factor in freely engaging with questions of gender. This distance then sets the ground to experience emotional distance and develop and explore themselves on their own time. They don’t talk about specific goals within a transition timeline but anticipate change that might affect their relationship with their family of origin and their current community as well as people they meet at university, work or in public. In general, they understand their gender and coming out 2.0 as highly interpersonal. Changing appearance in a gendered way, and/or changing gender, is more or less common depending on context. But it is most definitely a noticeable change which has a big meaning in a very gendered world. L. utilises distance to their family specifically in effort to protect both their family from potential hurt and themselves from their potential negative reaction or lack of understanding. Independent of their actual interaction with their family though, they also just get to concentrate on themselves through that distance and figure out who they are outside of family expectations. This reminds me of Sarah Ahmed’s writing on ‘Unhappy Queers’ in ‘The Promise of Happiness’ (2010). There she speaks on the subject of parents, and on a larger scale, societal expectations for a very specific kind of happiness queers cannot fulfil. Freeing themselves from those expectations, be it temporary, leads to a self-determined life which stands counter to a notion of linearity and progress but offers room for self-exploration and complexity (comp. Love 2009). When diving deeper into L.’s story later, it is clear that pride is not their main concern, they aim to push queer community forward on a political social justice level. For them, the work is far from over. They speak about gendered expectations and norms when it comes to how they express their transness. Both outside of queer spaces as well as within, they do not assume their gender

40 German original: “Ich glaube schon, dass da so n bisschen so Hoffnung war was so Trans und so Geschlechtsidentität anging. […] Auf ‘ner ich kann das dann irgendwie ausleben oder so [Ebene]. […] Weil das für mich mit viel größeren Konsequenzen verbunden war. Also für mich war so diese, oh ich bin bi so, okay, das hat jetzt keine Konsequenzen auf meine Interaktionen mit anderen Menschen. Aber, wenn ich sage ich möchte ‘nen anderen Namen, ich möchte andere Pronomen, ich möchte vielleicht mein Erscheinungsbild auch drastisch und irgendwie medizinisch auch verändern, dann macht das viel mehr mit den Beziehungen zu anderen Menschen.“ (L: 42)

42 expression to be fully understood or accepted, except for close queer relationships. They refer to coolness and desirability and their working-class background in both cases. When it comes to their gender expression which is non-binary and trans masculine adjacent, they speak about feeling like they do not fit in. They are not ‘masculine enough’ to access queer male spaces, nor do they feel like they represent an ideal of non-binary as a fat person.41 Being inspired by other queer people’s ways of expressing and living their genders was not explicitly discussed as a factor in their own journey. However, seeing a friend who they grew up with being able to live out as themselves may have been an inspiration of sorts, if not at least a beacon of hope.

O. – Courage to Come Out O.’s journey towards Berlin, just as her coming out, happened later in her life. It is a process she needs and takes her time for. She is a trans woman who just got out of a long-lasting marriage and then meets the woman for whom she would move to Berlin for. She is not out explicitly to either of those partners but when the topic comes up in her later relationship, she feels much more at ease with being herself. Once in Berlin, her social circle is reduced to that of her girlfriend’s and only after that relationship ends is she confronted with the task of finding herself and the community she wants for her life going forward in Berlin. Relating to her former punk community she says the following:

„In hindsight I made to many compromises with people who I actually didn’t like that much. But somehow there weren’t many other options. Now I would be worried that if I’d go to this place, this pub, to which I always went, that they wouldn’t accept me. That they would laugh at me, that they would say ‘You’re crazy!’ or something along those lines. I wouldn’t want to give that any space. Maybe I’m being unfair or it’s not realistic, but I wouldn’t push my luck.” (O: 45)42

41 These themes will be further addressed in the chapter on ‘Queer Norms of Belonging’. 42 “[…] ich [habe] im Rückblick eigentliche zu viele Kompromisse gemacht mit Menschen, die ich eigentlich gar nicht so toll fand, aber irgendwie gab's nicht viel andere Möglichkeiten und ich hätte jetzt die Befürchtung, wenn ich jetzt so an den Ort zurückgehen würde, in die Kneipe wo ich immer reingegangen bin, dass die mich nicht akzeptieren würden. Das sie mich auslachen würden, dass das sie sagen: "Du spinnst!", oder so was in der Art. Ich würde dem ganzen einfach keinen Raum geben wollen. Vielleicht ist das von mir auch unfair und entspricht nicht der Realität, aber ich würd‘s nicht drauf ankommen lassen.“ (O: 45)

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She speaks of a lack of options when it comes to community and the fear of not being able to come out within the punk spaces that were nonetheless very important and supporting in many ways. In comparison to where she lived before, Berlin is a place where she can move unknown, unwitnessed. In the city before her community was close-knit and everybody knew each other’s business. There it didn’t feel possible for her to come out or express herself within the very narrow frame of gendered, heteronormative expectations the people had of her. She is also fearful of old friends reacting poorly. This was in fact true for some of the friends she made when first moving to Berlin before being out. Now living in Berlin, it feels mostly normal walking around the city as herself. In the city she lived before, she would very much stand out and that would threaten her feeling of comfort and safety.

„In going to Berlin the deciding factor wasn‘t me saying, I am a trans woman and I want to live in Berlin as a trans woman. That wasn’t it. But Berlin did give me the courage to be me here.” (O: 55)43

“And in this therapy [about my break-up] it became clear that I now have the courage to go public about who I am. And then in the year 2019 I went public like this [dressed and styled as the woman she is]. Well, I go into the public like this whenever I can. I can’t do that at work.” (O: 57)44

She needed physical and emotional distance from both her punk community as well as the woman she was in a relationship with to form the courage to come out. She had been out to herself for years but did not feel safe in sharing that information with others or in public. That changed in Berlin, catalysed by the grief after her break-up. She felt very alone and lonely after her relationship ended and sought therapy. This eventually gave her space to reflect deeply and decide that she wanted to live out and forge her life in Berlin as her whole self, going forward.

43 German original: „Der ausschlaggebende Punkt nach Berlin zu gehen, war jetzt nicht zu sagen, Ich bin eine trans Frau und ich möchte in Berlin als trans Frau leben, das war es nicht. Aber Berlin hat mir den Mut gegeben, hier ich zu sein.“ (O: 55) 44 „Und in dieser Gesprächstherapie [zu meiner Trennung] hat sich dann auch herauskristallisiert, dass ich jetzt den Mut haben werde und in die Öffentlichkeit damit geh, wer ich bin. Und dann bin ich im Jahre 2019 so in die Öffentlichkeit, also dann, wenn ich es kann. Also ich kann es nicht, wenn ich arbeiten gehe.“ (O: 57)

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Her experience of loneliness after her break-up which resulted in the loss of her main social network, brings to mind Love’s writing (2009) on the potential agent for change loneliness can be. O. had a hard time figuring out who she was outside of this relationship and describes a deep sense of loneliness. Nonetheless it opened up emotional space for her to focus on herself outside of what it meant to be a romantic partner. I also think of hooks’ writing on love (2000), especially self-love and the potential of community love. Through coming out she allows her whole self to be ‘out there’, to share herself with the world and in return find loving community (and in her case hopefully a loving partner too), which accepts her as she truly is. I would describe that as an act of self-love. O. started to actively look for spaces that are explicitly welcoming towards trans women and that she would feel safe in. At the time of this interview she is still looking for a closer queer community. She has some friends but talks about differences between them and about a more surface level of intimacy. She very much wishes for a close romantic relationship which she is unsure will happen. There also are limits to where and how she feels comfortable in expressing herself, for example she makes very clear that she will never be out at work.45

Y. – Starting from Scratch For Y. having space to come out was very much linked to creating distance between them and people who symbolized old expectations and labels. This happened both through moving to Berlin, a city where they had no prior connections and the break-up that followed. During the time they moved to Berlin they experienced a shift in their physical ability, making it harder to conform to interpersonal standards their old friends and people they newly met would expect from them. They started to rethink how they understood their disability and eventually embraced it as part of their identity. Before the move they had used the label bisexual and were in a relationship with a cisgender man. They reflected during the interview on how they were not always sure that their queer friends understood them to be part of queer community, e.g. when organising queer events, they would ask themselves ‘Am I included, am I welcome?’. There was a feeling of distance and being hindered or not seen as completely themselves while in this relationship and using this label. It made it harder for them to freely reflect on, and creatively explore, their own queerness.

45 Her experiences with queer norms inside of community spaces will be addressed further in the chapter ‘Queer Norms of Belonging’.

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“I thought of myself as a bisexual person and I was in a relationship with a cis man and I think a lot of my desire to explore my queerness was wrapped up in my fear around that. And I think that a lot of this stuff was kind of happening more subconsciously. So, looking back I can see the decisions that I made that were very much about feeling able to kind of change my life and like come out in a way that felt more authentic to who I feel I am. And so, I think there was something about getting away from the life I had before and not having the pressure of people knowing me for a long time. I think this was also wrapped up in being someone who lives with chronic illness, in that like I can't do a lot of things that I used to be able to do. It was painful and difficult to be around friends who had these old expectations of me. And so, I think it really did feel like a starting from scratch thing. It was like, I want my life to reflect now and then a chance to then build that in Berlin in a way that feels somehow freer.” (Y: 71)

They describe being in Berlin as ‘starting from scratch’, a clean slate, a place and time to re- think themselves and figure out how they would want a new and growing community to perceive them. They also described how in Berlin it was more normal to be outside and see other queer people around, in comparison to other areas of the city they had previously lived in. It felt like there were generally more queer people and they were omni-present. Coming out to themselves as a chronically ill/sick person enabled them to adjust their own expectations of community building and of how to make friends. It made way for their process of figuring out how to accept their changing body and needs on their own as well as within a community. Butler writes about gender expectations in Doing Justice to Someone (2001). Set in a very different context of a clinical trial, the text nonetheless offers insight into how conflicting expectations affect a person’s psyche. This tangentially relations to Y. as they live in a different setting and are much more independent in their responses to expectations and societal pressures, however I believe the text to be relevant through its discussion on leaving those gendered expectations behind. More notably relevant to this Y.’s experience is hedva’s sick woman theory (2016) who adds to Hall’s (2013) notion of the ableist expectation of having to be excellent or especially well- adjusted when belonging to a marginalized group. Hall writes about the experiences of queers of color, relating more to representation, however those expectations can be internalized and often lack room for change. Sickness for hedva is something that inherently stands for non- linearity and might enable us to rethink how we as a community navigate different needs. Hedva also speaks about being excluded from community because illness is not considered within

46 interpersonal relationships as well as within the norms of queer community organizing (e.g. their experience of not being able to go to a demonstration because they are too sick to leave the house). On the level of their disability, they experience normalcy first and foremost in a support group dedicated to care and support as well as creative work.46

J. – A They and Also Femme For J.47 Berlin and the complexity and diversity of trans people living there directly inspire her own confidence in her gender. They say less about their family of origin but that they felt limited in their perception of gender when it came to people being out and/or the representation in the city they lived before. She talked about being unsure of her gender and sexuality until she found herself within queer theory and writing on gender through tumblr and during her time at university. Living in Berlin then offered a direct and lived culture of complexity she describes with excitement and happiness.

