The Impact of Libertine: A Queer Haven in Belfast
by Sorcha Keeve
Growing up in Donegal as an openly-ish non-binary lesbian, there was incredibly minimal queer representation, let alone spaces. Not only that, I attended an “all girls” convent secondary school, which was evidently Catholic led as typical to majority of schools in the south. These circumstances led me to feel isolated in many facets of my identity; some as comical as discussing why I was atheist in Leaving Cert religion class. The only crumbs of solidarity and community I experienced throughout that time was in my queer friends and watching an obscene amount of Drag Race (specifically the UK edition; that is most certainly where the heat is).
Following my innate passion for art, including its most definite and certain opportunity for a well-paying job post-graduation, I moved up to Belfast in 2022 to pursue a degree in Fine Art. For the first time in my life, I felt swallowed up by the queer scene prevalent in the most wonderful and glittery way possible. It was as if every time I walked out the door, I could see bits of myself represented, plastered in little pieces across the city in the form of art, bars and people. Considering how tiny Belfast actually is in reality, I am sure you can imagine how dismal Donegal was for someone like me if even the Kremlin felt revolutionary.
The first time I felt fully immersed in Belfast’s queer culture was in Libertine, a gay club renowned for its tarot themed cocktails and iconic drag shows. My girlfriend Lucy, who grew up here, encouraged me to go for the very first time for PINK night and was the key reason for the inevitable role Libertine would have in my future. We got photobooth pictures with a random clan of gay men, danced to music I never knew clubs would actually play, and most invaluably seen other people just like us, living authentically and freely. Two months later, my job application for the glamourous role of floor staff in Libertine was accepted, and I began my joyful journey into hospitality minimum wage (but at least I got to listen to She Wolf by Shakira and get paid for it).
Despite the fact I was chronically anxious and could not even open my mouth to speak for a concerning amount of time while working there, the people alongside me made me feel so comfortable that I slowly started to unravel and feel at home. My preferred pronouns were asked clearly on my induction papers and were not once questioned by any member of staff; something I was yet to experience in any other setting. While this is seemingly the bare minimum to a lot of people as we progress as a society, it meant more than anything that could ever really be articulated. I was surrounded by individuals with shared identities, experiences and struggles; absorbed wholly in the beauty of the queer community.
Not only did I receive the fabulous brand-new realisation that who I am deserves to be respected and listened to, I was subsequently plunged into the drag scene of Belfast. From doing up the queen’s corsets occasionally in the staff room to cleaning up shreds of confetti off the drag stage, I was lucky enough to witness the power of drag in its most talented form. Standing with my mop behind the bar, I would sneak in just a minute to watch the likes of Becca Boots give Beyoncé a run for her money. These little moments, although potentially not as significant to anyone else, meant everything to someone like me who dreamed of seeing themselves in something tangible.
There are endless anecdotes and core memories from Libertine that shaped my confidence and identity. Working the door with Titti Von Tramp (if you don’t know, get to know), crying while eating a sausage bap with my coworker outside amidst the dreaded thirteen hour Pride shift, a customer standing on a urinal and smashing it incidentally; the list could genuinely trail on and on. I do not believe I would be the person I am today if it were not for these lived experiences that varied from hilarity to character building.
I worked my last shift in Libertine, having not a clue that we would be closing our doors for the very last time. We sobbed our hearts out together on the main bar floor after the news, sitting mostly in pure shock that something we all loved so genuinely and purely would no longer exist in the same way again. If we weren’t already bound together by all we experienced and the love we had for one another, this most indefinitely solidified each of us together as a unit. I never thought it would be possible to grieve a space, however Libertine was undeniably more than just walls. It was an outlet for myself and those I worked with, for the customers and for the performers. It was living proof that there was a space for everyone to feel visible.
