A few weeks ago, Cyn Ugwudike, a popular textile artist and product designer, made a tweet criticising how raves were no longer seen as the safe space for queer people that they originally were meant to be. Her tweets were met with vitriol, with some individuals stating that raving is for everyone and no one in particular. Other people supported her and mentioned incidents of homophobic lyrics being churned out by DJs in what was to be a safe space.
More recently, allegations about sexual harassment during a rave that had a lot of queer people in Lagos resurfaced on X. This has brought conversations about who raves are for and the exclusion of queer people from a space that was originally intended to celebrate queerness.
One of the overarching counterarguments was that harassment could come from anyone, and as such, queer only spaces were not pragmatic. This was continually rebutted by other individuals who argued that by definition, a safe space is meant to exclude as a means of providing safety, however temporal.
But let us start from the beginning. What is a rave? Who is it for? Raves are generally parties where certain genres of songs are played. Originally, raves in Lagos were associated with metal and house music. What is central to this discourse is that the rave scene in Lagos has been a space where queer people can interact, build connections, and party in a space that feels safe.
However, recent allegations of sexual harassment and bullying of queer people and queer women have brought to the fore a discussion on how spaces created by queer people now stand a chance of erasure and exclusion. It is very important to note that these conversations are happening side by side with the discourse on how queer people and women are building communities that should ideally be free from homophobia and sexism.
Just as queer people who push for the sanctity of queer only raves have been hit with “raves should be a safe space for all” and “read the Nigerian constitution before announcing that you are gay or bisexual”, so also have women-only ventures and parties been accused of “excluding men” and “making it a gender war”.
But the allegations of exclusion and the assertion that there should be a “safe space for all” fail to understand the primary reasons why these spaces existed in the first place. Nigeria is a deeply homophobic and sexist country. In her novel titled Runnin’ No More, G.T. Dipe, a Nigerian novelist, described the violence faced by queer men who are on the search for love and partnership. The novel illustrated how violent practices like kito and extortion make finding relationships particularly hard for men who are gay or bisexual in Nigeria.
Similarly, in the book called She Called Me Woman by Chitra Nagarajan, queer women’s abilities to navigate the harsh realities of being queer and a woman were explored. From homophobia to encountering infiltrators at queer only events, these are some of the realities faced by queer people who want to find a community vital to surviving.
Therefore, it begs the question of who is expected to silence themselves when statements like “safe space for all” are thrown amidst discussions of uncomfortable homophobic lyrics at a party. It begs the question of what else is being erased from the lives of queer people and women in search of spaces where they can be without the fear of performing for a heteronormative society.
The overarching call to action is that while different raves now exist across sexuality, raves must be recognised for what they originally were: A safe space for queer people. Raves were once a safe space where queer people could simply be without the fear of homophobia lingering.
It is important to note that even if other raves or parties exist and accommodate straight people, queer-only raves must be respected by straight people and those who claim to be allies to queer people.
It is only when this is done that a more holistic conversation on the conditions for queer people’s safety in any gathering can occur.