“[…] so many people fuck with gender here. And have all of these amazing different understandings of gender. And I understand queer like in a way very related to gender, I think […]. At least as much as sexuality, maybe more so. […] People [often blankly] say presentation doesn’t equal pronouns and here it is a lot more true. [There are a] lot more people who live extremely femme and will have a very femme affect and will all not use she pronouns. Which is a lot rarer in [city they lived in before] […] And that’s been also a part of my own identity formation, figuring out how I can be a they and also femme.” (J: 26-27)

Their last sentence offers insight into her coming out process as both non-binary and femme. She had not seen that represented before and thus did not necessarily know that this was possible. Her experiences with a lack of complexity as well as the underlying transmisogyny has been beautifully and angrily written about by Serano (2013). J.’s experiences in assessing her needs and managing them relates to how Serano discusses the loneliness experienced when there is a lack of support or access. How she describes gender expressions and the adjacent conversations she has highlights how important the influence of said community was for her own exploration (comp. hooks’ writing on community love 2000). Gender and sexuality are

46 This community and their process of starting over navigating their health on an interpersonal level will be further discussed in the chapter ‘Queer Care Communities’. 47 I asked all the participants with what pronouns they want me to write about them. To be best represented in their identity, J asked me to use two different ones: she/her/hers as well as them/them/their; Thus, in this thesis I will alternate those pronouns.

47 closely connected in the sense that she knew early on that the way she was supposed to desire women was not for her. Another layer of their coming out 2.0 process has to do with neurodiversity. They themselves say: “It's like part of it because it was hard forming connections with people when I was figuring out whether I was attracted to them or not. And in what sense I was attracted to them” (J: 24). As they had already struggled with untangling their gender and sexual orientation, they spoke about a long process of feeling wrong, but not knowing exactly why they had a harder time then others in forming connections. In Berlin they found queer and neurodiverse community for the first time and this helped them to understand that their differing needs are valid and how they could express them in a way that allows for community building that is accepting and welcoming of their whole identity.48

Summary ‘Coming out 2.0’ stands for a coming out that is non-linear and not a singular event. Through this chapter I explored my participants’ multi-layered processes of figuring out who they are. Much of it is interwoven with their search for ‘their people’, meaning community that would accept them in their wholeness and would share or understand their experience. Coming out and finding accepting community doesn’t happen magically or automatically by just moving to Berlin. In this chapter we follow them on a path of identifying and disidentifying with others and through those interactions coming to terms with their current identities and being able to change and adapt and have their surroundings react with openness. Having the freedom to explore those ideas would potentially feel like a successful connection between community and their own growing understanding and expression of themselves. The aspect of distance was important for many of the informants in terms of leaving behind old expectations or an old image/ presentation of themselves. This happened both consciously and unconsciously. Experiencing physical distance allowed for necessary emotional distance (L., J., in some ways C.) and for anonymity, freedom and for some a new focus on the self (e.g. Y., O.). Thus, participants described being able to experience shifts both within gender and sexuality as well as their health status. In many cases, they were not being judged by the same people or being compared to ‘before’ images of themselves. This meant more freedom from having to translate an experience or perceived idea of change at least in relation to their

48 How their neurodiversity influences their experiences of queer loneliness will be discussed further in the chapters ‘Queer Kinship Norms’ and ‘Queer Communities of Care’.

48 former surroundings and family of origin. It can be argued that it is first and foremost about a coming out process to one’s self. Even though some of the interviewees had their inner coming out(s) before, they still seemed to have benefited greatly in their process of self-acceptance by having a space for them and their emotions. Being able to focus on the self makes room to start over, to find people and community who get to know the ‘new’ version of you or the you in progress, thus meeting the informants exactly where they are at and not expecting them to stay the same. It allows space for non-linearity and falls outside a binary of ‘out’ or ‘not out’. In short: it allows for change and fluidity.

Experiencing a sense of normalcy in new surroundings lies both within seeing others who behave and present themselves in a way that inspires the formation and exploration of their own self as well as empowerment that happens through actually finding themselves represented within Berlin’s queer community. The queer community and its visibility in Berlin have in some cases been an inspirational influence, being especially fruitful for J. Each participant, though to a different extent, described physical distance and a change of scenery through a move to or within Berlin as an influence in their own self exploration and discovery or in being able to express themselves. For some it was clearly more related to the inspiring queerness of the city or their neighbourhood, for others it was more because they were removed from old relationships and the connected expectations. For some it was both equally. It was clear that interpersonal relations mattered within this process. In my analysis I have witnessed different stages of coming out which then affected the people around the participants, as well as the people around them affecting their coming out in return. Coming out to oneself and to others might include different steps or they might be two completely separate processes, and through my work with all the participants I can conclude that they were very much interwoven. The process of figuring out who they are and who they wanted to share community with highlighted the interdependency of relationships with others and oneself for all the participants. Outside of relationships with others, it appeared even more relevant in their coming out processes to be confronted with the self in a new, more anonymous place. Being disconnected from former relationships, friendships or family of origin had the biggest effect. This distance led to a feeling of freedom from expectations which enabled a deeper confrontation with the self and an exploration of who they were. (see O., L., Y.) When it came to ability norms, similarly to Y., it took J.’s own realisation and coming out to figure out their needs and accept

49 them. A coming out process that is related to ability then too changes how and who those participants would want to interact with and form community with. In many ways it could be categorized as a productive process for the participants to decide what they needed in order to be themselves. Coming out to themselves, and re-coming out, is a process and potentially an ongoing one. It set the basis for all the participants to live a life more aligned to who they are and how they want to be perceived. However, this is just one theme exploring experiences of community and loneliness. As previously mentioned, Berlin is not a mythological place that offers only happiness in coming out or coming out 2.0. Day to day limitations, discrimination, exclusion, and experiences of grief will be further explored within the chapters on queer norms.

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Queer Norms of Belonging In the following chapter I will examine how the participants experienced themselves in relation to the queer norms they encountered within Berlin queer communities. Ideas on queer norms can be roughly divided into two interconnected aspects: one being queer kinship norms which relate to what concepts of relationships, family and cohabitation are seen as normal and desirable. This first subchapter will thus refer to how the specific participants form and maintain relationships. The second aspect within this chapter revolves around finding and building community, where and how community building takes place and most importantly, how accessible do the informants find this process. I use access in this context both to look at the experiences of people who are chronically ill, disabled or neurodiverse, as well as how performing and accessing social capital plays a role. Gatekeeping with regard to coolness and desirability, as well as knowledgeability will be relevant in the question of norms and expectations related to social capital. I speak of norms when it comes to culture within queer Berlin and aspects that have been part of queer discourse49, which I use in this specific context mostly on a micro level, referring both to what participants have shared with me and my own experiences within Berlin queer spaces.50 Norms are not fixed or universal and here I only use the ones specifically connected to, and described by, my participants (e.g. within the years leading up to 2020, within Berlin, within this specific age group etc.).

Queer Kinship Norm Ideas of kinship norms, modes of relationships, marriage and children, monogamy and polyamory were the most discussed topics amongst my participants (referenced by four out of five). Every participant who brought up their relationship status, (for example if they identified as monogamous or polyamorous or if they plan to or already have children), referred it back to how they understood and encountered queer kinship norms. L. for example says:

“I’d say, that comparatively to the image of the queer community in Berlin, my idea is very traditionally that of a monogamous relationship between two people, potentially getting married, having kids in my life. That’s the shape and content [I’m imagining]. I think for me that’s mainly

49 I define the specific queer discourse I aim to focus in on, broadly as topics, issues and cultural tendencies me and my participants have been able to relate to as well as identify individually within Berlin queer spaces. In my specific research it mostly relates to conflict, conflict culture and disidentification. 50 Berlin queer discourse is of course also influenced by a more general queer discourse (e.g. what is dominantly discussed online via queer platforms with international reach).

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about experiencing a lot together, like life events but also internal change. […] People find that weird. People are actually shocked, when I talk about wanting children. People are shocked when I talk about wanting to get married. People are also obviously disdainful sometimes. […] And that makes the distance between me and others bigger.” (L: 45)51

L. saw themselves confronted with the queer kinship norms they too understand to be embedded within an image of (queer) Berlin, when they shared their interest in getting married one day or having kids. They referred to an image of queer community that can be summarized as challenging notions of (assumed) heteronormative mainstream behaviour (e.g. practising polyamory, being critical of, or actively deciding against, marriage and not having or not wanting children). The ensuing reaction they experienced from their peers when they spoke of their hopes or plans made them feel judged, alienated or looked down upon. They described this as furthering the distance between them and their peers which L. had already expressed feeling in relation to other realms of queer community norms. Relating this back to my other participants, only one person in this study is married (J.). However, they made very it clear that they are critical of the institution of marriage whilst also acknowledging that they wanted to access the privilege connected to this institution. J. is also living polyamorous. When O. spoke about her marriage, which was in the end unhappy und limiting, she connected it to the heteronormative expectations that she could not and did not want to fulfil anymore.52 Those three examples, even though in different, give an idea on the moral implications that marriage can have for queers. Declared a norm by the heterosexual mainstream, it makes it harder to be a valid choice for queers that align themselves with the radical politics of the left. Wanting children53 falls into a similar category of norms both for L. as well as for C., who already has a child. C. experiences feelings of unbelonging both because of a lack of queer peers with kids,

51 German original: „Ich würde sagen, dass ich im Vergleich zu dem Image der queeren Community Berlin sehr traditionelle Vorstellungen hab, also von monogamer Zweierbeziehung, potentiell zu heiraten, Kinder im Leben gemeinsam zu haben. Das ist glaub ich so die Form und der Inhalt. [Dabei] geht es glaub ich für mich viel um dieses viel miteinander erleben zu können, also an Sachen aber auch an innerer Veränderung. […] Leute finden das komisch. Also Leute sind tatsächlich sehr geschockt, wenn ich darüber rede, dass ich Kinder möchte. Leute sind geschockt, wenn ich darüber rede, dass ich heiraten möchte, Leute sind auch obviously distainful sometimes. […] Und das vergrößert den Abstand zwischen mir und Menschen.“ (L: 45) 52 Namely being in a relationship concept that didn’t enable her to be out as a lesbian trans woman. 53 I wondered within this context about children being perhaps understood antithetical to a culture of promiscuity. When it comes to the notion of reproduction not being part of queer experience, I’d categorize that as erasing the realities of bisexual and trans identity.

