We are here!

In the heady early rush of June, I started my research project on the Hirschfield Centre. The Hirschfeld was a gay community centre that operated out of Dublin 's temple bar district from 1979 until a fire in 1987 forced its closure. Entitled ‘We are here! Queer space, Visibility, and the Built Environment,’ my research examined the interrelationship between Dublin's gay community and the Hirschfeld Centre as a space. Foregrounding discussion of the concept of ‘queer space,’ I aimed to locate the Hirschfeld Centre within broader narratives of the emergence of queer spaces in the late twentieth century and consider the role the Centre played in the consolidation and increased visibility of the Irish gay community throughout the 1980s.
The foundation of my project was the Daniel Wood Photographic Collection, a series of photographs from 1980 to 1983 that captured various events and activities in and around the Hirschfield Centre. This collection has only very recently become available to the public, having been kept hidden by the photographer to protect those pictured from potential criminal charges (homosexuality wasn't decriminalised in the republic of Ireland until 1993) or from being ‘outed.’ Previously unstudied, the photographs provide a rare visual insight into how the Hirschfeld Centre was used. The idea of 'use' was essential in my research. Afterall, queer spaces are not inherently queer, but rather 'queered' or put to queer use.[1] Accessing the photographs provided a first initial challenge; though the collection has been donated to the Irish Queer Archive at the National Library for public study, the transfer had not been completed by the time I began my project. Thankfully, Karl Hayden, archivist and safeguard of the collection, enthusiastically shared the photographs with me and granted consent for their use.

At my supervisor’s urging, I created a taxonomy of the collection, cataloguing photographs in terms of relevance. Through consultation with various records in the Irish Queer Archive, I managed to correlate dated events with those pictured and identify locations and individuals. This was an exciting and rewarding process (I felt like a detective, it was great.) The research process as a whole was exciting to me. The more I read, the more potential avenues, for both this project and for further research, unfolded before me. For a brief moment I thought about overhauling my project and redefining it as a mapping of the development of queer spaces in Dublin over time. However this was not feasible given the time constraints of my research period (another project, for another time.)

Photograph of my favourite desk in the National Library archives, a glimpse of old Georgian Dublin visible through its window. Credit: Photograph my own
My research was independent and did require me to spend a great deal of time working alone, be it in the archive or reading/writing in the library. However, this project could not have happened without the support and guidance of so many others. Meeting regularly with my supervisor helped keep me on track and stopped me getting too carried away with all the potential different directions I could take my research (thank you Tim, patience of a saint.) Chatting with my ALS group and other Laidlaw scholars kept me from going insane, or from spiralling too much from imposter syndrome. Equally, I don't think I would have been able to conduct this specific project without the open acceptance and enthusiasm I received from various members of LGBTQ+ community here in Dublin. From my initial contact with Karl Hayden (who responded “Wow!!! YES YES YES” to my email explaining the project I hoped to undertake), to chatting with members of Trinity’s LGBT Staff network or a chance meeting with co-founder of the Hirschfeld Centre Edmund Lynch in Dublin's Outhouse Café (which led to him giving me access to hundreds of oral history interviews he had conducted over the last ten years); I was embraced and encouraged by queer community. These interactions not only enabled and enriched my research, but they also assuaged some of the fears I had that I would somehow mis-tell or misrepresent this history. Arguably, more so than any theory or methodology, my most effective way of researching turned out to be going out to queer venues or queer events and making connections with other LGBTQ+ people (not simply an excuse to slack off going to the library, as I have reassured my supervisor.)

In many ways this research was deeply personal, representing an oppurtunity to connect with Irish queer history, and through it, queer community. This was undoubtedly heightened by the fact the bulk of my research was undertaken during Pride Month, which this year (2023) marked a number of key anniversaries in Ireland. As we collectively took stock of the many milestones achieved for gay rights in Ireland, my research felt timely and necessary for me, as a young queer Irish person to engage with and promote this history. Writing now in August, I really should be long finished with this research. (As friends and fellow scholars have joked, at this rate I'll be graduated by the time I print my research poster) It might just be perfectionism, but I feel a responsibility to do this history justice, as best I can. I am glad that the funding and support of the Laidlaw programme has enabled me to dedicate so much time to this project. However, with my final draft (finally!) done, I think its time to leave this chapter of research in the past. But I'm certainly looking forward to the ways it might shape my future.
[1] George Chauncey, "Privacy Could Only Be Had in Public: Gay Uses of the Streets," Stud: Architectures of Masculinity (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996), p. 224.
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