He considers the resourcefulness demonstrated by queer youth of color in reclaiming urban space as characteristic of the broader LGBTQ+ community. “When you take away those anchors and that sense of permanence, it does create challenges,” Greene says of the disappearance of bars and other queer businesses.īut Greene’s work renders him especially optimistic. They flock to such neighborhoods because of the presence of LGBTQ+ businesses, and then create space for themselves around and outside those institutions, finding value in co-presence and visibility. “QPOC, through their place-making practices, are working to keep gay neighborhoods and queer spaces alive in some really important ways,” Greene says. But for queer and trans youth of color, “the symbolic meaning behind the presence of and what it means in terms of the creation of a neighborhood” in places like Boystown in Chicago and the Castro in San Franciso, “is far more important to them” than the bars themselves, says Theodore Greene, an assistant professor of sociology at Bowdoin College whose research deals in gender, sexuality, urbanism, and culture. Of course, there are those who find themselves excluded from queer bars and other businesses, due to social or economic barriers if not outright discrimination. “What I learn as I get older is you have to just wait.” I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen.” For now, Henrietta Hudson is joining other bars in hosting Zoom parties and raising support through GoFundMe. “I'm more on the hopeful side,” she says. Though nothing compares to the current closure, she and the bar have served the West Village through the AIDS crisis, 9/11, and the 2008 recession. It’s just not even an option.”Still, Cannistraci remains committed. “It'll cost me an extra $20,000 to $30,000 a month to stay open.
I can't operate at 50% capacity,” she says. “Bars are the opposite of social distancing. “The money ran out.” Having lived above the bar for years, Cannistraci is hopeful her landlord will be understanding, though she’s prepared to absorb major losses and debt. She applied for every successive avenue of financial assistance the day it became available. I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen," Henrietta Hudson owner Lisa Cannistraci says.Ĭannistraci acted quickly as the pandemic approached, telling her staff to file for unemployment two days before New York City forced closures to beat the rush. Bars owned by and serving the LGBTQ+ community, already in steep decline, are likewise facing dire straits. LGBTQ+ Americans are already being hit especially hard as COVID-19 deepens existing economic disparities.
The unemployment rate is expected to top 16% this May, and the fallout will undoubtedly spell the end for businesses across every sector.
History of tulsa gay bars full#
“I wonder how many other small-town bars that will apply to.”Īs most states continue to shelter in place and some begin slowly easing restrictions, the full economic impact of COVID-19 remains painfully uncertain. “This may just be the proverbial nail in the coffin,” he says of the coronavirus crisis, which ground businesses to a halt across the country last month.
Situated in a town of around 18,000, Fat Mary’s is the lone gay bar serving the state’s southeast corner between Tulsa and Dallas, Texas, according to Heath-Fitzgerald. “The real truth of the matter is that I’ve been over my head for a while,” says Matthew Heath-Fitzgerald, co-owner Fat Mary’s in McAlester, Oklahoma.