52 as well as the confusing, overwhelming and out-right hostile reactions queer peers have displayed towards both her having a child as well as towards the child itself.54

Ideas on having children, marriage and monogamy or polyamory interact with concepts of queer temporalities and the perceived moral implications within queer communities. Queer kinship norms appear to be both formed through historical necessity, such as the AIDS crisis, and contemporary political attitudes and choices, though it is important that these are highly influenced by location and context.55 Critical responses to marriage are vast and have been documented by many feminist and queer researchers before (e.g. not inclusive of non-binary identity, people without papers and many more; comp. Haraway and Clarke 2018) nonetheless, the moral judgement towards it (especially in L.’s quote) is noteworthy. Perhaps one way to view this subject is not to just ask whether getting married or not is about political choice, but rather if opposition to it is sometimes based on a performance of ‘queerness’ related to being ‘the right kind of queer’?56

Regarding literature, I would like to draw on Love (2003) as she writes about the history of the political goal of gay marriage as leaving behind more marginalized queers, as well as other more complex, and less well-understood (by most straight lawmakers) goals in a fight for equality. Not wanting to get married might be part of an explicit counter movement that aims for complexity and acts in solidarity with more marginalized queers and their respective rights or goals. After all, earning rights and visibility always comes with stronger systems of control. (comp. Phelan 1999 on visibility and control). This has been a long, ongoing political discussion among different queer groups and the different attitudes are likely influenced by each person’s own history and positionalities. Marriage can be an issue of protection especially for immigrant queers, and queers without papers or legal residency, and it is also important to consider access to health care. Nonetheless a more generalized discourse in Berlin seems to associate a political attitude with individual’s position on marriage. To disidentify from wanting to get to married thus might result in more

54 I find it interesting that within the queer community norms described above, children become a problem, whereas in many other communities, children would be the basis for creating and sustaining community. 55 My study is set in Germany, where so called ‘same-sex marriage’ became legal in 2017. 56 A similar argument could be made about the coolness factor (and thus social capital) of polyamory. Which for a few years now has been subtly or explicitly argued within queer and/or ‘lefty’ circles to be the only moral, or at least the better choice when wanting to counter heteronormativity within relationships (e.g.: treating partners as possession).

53 social capital within certain queer communities in Berlin. These conclusions might be influenced by the positionality of those interviewed (e.g. all are white). I also find it noteworthy that the only participant who describes marriage as something they desire has a working-class background.57 It is impossible to draw any certain conclusions from that, but it nonetheless hints at class, race and/or privilege in general being potentially deciding factors when it comes to what norms different queers chose to uphold for themselves and others. Important to add is that the establishing of norms both in this as well as in the next example happens through interaction and subtle or explicit othering.

Queer kinship norms do not only touch on the question of how, but also who, we date. In that regard bisexuality, or to be more precise, dating cis men, falls outside the norm within the specific queer context I am focusing on.58 In the next quote we follow C. through her friends’ reactions when bringing a male date to one of the queer events she usually frequents:

„They knew me, I knew them. It was a drag show at which I knew most of the performers. Usually it would be very lovely and chill. But not this night. As a big exception. […] This whole performance crew didn’t really acknowledge me or said hi, barely said hi. That made me feel like an alien. […] [Me and my date] we were tender with each other, the things you do you know. It was really bananas. I was at a place where I’m usually normal and around my people but this night I was relatively clearly the other.”59 (C: 11)

At the time of our interview C. had only recently started to include cis men in her dating pool again.60 The above quote represents a key moment in her path of integrating cis men back into her (love) life. Again, this is an event where one of the participants describes being confronted with queer norms through others making her feel abnormal, or by avoiding her and treating her very differently than usual.

57 Marriage is historically an economic arrangement made for stability and inheritance reasons. 58 Queers of marginalized genders, excluding cis men. 59 German original: „[D]ie kannten mich, ich kannte die, das, da war ne Drag-Show, wo ich auch die meisten Perfomer kannte. Alle. Und wo normalerweise alles sehr herzlich und cool war. Und an dem Abend halt nicht. Als große Ausnahme. […] Diese gesamte Performer-Crew hat mich nicht, hat mich kaum gegrüßt. Da hab ich mich gefühlt wie so n Alien irgendwie. […] [Mein Date und ich] wir waren halt auch zärtlich miteinander, so was man halt so macht. Es war echt abgefahren. Also ich war, da wo ich sonst normal war und irgendwie unter meinesgleichen, war ich irgendwie schon für mich an dem Abend relativ deutlich die Andere. Damit hatte ich gar nicht so gerechnet.” (C: 11) 60 The community’s biphobia was not the reason she chose not to date cis men in the first place. It fell within her coming out and exploring sexuality within a safer frame for her.

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There are a lot of stereotypes, as well as implicit and explicit exclusion directed towards bisexuals61 when it comes to other queers and queer spaces.62 When C. spoke to one of her friends afterwards they told her that it is to be expected that people will see and read her as less queer when she is out with or dating a cis man. In actively pursuing a cis man in the eyes of certain queer dating norms she loses the benefit of being read as queer, or of being included and part of queer community. This then influences how peers (dis)regard her on a personal level. In a place where people know her, and thus also know she is queer and part of the queer community, she is subtly but actively othered.63 Both in Eisner’s (2013) as well as Serano’s writing (2003), there are statistics on the detrimental state of the mental health of bisexual people. Bisexuals, especially bisexual women of color, are one of the biggest groups under the LGBTIQ+ umbrella and they experience a disproportionately high level of mental health issues, such as depression and suicidal ideation (ibid). I would hypothesize that that is in part precisely because a lack of access to community, not being seen or acknowledged as well as ultimately often being isolated or ostracized if they are in a relationship that is read or marked as ‘straight’. Y. is not actually bisexual but while using the label for themselves and being in a relationship that was read this way, they regularly wondered if their queer friends actually thought of them or saw them as queer too.64 The argument C. finds herself confronted with also gives insight into how some queers define queerness. This specifically relates to assumptions on being able to ‘see’ queerness as a bystander, whether it is through making judgements on the structure of a relationship, assumed gender identities or the markers of clothing, hair and styles of gender expression. This affects who and which constellations are being read, marked and accepted as queer and thus belong – or not – to queer community?65 This lack of complexity within a queer worldview reproduces violence that counteracts progress and collective liberation.66

61 I am speaking of bisexuals who are not cis male. The stereotypes are various and affect different gender identities individually. 62 As written about in Eisner (2012). 63 Queer women especially look back on a long history of trying to create safe spaces. Having to and choosing to disidentify from straight as well as gay cis men (mostly white, but not exclusively; racism generally and as well within queer communities results in non-white men to be seen as a threat (comp. Haritaworn 2015) served as a safety net to create a sense of their own within a still patriarchal society. That may still influence resentment towards bisexuals (especially women and those of marginalized genders), confusing them as traitors and lead to exclusion and alienation. I am not trying to find an explanation or reasoning behind excluding bis, I merely wonder about context. 64 Compare the chapter ‘Coming out 2.0’. 65 Both potentially resulting in bi and/or trans erasure. 66 Especially when related back to the detrimental affect it may have to bisexual’s mental health and literal lives.

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For C., this confrontation with norms has consequences. Firstly, she felt alienated and othered in a surrounding that usually felt like home. Secondly, she questioned (certain) queer spaces, and had to decide where she wanted to go and invest her time and energy.67 When talking about bisexuality L. refers to it as almost a non-issue for them when coming out. They have experienced biphobia but they have not experienced the same level of hurt in comparison to fatphobia or transphobia directed towards them or other queers in Berlin.68 In the matter of wanting to date men, they described similarly othering reactions by their peers, though. L. compared it to the reactions of disbelief, shock, and disgust that they have also experienced when talking about their wish to get married and have children. Biphobia is expressed through othering and marginalising the people who chose to date, or are interested in dating, men. In this case, the subjects are femme and a non-binary trans masculine person, highlighting the idea that biphobia holds relevance even for people who do not identify as such. Biphobia here seems to both be connected to a historical form of oppression as well as a device used to frame and reassure what queerness exactly means. When it comes to coolness or performing the ‘right’ or ‘better’ choices, related above to norms regarding marriage and children, the kind of relationship constellation bisexuals engage with seem to be similarly morally charged.

Community Building Norms Other aspects of norms I found within my participants’ reports are on community building outside of romantic partnerships. This subchapter addresses the ‘how and where’ they seek and find community and how they interact with the conditions they encounter. Generally addressing this, none of the participants speak of the queer community. All make it very clear that they see it as a myth which they do not believe in themselves. Rather, they view it as a multitude of communities with variety and diversity (along e.g. different positionality and separatism, different subcultures, and physical space). On top of that, they note that it is not a given to get along with any queer people or to make them your community just on the basis of belonging to the LGBTIQ+ umbrella. When confronting community building and access norms, much of it seems to relate to accessibility and interconnectedness as well as social capital. Depending on the context this is made visible by desirability, coolness, or knowledgeability (or a mix of these factors).

67 She has to reflect this in relation to her child as well, about where is he welcome (now and in the future) specifically because of being cis male. 68 I do find it interesting that they chose to weigh those against each other.

