A New York music writer and DJ reflects on queer spaces, gender, and lockdown

Queer culture and the dance floor are inextricable. For decades, LGBTQ populations have found community and release in nightlife spaces, insulated against the prejudices of the outside world. It’s embedded in New York history: the drag balls of Harlem, the Stonewall uprising, and the annual Pride marches. In lockdown, LGBTQ New Yorkers lost this vital piece of social infrastructure.

The absence of nightlife spaces since March has been even harder on queer people still figuring out their identities, like Suffy Baala, a 24-year-old music critic and DJ based in New York known as Goth Jafar. Baala, who publicly came out this month as a nonbinary trans woman, speaks on the importance of these spaces to her.

You’re involved in New York’s nightlife scene. Why are queer-affirming nightlife spaces important to the LGBTQ community?

There are no other places you can go to feel like your ultimate true self. You can dress up and go out, but let’s say you go to a restaurant — you’ll get stares. Everywhere you’ll get stares. But once you go into these spaces, the judgmental stares melt away.

Once quarantine started, I was sad because those places are necessary for people. I have really bad depression. Going out was like Lexapro.

What are ways you’ve felt validated in your identity at these parties?

I would see these courageous trans girls who, over the years, inspired me to come into my skin. I call them the “New York techno dolls.”

Are there spaces that center on queer people of color?

Very few. There are queer spaces; they just don’t center on people of color. There’s Papi Juice, a party that started in 2013. I go every time. But it’s getting white-washed; a lot of white people go now.

The most inclusive spaces are in the warehouse rave scene, because people from all walks of life go. There is Unter, a techno rave. There was also Shock Value, run by Juliana Huxtable, who is one of my biggest inspirations. She’s an artist, musician, and poet. And she’s a Black trans woman, so more power to her because she’s navigating this transphobic world and she’s on top of it. But those parties rarely happen now, because she left New York.

Describe these parties — the colors, the layout…

At one of the most memorable parties I ever went to, Evian Christ’s Trance Party, the dance floor was filled with fog and strobe lights. The DJ played my favorite remix of all time — it’s a t.a.T.u. “All The Things She Said” remix. It was 3 A.M., it’s pitch black, and I’m crying on the dance floor because he’s playing it. That was memorable because I never cry. It was really emotional.

How have you coped with losing this outlet during the pandemic?

It was weird. There are pros and cons: I miss nightlife for the escapism, the fun times, and the therapy. But I am also happy for quarantine because it helped me come to terms with my gender identity.

It’s something I’ve been running away from my entire life. When I went out clubbing, I would drown myself in drugs and forget my problems. But I had to face that. It’s this phenomenon of so many people who are alone in quarantine coming to terms with their gender identity that they’ve been repressing, because they don’t have to put up a façade when they go outside and face the world.

How did you find community in lockdown, and stay in touch with others you’d otherwise only see on a dance floor?

Zoom parties, but they’re tiring. There’s community through technology, but technology is so cold. You need a real dance floor.

When these spaces reopen, what do you think it will look like?

People will have to wear masks and keep it at a low capacity, but those first few club openings will be mind-boggling. Releasing all this pent up aggression and sadness from not partying in months is going to be life-changing.

This interview has been edited and condensed.