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The three main aspects I will focus in on within this chapter are as follows: community building/ access via sexual culture, club culture69 and activist or queer knowledge. This is also connected to ability norms, which I will also address.

Most (four out of five) talked about ‘cliquey-ness’ and the struggle of entering spaces that are not open towards newcomers, both because of identity70, assumed ‘lack of experience’, or gatekeeping around knowledge. A more general related example was brought up by O. as she tried to find community within a queer-feminist meet-up. Where, in theory, in a space open to any who identifies along those two labels, she experienced the following:

„[T]he people who met up were a group of roughly 15 people. I was the oldest and there weren’t other trans women or trans men there. There were also people who I’d say have been in the queer community for a while and kind of, how should I say this, questioned my legitimacy. […] With that I immediately leaned back and thought to myself, I don’t want to be arrogant or anything but I thought, hold on, I am in my 40s, I did the whole punk community thing, I don’t have to be spoken to like that. […] this legitimacy thing, that made me think I don’t want to have to establish myself here, to have to be a member of something […]” (O: 58)71

O. describes meeting a group made up of people different from herself in some ways (e.g. younger and cis). Entering this space as a newcomer resulted in them questioning her, or them expecting her to prove her queerness and feminist knowledge. She might have experienced this due to her age and gender but describes it mostly to be implied around an assumed lack of experience, therefore making her feel that she had to legitimise both who she is and why she was there. Although this was a more casual space, but connected to particular political interests she was not just welcomed as someone who was interested and aligned themselves with both

69 In a queer setting club culture and sexual culture are historically interlinked. Further along in this chapter I will address the overarching factors of coolness and desirability. 70 For example, entering a space as the only (visible or out) trans person. 71 German original: „[…] die Leute, die sich getroffen haben, war so eine Gruppe von ungefähr 15 Leuten, ich war die Älteste. Auch keine anderen Trans Frauen, Trans Männer dort. Es waren auch, sach ich mal Menschen da, die schon wohl länger in der queeren Community unterwegs waren und quasi so ein bisschen so meine, wie soll ich sagen, meine Legitimation in Frage gestellt haben. […] Wo ich mich aber sofort so zurückgelehnt hab, mir selbst so gedacht hab, also ich will jetzt nicht überheblich sein, aber ich hab mir gedacht, Moment mal, ich bin Mitte 40, ich habe meine Punk Community hinter mir, ich muss mir gar nichts mehr sagen lassen. […] dieses Legitimationsding, wo ich dachte, ich will jetzt aber nicht hier irgendwie anknüpfen, angehören müssen […].“ (O: 58)

57 the label queer and feminist. Having to prove her ‘credentials’ implied that she was regarded as someone who needed to gain the right to access the space. Her experience and thus knowledge, less so on an activist level, but on a queer and community level was being questioned and she was met with defensiveness and exclusion. She found this hostility to be mainly irritating and had not expected this type of gatekeeping but felt secure enough not to interact with it. Ultimately, she gave up on trying to be part of that group despite her initial excitement. Activist and community work were also themes, that emerged when discussing related areas of finding and building community. Two participants (L. and C.) made it a point to differentiate between a political movement with clear goals, where they see themselves putting work in, and scene or community more built around enjoyment, socialising and dating. Whilst those two areas also intersect and influence each other, nonetheless when it came to community building and the question of where to actually find their people, three of five participants explicitly stated, while the other two implied it, that aligning political views shape who they want to be part of their personal community.72 When discussing the topic of marriage before, it appeared that displaying or sharing certain political views might influence social capital. This became relevant too when addressing community building via activism. J. has found a significant part of community through university and was able to meet people there who were also interested in queer theory and politics. She also works at a university which enables her to be out at work and through this, has gained a lot of empowerment. It is worth mentioning that having access to queer theory does not determine the radical nature or validity of someone’s queer identity. Nonetheless, this field of community building organized around knowledge or activism work is still highly hierarchized. Both L. and C. express this but in different ways: L. has been an activist for most of their youth and feels that this experience and built knowledge gives them social capital within an area of queer community that does value knowledge highly. They also referred to tendencies in which they see a kind of competition or a race almost to be the first to state something as problematic or critical. They witness this especially online, where a lot of (fast) activism73 takes place. C. moved from a city in which university life was a big part of her community, but ended up in Berlin within a ‘cliquey’ department where in hindsight she

72 I aim in no way to describe subcommunities or community spaces that aren’t explicitly labeled as ‘political’ as apolitical or out of any political sphere or activism. Those two areas can very much overlap when it comes to queer experiences. 73 With fast activism I relate to an online culture that is very fast pace. A culture of being able to e.g. constantly refresh pages, of high availability for followers (e.g. quickly putting out statements as institutions and individuals to relevant events, like new bills being passed, demonstrations or similarly relevant political events).

58 expressed simply having experienced “being femme among left circles”74 (C: 5). This was a sexist and femmephobic environment in which she was assumed to lack experience or knowledge because of her gender and especially her gender expression.75 When addressing this specific area of community building around a certain type of mainly academic knowledge, two texts come to mind. First, Sanyal’s writing about home and how belonging to community and a nation state is established (2020). I am reminded of some of the aspects of community building she almost describes as arbitrary. Within O.’s quote we clearly can refer to the mechanic of this community space being organised around common interest, political positioning as well as experience or knowledge. Not only does O. have to share history with them (maybe not as aligned because of age differences) but is implicitly asked to prove herself. Those mechanisms function the same within L. and C. as well as J.’s experiences, though they do have slightly different outcomes. The second text that describes a structure within community and community building as organized along a hierarchy of knowledge can be found within Kai Cheng Thom’s text from 2017. She calls out some of the performative and competitive behaviours that she witnesses both within queer community as well as within online activism. This was not the only area where participants encountered community conditioned along hierarchy. When diving deeper into the aspect of sexual culture and club culture there are clear similarities, although this time seeming to revolve more around superficiality and the vague term of coolness. I am going to further explore how access to community is maintained by levels of sexuality (desirability) and activism (knowledge). A specific community culture described to be influenced by coolness and desirability is something four out of five participants have encountered. When it comes to building rapport via sexuality76 and finding community through that, two out of five people described explicitly feelings of confusion, hurt and unbelonging (O. and L.). In both cases, those take place in relation to their image of self and the expectations they found within dating or hook-up culture.

„I’m not such an outgoing person. I’m not good at big groups and that often makes it hard for me to get to know people. […] And also a feeling of not being cool enough, good-looking enough and not desirable enough because of not being a thin person or because of being fat.

74 German original: “Femme sein in linken Kreisen.“ (C: 5) 75 She expressed herself as high femme in this time, which may counter toxic masculinity (as part of the left circles she was in) in a way that results in conflict or at least in abjection. 76 Sexual culture both in the sense of desirable traits and taking part in hook up culture, having lots of dates and sex, or being promiscuous.

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And even if it’s talked about often that androgyny or masculinity are desired a lot within queer contexts, I think that this only relates to a very specific kind of masculinity, in scarecrows, which I am not.” (L: 44)77

In L.’s quote we see an example of an encounter with very superficial queer norms, namely when it comes to beauty, dress and gender expression. L. describes fatphobia as a main mechanism behind their own understanding of not being desirable enough, e.g. towards their performance of gender identity. Their desirability in terms of their body and status depends upon perceived access to coolness, access to hook ups, as well as their potential to be an accessible point for wider community. This again is an area divided into hierarchies which ultimately relate to coolness and looks, rather than the previous examples of knowledge hierarchy. L.’s quote highlights the question of who can partake in hook-up culture. L. said that they are generally interested in casual sexual encounters but do not feel that they have the knowledge of how to fulfil the necessary queer standards of beauty. This self-perceived lack of coolness affects their sense of belonging, and within this we can see that desirability and thus sexual capital are part of queer social capital. O. had a similar experience of sexual interactions within queer norms at a queer play party when her (preferred) way of sexually encountering people as well as getting to know potential community felt incompatible with other people’s behaviours at the play party:

„I don’t want to make a value judgment about queer people who play and are sexual in a public setting but for me personally it was a little sad to be honest. I wished for it to be possible to talk with someone over having a drink and to then maybe say that I generally find them attractive but that I am not the person who can play publicly. That we could meet in a few weeks before anything happens at all. I’m very cautious and restrained in that regard. And I was simply overwhelmed that the situation went from 0 to 60. And because I wasn’t part of that [escalation] I felt excluded. It then was mirrored to me that this just wouldn’t be my space if I didn’t want to play along with the 0 to 60.” (O: 58)78

77 German original: „Ich bin nicht so ‘ne outgoing person ich bin nicht so gut in so großen Gruppen und das macht es mir glaub ich oft schwer Leute kennenzulernen. […] Und auch so n Gefühl nicht cool genug zu sein und nicht schön genug und nicht begehr-bar genug zu sein aufgrund von keine-dünne-Person-Sein oder dick- Sein. Und auch, wenn oft darüber geredet wird, dass so Androgynität oder Männlichkeit in so queeren Kontexten sehr begehrt ist, glaube ich eben, dass das ‘ne sehr bestimmte Art der Männlichkeit, in Gänsefüßchen, ist, die ja, die ich nicht so, das nicht so bin.“ (L: 44) 78 German original: „Ich will das jetzt auch nicht bewerten, wenn queere Menschen in einem öffentlichen Raum miteinander spielen und sexuell sind, aber ich fands für mich persönlich ehrlich gesagt ein bisschen traurig muss ich sagen. Weil ich mir gewünscht hätte, dass ich dazu in der Lage bin mich mit jemandem bei nem Glas

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In comparison to her other experience with first entering the meet-up group, this seemingly bothered her more. When her legitimacy was called into question she decided she no longer wanted to engage, but here it felt much more like a door, or a way access to people on a more intimate level, had been closed in her face. Within the sexualized context of the party, and its focus on desire, desirability, playing, dating or hook-ups, she describes hurt and a feeling of unbelonging on an emotionally more painful level. Her experience is less directly about looks but about how she can participate within the norms of this contextually specific setting. Being a trans woman, she navigates a much higher stake concerning her access and safety, especially within a sexualized space,79 which very well might influence how she wants, and is able, to behave and engage. The access of being in your own body and expressing its sexuality publicly is not a given, and here she experiences this as a queer sexual norm, at least within this specific space. Three out of five participants (O., C., J.) noted that they often experience queer sexual culture as consumption and on a level that lacks intimacy or space for complexity (comp. Muñoz 2009). Both J. and O. also experienced this within some of their (budding) relationships: Short, intense and quickly run out of their potential.

J.’s experiences of building rapport via sexuality or sexual culture were difficult for a long time. They were still figuring out their desire and sexual identity when first coming to Berlin, but lately they described finding access to community through (online) dating culture. For her an almost mythological experience came true as she described finding friends and community through dating that did not necessarily turn into a romantic or sexual relationship:

“Or people that I met on, mostly on okcupid, actually. You know, there's all these fantastic queers on okcupid, and like you know, you go on one date to may or may not make out, or hook up or whatever. But you become lasting friends. […] And then I did that as well. So, like these days my closest or most lasting connections are either from Uni or some individual people whether from okcupid or people that I met through those people. Or tinder as well.” (J: 25)

zu unterhalten und dann hätte ich vielleicht gesagt, ja generell finde ich dich schon attraktiv aber ich bin jetzt nicht die Person, die hier in der Öffentlichkeit spielen kann und wir können und gern auch noch ein paar Wochen so mal treffen, bevor da überhaupt was passiert. Ich bin da sehr vorsichtig und zurückhaltend. Und ich war einfach überfordert von der Situation, dass es von 0 auf 100 ging. Und weil ich nicht dabei war, hab ich mich dann auch ausgeschlossen gefühlt. […] Und dann wurde mir aber auch so gespiegelt, wenn ich halt eben nicht von 0 auf 100 mitspielen möchte, dass das dann nicht der richtige Ort für mich ist.“ (O: 58) 79 Compare the short references on TERF discourse before.

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Her experience here is less explicitly about sexual behaviour or capital. It makes sense to see it through the lens of how she sees and practises relationships as well, and how she does not necessarily categorize them into the binary of friend or lover. Thus, she does not differentiate dating as only for sexual or romantic partners. Of course, she is probably not the only one of my participants who would express a more fluid understanding of relationships (or especially dating). Nonetheless she is the only one who expresses it explicitly and in detail throughout her interview. The quote above does represents a more recent experience of hers. She has very much struggled for a long time when it came to figuring out her sexuality and gender identity, and this has influenced how she approaches people on both a sexual as well as friendship level.80

Touching on my participants’ experiences desirability and in part also sexual culture are connected to the realm of queer clubbing, too. All the participants made references to clubbing or going out in relation to their feelings of belonging. This was also the field of community building that they most explicitly referred to as being about coolness and social capital as well as a pillar of queer experience, especially within Berlin. None of those participants feel that they would have easy access to club culture or would experience feelings of belonging within it, however all expressed some kind of yearning towards party and club culture as they also strongly associated it with Berlin’s queer culture. C. says about herself:

“Well, I am very, very uncool [laughs heartily). I am more of a bar kind of person. I like staying up all night and I do really like to dance. But I never got clubs. Unfortunately! Sometimes I tried to somehow have [friends] take me with them but that never really worked out. And by now, sometimes I am just simply too tired. […] Or especially when it is connected to explicitly drinking much, or also drugs, then I’m just out. I’m not interested in that. Now lately, specifically over the last few month, I also always had the child over the weekend. Not during the week but then at the weekend. All my closer folks, actually, well I actually never really knew the club kids, so to speak. […] I would just really like to go dancing more often. And that doesn’t really happen. That’s it.”81 (C: 9-10)

80 E.g.: After having read a lot about transmisogyny and TERFs she internalized the fear of being seen as a predatory lesbian. 81 German original: „Also, ich bin sehr, sehr uncool und (lacht herzlich). Also ich bin eher so n Bar-Mensch, irgendwie. Also ich mach auch Nächte durch und ich tanze auch sehr gerne. Aber so Clubs sind so hab ich nie verstanden. Leider! Und hab mich auch mal bemüht darum mitgenommen zu werden das hat auch nicht so richtig geklappt. Und manchmal bin ich auch mittlerweile echt einfach zu müde. […] Oder grade auch wenn es mit halt explizit viel trinken oder auch mit Drogen zu tun hat, bin ich irgendwie raus. Das interessiert mich

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C. here speaks of wanting to go dancing more often but never really found her way into club culture, and all the participants who mentioned it feel drawn to some of its aspects, e.g. dancing and just being in a fun and light environment dedicated to joy, but make very clear that they associated drugs and alcohol with it. L. was put off most by the excessive drinking they have encountered to be a part of that and O. does not like the late hours or alcohol anymore. In theory it appeared that they like club culture, or like aspects about it, e.g. going out to dance, but everyone felt that they did not belong there. This appeared on a scale of relating to club culture: some felt they did not belong there at all, whilst others described certain aspects that kept them from being of this culture. Often it was not about being cool enough, but rather that coolness in this context mean style and participation in drug and alcohol consumption.82

Their encounter with social norms keeps most of my participants from going out in a specific setting and being a part of queer club culture. Much like the topics of community and activist knowledge, as well as sexual culture generally, participants experienced a form of gatekeeping that only functions because it is also being internalized. When not fulfilling queer norms of beauty, desirability, sexual behaviour or general coolness, access to community is made harder which in turn results in feelings of unbelonging, specifically because of the participants’ own inability to perform the right standards or norms. The aspects described above revolves around partially mystified sexual culture and brought ‘Cruising Utopia’ by Muñoz (2009) to mind. In this text he refers to an imagined better past, in which anonymous cruising encounters were not yet stigmatized by AIDS and HIV.83 Nonetheless, even within the pre-AIDS era access to sexualized queer culture, hierarchy along sexual capital and desirability existed. There is an ongoing history within queer community that commodifies sexual capital, or at least categorizes it within hierarchies.

nicht, so. Und jetzt zuletzt, jetzt ganz konkret in den letzten Monaten hatte ich halt auch immer das Kind am Wochenende. Unter der Woche nicht und dann am Wochenende ja. Tatsächlich so meine engere Leute, also ich kannte tatsächlich nie so die Partygänger. Ich würde einfach gerne öfter Tanzen gehn, so. Und das ergibt sich irgendwie nicht so.“ (C: 9-10) 82 I wonder if those two are necessarily liked as heavy as associated. Those five people are all interested in clubbing and going dancing, they would change some of the structures, like time and drugs but, if they are interested in doing it without drugs, others probably are too, and maybe this is an (assumed) norm that has at least in some ways the potential to change. Sober party spaces, or parties that happen in the daytime do happen in Berlin. 83 He almost exclusively refers to sexual encounters of cis men.

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Making friends or finding community had been described so far as being conditional and dependent upon access both in terms of relationship norms as well as social capital. In the same realm, disability, chronic illness, and neurodiversity have been mentioned by three of my participants. Two went into more detail about their issues with access to community building. Describing their own disabilities, these three participants have generally referred to it as an access issue, but always interlinked and experienced as inseparable from their other positionalities. Disability was not the main or only reason those participants experienced exclusion or feelings of unbelonging. In part, their disabilities related to basic access needs, like being too sick to go to an event or the event space just not being accessible (e.g. too loud and thus too overwhelming for some autistic people). However, the biggest impact and thus my participants’ focus has been – again – on the interpersonal level. Both Y.’s and J.’s experiences here stood out.

“[O]ne of the things that was truly difficult at the beginning was when I arrived, my health was deteriorating quite rapidly. And I had no practise at how to make friends as a sick person. And so, I would meet people who were friends of friends. And we would get along well. But then they would invite me to something, and I wouldn't be able to go and then they would invite me to another thing, and I wouldn't be able to go. And then even when I said I would really like to hang out I’m just, I'm too sick, inevitable the friendship just didn't develop. Or it took a very specific kind of person to be willing to kind of change the way that they saw friendship or make a commitment to still want to make friends with me even if I couldn't do it the same way they were used to.” (Y: 72)

Y. said that they almost had to relearn how to make friends because they lacked the practice of doing it as a sick person. Their changing health made it harder to be successful at community building which was a realm that they used to be able to access easily or at least differently. Y. saw themselves confronted with norms intertwined with casual friendly hang outs, going out to events and ultimately building deeper connections that do not centre sick people. Examples of this include not being able to leave the house sometimes or having to cancel repeatedly meaning that they needed people who could deal with that, understand it, and adapt their norms of friend- making. Concerning the practice of intersectionality, which has become more of a norm or at least a reference point throughout many queer spaces and groups, Y. criticized the fact that disability and accessibility are still oftentimes not regarded at all.

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Throughout their early adulthood, reaching into their first years in Berlin, J. had to navigate similar hurdles. For them it came down to this:

“I don't know, I feel, my relationships that [first] year in Berlin and my connections that year in Berlin, very few have lasted. […] Because I was not very good at the time at lasting connections. Because I had a very rocky start into young adulthood. With interacting with other people as an adult. Partly because I was still figuring myself out in terms of gender and sexuality stuff, but also because I was autistic and didn't know it at the time. And so, I was just like, why am I not successfully interacting with people and that was actually a quite traumatic time. I don't know if I want to go too deep into it. But I had this pattern of having very close intense friendships that would suddenly, usually they would brake the friendship off because at the time I thought it was because I'm too much or because I'm wrong or because and incorrectly engaging with them and incorrectly maintain the friendship. And that’s left some lasting traumas that's affected how I interact, even today. Less so now, and I am working on it in therapy.” (J: 25)

J. has interacted for a long time with norms of community building which do not account for her neurodiversity at all but prioritise neurotypical people. She experiences this as confusing, overwhelming, and frustrating and she mostly thinks that it is her own fault. She describes in detail how she assumed that she was doing building and maintaining relationships wrong. Only through getting a diagnosis and figuring out over time what they need and how they function within the realm of finding and forming deep connections,84 did they find a way to counter this feeling of failure. The feeling of doing something wrong, or partially even being wrong, is exactly what all the different aspects of queer norms in this chapter have in common. All those norms show that queer community is often a space one enters conditionally. J. ultimately found community which is neurodiverse and/or holds space for her needs and makes room to address any mismatch or conflict. J.’s general access needs are surrounding comfort and feelings of safety. They describe needing friends to go with them to feel well and okay at most events. So, their access needs are highly tied to, and in part even depending on, interpersonal relations. Both J. and Y. experience their disability as affecting the interpersonal level of community building the most. Finding people who understand and support them just the way they are, who

84 There is both the not knowing of their autism as well as trying to navigate relationship norms that maybe uphold a stricter barrier between people who you are sexually and romantically involved with and everyone else, while she automatically is drawn more to of a physical expression of her feelings of connection regardless of relationship status or name.

65 acknowledge that most norms around community building are relevant only for neurotypical and able-bodied people, are the basis, and condition for them to access community. McRuer writes about the expectations and norms created by and for abled-bodied and heterosexual people. Within his work (2006) he explicitly evaluates if media representation offers a counter force for this. When having to relate to and compare oneself to abled-bodied and heterosexual norms, one usually falls short. Thus, both within media as well as within community, mere representation is not enough, and I will further analyse this within the chapter ‘Queer Communities of Care’.

Summary Regarding community norms, firstly we need to state that the idea of one homogeneous community does not exist. Nonetheless, all five participants have had similar experiences in regard to the norms they encountered within Berlin’s queer cultures. Queer norms are, at least in theory, something made by queers for queers.85 They might have come into place to counter heteronormative limitations and norms, which do not permit many queers to be ,and express, their full selves. Queer norms could be a way to free queers from societal expectations and make room for counter ways of living and loving (comp. ‘Queer Art of Failure’, Halberstam 2011). Within this chapter we also saw how different queers interacted with norms on queer kinship and community building, and how those affected their feelings of belonging. When queer community is conditioned by normalised structures it makes it harder for queers to access it in their wholeness, in their human complexity and their intersectional positionalities. Apropos of kinship norms there is a tendency to assume certain preferences as the ‘politically correct’ ones. Marriage as well as children and relationship concepts come with a moral charge. Among my participants’ encounters there were experiences of being othered and excluded, and feelings of loneliness and unbelonging, when it comes to monogamy (and marriage), reproduction (wanting children) and bisexuality (not read as queer enough). In the second half of this chapter, access norms around community building were discussed. Access is gatekept through norms on being sexual (and promiscuous), on being desirable, and on being knowledgeable without fault.

85 Of course, norms aren’t necessarily decided or made, but happen over time through the participation of multiple people and are heavily influenced historically.

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Seen through the lens of conflict culture there is an additional layer of having to be without fault or short comings (comp. Cheng Thom 2017). The second part of this summary looks at the relationship between queer norms and the feeling of ‘doing something in the wrong way.’ Both of the above discussed areas of queer norms have a question of coolness connected to them: which political attitude and lifestyle choices are deemed cool and right and thus will guarantee access to queer community and which level of social capital, made up of the correct performance of knowledgeability, desirability and interpersonal behaviour results in access to community. Queer norms that become associated with moral charge and a certain pressure to either conform or perform an as superior imagined way of loving or living, they lose their potential to free queers. We as a community need to rethink the limiting character of norms that queers are confronted with, which ultimately might lead to feelings of unbelonging, as something that happens well within community structures and often lacks complexity or an actualized practise of intersectionality.

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Queer Communities of Care The next chapter will address spaces and communities in which the informants find care and support and are able to express their own care politics regarding queer community, both on a structural as well as an individual level. The following analysis is in part related to norms as this chapter deals directly with the resulting effect of queer norms on the participants when choosing community spaces and where they feel safe and welcomed as their whole selves. Here I dive deeper into them finding and establishing community that is more aligned with their personal ‘norms’, or their needs, hopes, and ‘styles’ of community care. This means value statements around the kind of care and work they expect to happen both within the community structures they want to be a part of, as well as the care work they themselves actively participate in.86 When it comes to community building, the former chapter addressed the norms interviewees found themselves confronted with and their sense of self, as well as their sense of successfully being queer. I will now investigate how they themselves form community and understand or value community building and organizing. Among the expressed philosophies and communities of queer care there were different aspects, with a core component being around people similar to one’s self. Firstly, those who are close in positionality as well as care philosophy or ideals, and thus understand your positions, needs and emotions. The second part relates to being able to creatively express themselves. Creative expression is something that both happens subtly or specifically within community or groups dedicated to art or creativity. Care philosophies both touch upon communal strategies as well as elements of self-care. Within this chapter I will examine a scale of care levels. Moving from bigger to smaller structures, I will start with care on a political and identity level and then follow up with the structure of support groups, and ultimately conclude on a more personal or individual level.

Organizing Community Organizing community is an aspect that comes up for some of my participants both within their feelings of responsibility as well as the area of community they feel the most connected to (L. and C.). When asking about where she feels like she belongs most in terms of community, C. referred to femme community and spaces as something of value and special importance to her:

86 Meaning politics and political goals overlapping or having those in common.

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“Relating to community, then there is also this smaller but still proportionately big layer of doing things together. With Femmes above all. Which luckily is quite a few [in Berlin]. Not many events are happing, but I still feel connected or also feel the wish to contribute. I know that, Femmes for me, that is my closest community. I’d always say that. It’s the people who I most likely go the extra mile for. Or if another femme needs something, it’s completely without question that I will try to support them in that. [Regarding Femme space] this is where I feel the most need or desire for community. Sometimes I just need a femme space. I get very specific things from it.” (C: 7)87

For her, femme spaces and community are notably very important. Those are the people she feels most inclined to support individually and dedicated to on a political level of organizing. C. relates to her femme identity as something that is a subversive play with gender in which she deliberately interrupts stereotypes and binarity of what is fem(me)inine and what is masculine. I see a lot of creative expression within her femmeness and she implies that that is part of why she feels at home with the femme community.88 It answers to very specific needs of hers that form a counter space of care in relation to some of the hostility she has experienced, e.g. in regards to her child or dating a cis man, as those examples create a rupture within certain ideas of queerness (which can be part of defining femme, as well). Thus, another clear layer in how and why she feels connected to this specific community is the inherent care. She is very ready to go above and beyond when it comes to organizing with and for femmes which she then in turn receives back from both femme spaces, or individual femmes. This support and community care creates a space where she feels connected to and belonging with the most. The specific intersection of care work and being femme that she locates is alluded to both within Autostraddle’s roundtable (2016) as well as Fuchs’ (2009) chapter on the beginning of femme community in Germany. Their care work in relation to political movements was often invisible,

87 German original: „[Wenn es um Community geht], dann gibts so ne kleinere, aber immer noch große Ebene, von so gemeinsame Sachen machen. Mit Femmes vor allen Dingen. Was zum Glück auch recht viele sind. Wo ja auch gar nicht mal so viel stattfindet, aber wo ich mich verbunden fühle oder wo ich auch so den Wunsch habe was beizutragen. Also Femmes ist für mich das ist meine nächste Community. Würd ich immer sagen, so. Für die ich am ehesten Sachen extra mache oder organisiere. Oder wenn da, wenn ne andere Femme irgendwie was braucht oder so, dann ist es selbstverständlich zu versuchen das auch zu geben. Das ist wo ich auch am ehesten Bedürfnis nach habe, nach Community. So manchmal brauch ich einfach nen Femme-Raum, um so ganz bestimmte Sachen abzuholen irgendwie.“ (C: 7) 88 Femmes have been historically misunderstood, erased and sometimes even discriminatorily categorized as copying heteronormativity (comp. Fuchs 2009). It is still something femmes have to deal with today in Berlin. Within a community of other femmes C. doesn’t have to proof who she is or if she is performing ‘queer enough’.

69 however both Fuchs and Loewe here see an intrinsic part of femme identity to be about tenderness and care:

“It’s based on the energy you put into the world, the connection you make with people and the care you have for them. It’s allowing a particular kind of tenderness to be part of your identity” (Rudy Loewe, in: Cecelia 2016).

Organizing community and activism is a pillar of L.’s biography as well as part of their current political (community) goals and actions. For them, work around activism is where they find friends and feel at home. They experience the least amount of gatekeeping personally and the most respect and value within their own activism and community organizing. As examples of what gives them joy, they name (specific) demonstrations which enable them to feel that they are partaking in active change making:

“I always enjoy the Mad and Disabled Pride Parade a lot, even though I understand the critique that it is being partially co-opted by queers and the aspect of disability falls a bit short. I said before the intersection of those two groups is just insanely high. And I also have to think about a blockade against nazis. Like, that wasn’t joyful. But, well, I am very afraid that at the end of my life nothing will (turn out to) be better. So that’s why I believe it somehow gives me joy that I tried to take care of changing things.” (L: 48)89

For L. it is notably important to be responsible within their community. To acknowledge trauma and traumatic experiences but nonetheless push their friends and community forward. To go do the hard work of liberation. They draw most value out of organizing and caring for the community and this mostly with their political work and engagement. This was established early in their interview (comp. the chapter ‘Coming out 2.0’) and became very clear regarding individual relationships as well as a broader community level. Speaking of their friends and partners, they showed a strong dedication to care for others and wish to be cared for just the same. Being reliable, responsible and able to progress forward were all values they prioritized

89 German original: „Ich mag die Behindert und Verrückt Feiern Parade immer sehr, sehr gern, auch wenn ich die Kritik verstehe, dass sie teilweise von queeren Leuten so n bisschen kooptiert wird und der Aspekt von Behinderung so n bisschen untergeht. Wie ich vorher auch schon gesagt hab, die Überschneidung dieser zwei Gruppen ist eben auch einfach wahnsinnig hoch. Ja. Und. Ich muss auch grade an so ‘ne Naziblockade denken. Das war nicht joyful, aber das war ja. Ich hab ‘ne große Angst irgendwie, dass nichts besser ist am Ende von meinem Leben und ich glaube deswegen bringt es mir irgendwie Joy, dass ich versucht habe dafür zu sorgen, dass es anders wird.“ (L: 48)

70 for themselves and expected that to be reciprocated in an ideal community. When asked about joyful spaces they relate most to, political work and organising around the intersections of disability and queerness were highly prioritized. They repeatedly stated that in their experiences being queer and crazy90 and/or chronically ill or disabled, in some form or another, overlap heavily. Thus, care is not only significant to them on a basic level but also refers to their own, as well as the general access needs they encounter within queer community. For them, activist work and friendship is strongly interlinked. Being dedicated to positive change for them seems to be the only realistic response when compared to who they are and how they understand community, as something active and something they want to put their hands in the dirt for. In this realm they also refer to call-in culture as a counter to often harsh call-out culture which becomes disposability culture when brought to an extreme.91 They said calling people in is part of their own practice of responsibility and care within conflict and conflict culture among queer community. This view echoes a statement by Serano, who says: “Fuck insular communities that are centred around any identity. I’m no longer looking for a home; I’m looking to make alliances.” (2013: 61). Serano writes this in Excluded, which is dedicated mostly to the discriminatory and excluding practises trans women experience among queer community. Her statement asks for an intersectional practice that rethinks separatist spaces. L. understands community care as intersectional activism, as well as an intersectional approach to conflict. Even though I wrote about C.’s feelings regarding femme community in a way that related to identity, she made it very clear throughout her interview that she understands femme community as caring about an intersection with a multitude of identities. The kind of femme community she is dedicated to has femme identity or experience in common, but it is far from being the only issue they care about or connect over. When it comes to political organizing, other participants (J. and Y.) gave similar statements regarding organizing. J. for herself uses and defines community mostly as a verb. This refers to the idea that it is something you constantly do, have to invest in and tend to it with love and

90 I identify as mentally ill or crazy and use this potentially problematic term in a reclaimatory fashion, here. 91 Disposability culture has been discussed and critiqued a lot within queer communities, especially online. It refers to people who do or say things which are problematic (and which they often are very reasonably being critiqued for) being publicly shamed and in result often times excluded from queer community spaces and in parts their closer relationships. It’s a delicate topic and the reaction of wanting to protect marginalized people and safer spaces is in part understandable. Nonetheless, the extend to which it is being practiced, has been criticised for a little while now, as it sometimes then hits those the most who didn’t have access to academic knowledge (like people who are busy first with their literal survival; e.g. poverty class queers, queers without papers, etc.). It is also just not a sustainable practise when the goal behind it is to address underlying issues like for example racism as a structure (comp. Cheng Thom 2017).

71 care. They acknowledge the active part of it, the need to put themselves, their effort and care into it in order to form and sustain a lasting community. During Y.’s interview, racism came up specifically as an issue that they have witnessed within queer community and where they see their own need to act. They understood care both on the level of intercommunity care for e.g. access needs, like integrating disability more into intersectional practices, as well as caring for other positionalities which are multiply marginalized. Similarly to L., one of the first things they thought of was how they could partake in making queer community more just and more critical towards racism, and how to actually practise solidarity this way. They situate themselves clearly within this endeavour and thus take responsibility for their own actions. Caring for others is part of what hooks (2000) calls “community love”. Only when people are seen and welcomed with care and tenderness towards their whole selves they can thrive and develop lasting, intimate and important relationships. Hooks refers to love as active, as a verb, as something one does. Within the above descriptions of my participants I see an understanding of community as a verb and organizing community as care work as well as an act of love. Caring for hooks also means supporting people with their forward progression towards their best selves. Talking about organizing community also touches upon being in solidarity across differences. Caring for community in a tender as well as radical, active and responsible way, is something I relate to Cvetkovich’s description on organizing ACT UP across gay and lesbian communities (2012). This campaigning happens years after gays and lesbians had formed separatist groups, mainly because of patriarchal structures. Concerning a virus that affects both groups,92 but in different numbers, they organise in solidarity beyond their differences. This is an example of community care that is about both a political movement and a fight for rights as well as the actual and literal care of sick queers.

Community Care and Creativity Focusing on the next level of community care philosophies/politics, I would firstly like to address the experiences Y. discusses in terms of a support group dedicated both to care as well as creative expression:

“I think it was like, it's a funny chance that like this group is so queer (laughs). […] I don't know, but most people identify as queer people […] by accident or something (laughs). It felt really fortunate. Like when I think about [name of the group] and the friends I've

92 And, of course, other (more marginalized) queers.

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made it feels sometimes quite magical. Because when I lived in [city], I was there for like four years, and I've never made friends I felt so connected to. Even though I was there for a lot longer. And like the fact that I am only able to leave my house a few times a month, but I still manage to meet these like incredible people who I have so much in common with, feels pretty wild to me.” […] I think because we met in the context of a sickness group and there is so much care taken around access, I felt like it was very easy to say to people like I can't come out, can you come hang out with me at home? Which is something I maybe wouldn't feel confident to say with someone who've I only met twice, who wasn't sick, you know. Or who wasn't in this group.” (Y: 73-74)

These meetings are dedicated to support and care for disabled, sick and neurodiverse folks but also go beyond that by building informal friendships that continue to embody that support and care. This is a very interesting example of what community care can look like. Y. describes it as both a “disruption [from] being productive” (Y: 73) as well as an important structure that gives them routine and stability when they otherwise lack it. Y. also talks about finding it easier to make friends and lasting connection once they work together on projects. They get their access needs met without being met with confusion or having to explain themselves as the group is already for people who somehow align themselves with sickness. They are able to express their creativity and art in a setting that works for them while being with people who relate to and/or understand them and their needs. As mentioned above in the chapter on queer norms and access, being amongst a community that does not relate to, or centres, disability makes access and meeting needs much harder (comp. McRuer 2006). Among a group dedicated to disability politics, in which many are themselves disabled and queer, the possibility to create and follow countering norms, and thus to disidentify while still identifying with queer community, are made possible through the lens of care.

On the subject of creativity, O. talks about an open stage event that she performs at. She had posted online to specifically find a place where she could play her music safely as a transwoman. The first part of queer community care is found online, where she can access resources and receive support by others she would not otherwise meet. Through this event, which also suits her preference for going out earlier in the evening, she has made a few friends and found a space to express her creativity and experience safely and openly. The people she meets there connect with her through her art, and she feels like her identity does not matter.

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However, this comes with its own kind of challenges as trans awareness might be partially lacking because of that and she describes longing for a trans women community. She is not the only one at the event, but she is still a minority. When having met women there, who she was interested in dating or getting to know better, she is partially made to feel like the other still. They initially appeared to be open to her approaches but were nonetheless unsure about how it would implicate their own sexual orientation. The event and space generally are less explicitly about care, nonetheless the organizers are dedicated to holding space and creating a safer space for trans women, which potentially both speaks to the care politics of the people organizing and attending. I would hypothesize that she is still missing a care community that goes beyond welcoming trans women and is more aware of her identity.

She refers to it as a very important space where she made meaningful connections that bring an element of everyday care to her life. In part she still feels some distance from those people as she only recently joined the event at the time of our interview. Nonetheless, small acts of care, like Covid-19 check-ins and spontaneous visits have made her feel more connected. Even though those relationships seem to be still more on a surface level, she seems mostly content with them. She also talked about different day-time events hosted by a trans feminist activist. Those have a kind of small-town community feel to her, as they connect people from a neighbourhood, e.g. older people and families with kids, even beyond necessarily queer identities. She appreciates the every-day kind of normalcy feeling and experience this gives her. Ann Cvetkovich (2012) talks about queer feelings publicly expressed (comp. ACT UP) which in her analysis can help to cope with trauma and negative affect. This is both something O. and Y. draw from respectively. They have found spaces in which they are accepted as who they are and what they need and where they can express their creativity. Within those settings I see a counter to queer loneliness, as it is made public or caught by a caring or supportive community, but also the potential for negative affect being expressed through their art. They gain the potential to express their queer feelings, and in results to potentially be heard and be seen more fully.

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Self-Care within Community Care Within the area of care politics, strategies of self-care emerge as well. Interestingly, the strategies that were talked about most were usually interconnected to a community setting too. On the level of self-made community care, J. spoke more implicitly about their friend group and lovers, and their intersections, supporting much of their needs J.’s network of care, love and affection was more or less ‘self-made’ within their community, which has grown and partially was made possible after finding other neurodiverse queers:

“I have friends who I love, and you know we hold hands and cuddle and kiss. And kiss hallo and good-bye and such things. Or when we're emotional a kiss on the forehead kind of thing or make out. And they are a much more important part to me, and much bigger part of my life than someone who I'm hooking up with regularly, necessarily. But that person I am hooking up with - I'm not trying to disparage my relationship with the person I am hooking up with regularly - because that's really, really lovely. And that is probably a very clear way to look at things, I see it as all of these different relationships. And I just call them all relationships for now. I get different things from different people.” (J: 31-32)

J. has expressed throughout their interview, that they do not strictly separate friends and lovers in a traditional sense. They like to share physical affection with almost everyone they are close with and describe that as a way to express affection, which is important to them. On another level of care politics, they have formed relationships in which they openly and honestly discuss their own needs around mental health and trauma. They describe it to be a regular part of their relationships to have check ins about that, both in asking for what they need, as well as communally being able to adapt their relationships beyond neurotypical standards. This type of care politics portrays an interesting mix of both care within a communal setting, as well the elements of self-care that allow for this community care to happen. The individual care politics of J. inform how they build and invest into relationships and how they address conflict that may arise from differences in behaviour or even sets of norms.93 They have formed their own community bubble in which they are able to express love and care beyond relationship structures. They take care of each other and express their care tenderly and physically. I hypothesize that there is creative expression to be found firstly in the manner of their relationships and secondly within articulating affection. This community they have formed

93 They eventually found neurodiverse community, but some of their community is still made up of neuro- typicals. Within their communal practise of care, they find a way to compromise and understand each other.

75 around the shared philosophy of sharing (physical) affection makes them very happy and gives them the ability to be more themselves and I would describe that as almost an act of self-care. The years that they have spent figuring out themselves and their needs when it comes to ability, sexuality and gender is translated into with the people they surround themselves. This is an expression of creativity in the sense of creation. A more subtle creative expression can also be found within how they manage relationships as well as within the way they articulate affection. Connecting to this is the type of queer care inside a partnership that also goes beyond the level of relationship and intimacy. Seeck and Dehler describe in their essay how being among trans people, especially during medical interventions, who they have intimate connections with functions as a sort of micro-community (2019).

With the next quote by O., another field of care and care politics is addressed. She finds empowerment on an individual level but within the bigger realm of BDSM culture and sex work:

„I’m a trans woman and at the same time a submissive one. It all started in an interrelated way, because I went to a dominatrix when I was 18. 94 And there I could where my women’s clothes and I was appreciated for it and not made to feel like I am crazy.” (O: 58)95

Within the world of BDSM, she finds an individual way of taking care of herself which does not completely fall outside of community structures. She describes being able to be appreciated and not made fun of for showing herself with a dominant sex worker. Their encounters are very much on an individual level, two people in a room together and their evolving relationship within the setting of sex work. BDSM itself and the queer BDSM community can be found in many cities and so too in Berlin. It is a sexual (sub)community with specific philosophies and explicit rules or protocols around care, e.g. very consent oriented. BDSM is mentioned as a frame of reference when it comes to positive associations of queer communities within a few interviews (three out of five) even though it was never specifically brought up by me. Both J., C. and O. refer to it as a community that they feel connected to. BDSM meet-ups or munches

94 This was not in Berlin but she took this experience forward. 95 German original: „[I]ch bin eine Trans Frau und gleichzeitig eine submissive, […] es hat auf jeden Fall auch damit zusammen angefangen, weil ich bin dann zur Domina gegangen, das erste Mal mit 18 und konnte dort halt eben meine Frauensachen tragen und bin dafür wertgeschätzt worden und nicht für bekloppt gehalten worden.“ (O: 58)

76 were one of the first landing grounds for O. and J. when it came to their search for community and they were both familiar with the scene and its structures. J. found people there who helped her during hardship in the beginning months of her stay in Berlin. C. refers to queer BDSM community, especially one play party, as something she still sees herself closely connected to. Even though she does not frequent events at the time, she built lasting connections there and feels that she could go back or access this kind of community easily. I would categorize queer BDSM community in the situations described above as a space that works with a very specific sexual philosophy and a more careful sexuality. In O.’s experience in a two-people setting of sex work, I see a distinct element of self-care. The queer BDSM community in its ideal form is a place of learning and often asks for a certain level of self- reflection. It centres a strong DIY-culture of exchange and skill sharing which prioritises consensual interactions. It is also just a space with a lot of creative expression both when it comes to gender as well as sexuality or play. However, it is not a perfect community and singular events are far from flawless, as I have already recounted a situation within a BDSM setting that left O. feeling excluded because of her level of comfort in being sexual amongst others. Nonetheless, there are still relatively high standards when it comes to interpersonal care within BDSM settings and perhaps that is in part why some of the participants feel drawn to it on a community level. Within Susan Stryker’s Dungeon Intimacies, I found the following quote, in which she describes the potential for change both on a communal as well as on an individual level:

“I want to claim that transsexual sadomasochism affords me a glimpse of nonunique revolutionary potentials – exemplifying the materially productive effects of extending and prolonging into the world poetically generated patterns of response to external conditions, demonstrating how body modification can become a site of social transformation, proving that the real can be materialized differently than it now is or once was.” (2008: 44)

Stryker’s description shows both its general potential and a glimpse into how trans experiences interlink with the dungeon. O. found safety in a potentially unexpected setting, whilst being able to express her gender. This aspect of care is expressed within a sexualized setting but resonated with her most on the non-sexual level of being accepted, understood and embraced as who she is.

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Summary Within this chapter I looked at the encounters with queer communities of my participants which coincide with their community care philosophies and where they feel they get their care needs met and can express care for others as well as themselves. Care is a significant factor for all participants when finding and sustaining community. Feeling not cared for results in feelings of unbelonging and loneliness, thus the communities that were focused on are for some of them what they refer to as chosen communities, or homes. When using the term home here, I refer it to as feeling accepted as your whole self, as well as the care aspects mentioned above. Within this chapter I found creativity to be often interlinked when it comes to care, both within artistic self-expression as well as within element of self-care. Care for friends and community in a non- normative physically affectionate way is a form of creativity and within organizing community and activist work there is a creative element when it comes to rethinking discriminatory structures. Working on actualizing the imagined better future is a creative expression of care for queer community. Community care can be a political goal, and both influence the activist work as well as the care work done on interpersonal levels of relationships. Within care work lies an element of creative expression.

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Concluding Discussions on Queer Loneliness Loneliness in Relation to Fluidity Addressing my main research question, ‘how is queer loneliness experienced and understood in the context of a contemporary queer city’, one thing that influenced my informants’ experiences is their understandings of relationships and community. Answers to the question ‘who makes up community’ were both on the structural level, i.e. the people one associates and organizes with, as well as shared political ideals. On a more personal level, friends, romantic partnerships, as well as casual hooks-ups and chosen family, came into play when the participants spoke about community. These two areas are inseparable. Only one participant explicitly shared about practising relationship anarchy, all other participants did not clearly define who is and who isn’t part of their community by distinguishing between sexual and platonic relationships. Lastly, community is not distinctly defined by who is part of it but by the meaning assigned to community itself and how my informants interact with it. Community is often displayed as a verb, as doing community, and as a feeling, specifically the feeling of being welcome and of belonging. The fact that this feeling is not produced automatically through the shared experience of being queer was made clear by the previous analysis. Though my informants continued and complex yearning and search for being welcomed and belonging points to another level of fluidity within community: that of change. Who they engage with and perceive as their community is subject to the passing of time, to conflict and exclusion as well as the feeling associated within certain groups or in confrontation with certain people. Even though all participants stated no explicit expectations for community, they all highlight moments of disappointment around experiences of unbelonging.

Loneliness Experienced in Relation to Self-Image When it comes to my participants formation of identity and self-image, experiences of loneliness seem to be an important factor. In my fist analysis chapter, I addressed this topic based on the concept of ‘Coming out 2.0’. The informants process of figuring themselves out along an axis of sexual, gender and disability identities is strongly related to how they encountered loneliness and community. Through multiple layers of disidentification in relation to community, their understanding of self finds room to grow. I described similar strategies for my participants when interacting with norms. Queer communities in Berlin are hierarchized along sexual and social capital and along ‘doing the right thing’ or ‘being the right kind of queer’. Thus, the experiences my informants had with unbelonging affected their self-image.

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Feeling ‘wrong’ in their identity or behaviour led them to make different choices. Some adapted and adjusted their expectations, some moved on to find other community spaces which were more welcoming of their whole identity and others internalized fear and shame. Those three aspects of engagements can’t be divided into three orderly categories. They interact and influence different stages of life and actions with queer communities, some of them even inhabit all of them.

Potential: Countering Loneliness with Care Whilst looking for ‘the right’ community, elements of care became important for my participants ultimate or partial arrival within certain community settings. I see ways of contextualising these experiences of queer loneliness within my participants narratives. Finding care within community, or even caring communities, or potential for self-care expressed through community, is how my participants would probably come closest to defining a feeling of belonging. Circling back to Ahmed’s and Love’s writing on the potential of negative affect, within all the above described experiences of loneliness, not belonging has aspects of progress or positive change for many participants. Be it by realizing what they want and need from their community or who is suitable for their community.

Conclusions: What the Research Taught Me After writing and thinking about queer loneliness in detail, I now see even more potential within this field of study. I have only scratched the surface and would like to see more academic representation of this topic within a contemporary frame of reference. As we live through a pandemic, questions of loneliness have become more relevant for many communities and individuals, despite activists and academics from the fields of disability studies highlighting this issue for decades. How Covid-19 has already affected queer community and its spaces will do so in the future, is an interesting question that will probably be thought and written about plenty. Another limitation, I was made more aware of during my defence, is the queers that have already left Berlin or queer communities after experiences of loneliness or unbeloning.96 I find it hard to access those voices, but it would be very interesting to hear from people who have disengaged from queer community completely, either because not living here anymore or ‘giving up’ on their community building efforts.

96 There might, of course, be other reasons for them to leave Berlin or disengage from queer communities there.

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When it comes to my actual research, the main outcome is the confrontation of negative affect within community settings. The number of people alone who found themselves resonating with this research, 97 offers insight into how underrepresented inner community conversations let alone academic examination of these phenomenon might be. Having done research among and with my own community taught me both that writing about a topic that is close to my heart can be fruitful and even empowering, but is also hard work when it comes to compartmentalizing the different identities at play, i.e. researcher and community member. Writing about loneliness while actively experiencing queer loneliness during the beginning of the pandemic, on one hand helped me to connect with my participants, and on the other hand made it harder to stay motivated. Nonetheless, I see this thesis as a first step to both encouraging queer community research on negative affect as well as making space for those feelings within my community and its practises. When it comes to the specific analytical themes I located within my research and the conclusions I could draw from them, the most engaging part was not necessarily the content of peoples experiences, but the extent to which people shared similar experiences. Queer loneliness was for all of them very much connected with an image both of queer culture and community, in part following a mythological (re)telling of Berlin, and the sense of self resulting from feelings of unbelonging specifically in relation to these images, and the experiences of exclusion that happened in part because of them.

97 31 within a few days.

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Appendix

Table of Questions General Introduction 1) Please tell me your chosen pseudonym and pronoun/ pronouns [when not covered already through email contact]

2) Can you tell me shortly how you identify on the spectrum of queerness?

3) How old are you, when did you come to berlin?

4) What maybe more privileged positions do you hold?

5) How did you end up in Berlin? When and how did you come to Berlin?

Questions regarding the Myth of Berlin

6) Before you came here, what did Berlin stand for/ what were you hoping for?

Additional: What were/are your reasons to stay (for now)? What is different from the place/places you were before?

Questions regarding Queer Community

7) What is queer community to you/ what does it mean?

Additional: What kind of queer community or culture do you associate with the Berlin one?

8) What kind of community did you have when you came here?

9) How did that change and what does it look like now?

10) How do you experience queer community in Berlin?

11) In terms of queer community in your life now is there anything that is stopping or challenging you?

Additional: Do you feel like you belong Where all does community take place?

12) What is missing from (your) community?

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Questions regarding Queer Loneliness

13) Have you ever experienced a specific strong feeling of queer loneliness? Additional: What do you think, how could queer loneliness be different from general loneliness? Do you think there is a special kind of loneliness as a queer?

14) What happened?

15) How did you end up there?

16) How did you feel?

Questions on Understanding Loneliness

17) When people talk about the experience of queer loneliness some of them talk about anxiety, some talk about shame, being scared, being angry, or different kinds of emotions what feelings come up for you?

18) So far in my interviews we often touched on experiences of discrimination within community. Is that something you also experience?

Additional: Where do you find queer joy?

Opening the Conversation to additional Themes

19) Is there anything I didn’t ask you in relation to your experiences of queer community and loneliness that you would have liked to talk about? If so, there is time for it now.

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