Yasmin: Thanks for chatting with me today! Would you like to introduce yourself?

Leah: Sure, I’m Leah. I work in cultural education and am a graphic designer; for the past year, I’ve been doing a research internship at the Scshwules Museum, focusing on the archives and education/outreach. I do a lot of work on queer-feminist subcultures, and I’m drawn to the connection between current and past spaces and their stories—like queer bars or lesbian hangouts and meeting places that no longer exist. I’m interested in whether and how such spaces can be revived, or how they can strengthen political struggles. Even though I’m based in Berlin, I lived in Hanover for a long time and still work there from time to time. In this in-between-cities dynamic, I find it fascinating to observe how spaces emerge anew, are maintained, or change. But also that they have to be defended differently. I also notice how Hanover, as a small metropolis, functions completely differently from Berlin… Otherwise, I play roller derby as “Sgayter Boy” (both laugh). I like full-contact sports! Anything that’s playful and involves contact.

Y: Very good! What did you do in Hanover?

L: My time in Hanover was heavily shaped by collective work. Identifying which queer and feminist spaces were missing, creating them together, sharing knowledge, and trying things out. And of course, my first degree was an important part of my time there; I studied Visual Communication. In 2018, I also spent half a year in Berlin, which I really enjoyed. Before that, I always thought I never wanted to live in Berlin… on principle! (laughs)

Y: What is that principle, exactly?

L: Well, actually just because many people outside of Hanover found it rather uninteresting… and in that view, the local structures and people are greatly underestimated—including by me at first. Just one example: the punk and music history of the 1980s. But then I decided to give Berlin a try after all and quickly realized all the things that make the city worth living in, including the freedoms as a queer person to use existing spaces in the city. That the range of feminist, queer, and left-wing spaces is so vast. Sex-positive spaces, too… It’s not just “those two places,” but more. That’s really something special. It creates a certain anonymity, great openness, and freedom. Still, I notice that these are small bubbles where people know each other and are connected. I love coincidences and finding closeness in them, being surprised!

Y: Did you already know about the Schwules Museum back then?

L: Yes! I already felt connected to the museum even before I lived here. The museum’s exhibitions and projects drew me here early on; for example, I remember lonely hearts by Irène Mélix very well. Getting a sense of what’s happening from a distance. What a great idea to work with lesbian personal ads, longing, and history!

Y: Fabulous, so you weren’t put off by the museum’s name (laughs)

L: No, I like the name and I understand it too. For me, it’s become a kind of brand in its own right. You also realize very quickly when you engage with the Schwules Museum—that is, with its politics, exhibitions, and projects—that there are many other themes and perspectives besides gay ones. And that’s what really matters.

Y: We say it again and again: A queer museum for everyone!! You’ve worked in cultural education in the past. To what extent do you notice a difference now that you’re employed at a decidedly queer institution?

L: A huge difference! In places like the university or in independent project work, it worked out—there I tended to look for people I could join forces with and show solidarity toward. In other settings, however, my day-to-day work was quite different. For example, I experienced a real clash with my work environment in the restaurant industry or during my time in broadcasting. There, I often had to reflect on what role I was even playing there… In comparison, here at the SMU I experience much more freedom—as a lesbian, as a dyke, as a leftist. There are negotiations here too, but the basis for discussion is simply very different. Just knowing: We can talk about it, we stand in solidarity, there is mutual understanding. Being able to have that trust isn’t possible in other contexts.

Y: Right now, your employment situation as an intern isn’t the most relaxed, with long hours and poor pay. How are you coping with these conditions at the moment?

L: Mostly fine, I’d say! There are two levels to this: a structural one and a personal one. I work 40 hours a week. That’s a lot, and no one should have to do that. Then there’s the fact that the internship is a training-like employment relationship, with the goal of me learning something. And I do learn a lot in many different contexts! Nevertheless, I am a full-fledged member of the museum staff. In this context, it’s worth noting that I’m working for less than the minimum wage… That’s just outrageous! At the same time, I have a steady income, which is a huge relief. There’s a lot of networking around the internship model, with working groups making demands and fighting for better conditions. I’m also grateful to the people who were SMU interns before me. I also benefit from their struggles. Otherwise, I like the concrete structure at the SMU itself. I like the overlap between archives and education and can recommend the internship to anyone interested in research who also enjoys hands-on work. Well, and on a personal level, I simply feel seen, heard, and supported here: my feedback is taken seriously, I have a work-from-home day, and I feel comfortable among my colleagues.

Y: What do you think—do you perceive the Schwules Museum more as an institution or as a community space?

L: You won’t get a clear answer out of me on that (laughs). There are moments like that and moments like this! The Schwules Museum is definitely an institution that produces exclusions and thus isn’t always the coziest place. To me, though, it still feels like a space of community that can emerge again and again or manifest in different ways, sustained by different people. Or when I’m in a workshop, for example, and engaged in a discussion. Then it’s about shared exchange, engaging with activism and queer history. Even during guided tours, so much comes back through the conversations. Or during an exhibition talk with Lilo Unger that I organized and moderated. That was a space where different generations with different perspectives and knowledge came together, yet were interested in similar topics. Community is totally possible there.

Y: Tell us more about the event! What was it like for you?

L: Absolutely wonderful! I had a conversation with Lilo Unger about feminist and lesbian subculture in the 80s and 90s in West Berlin—as part of the Petra Gall exhibition! It was so wonderful to see so many people coming to the exhibition on a Monday afternoon and wanting to interact with us. I found my interaction with Lilo very rewarding, and I was particularly touched that, after a preliminary discussion, she was willing to sit up front with me as a contemporary witness and speak in front of an audience. I was pretty nervous, too… but it turned into a really lovely, free-flowing conversation. It was great to work with all the material that Lilo brought along and, in part, donated to the museum. We called the event “Of Wallpaper, Hungry Hearts, and Lesbian Montagesn” because Lilo had already told me some wonderful anecdotes during our preliminary discussion and then also brought along some material. For example, pieces of the wallpaper that hung in Café Anal in the 1990s: the story behind it was that a person from the collective sat on a scanner and scanned their anus. A pattern was then created from that to wallpaper the walls. How funny is that? Being able to hold a piece of memory like that in your hand helps immensely in imagining that earlier time.

Y: Your love for the tactile was totally evident. Did you have that before, or is it something that developed through your work with the SMU Archive?

L: The archive definitely had and still has a huge influence on me. For example, gray literature like flyers, stickers, or activist magazines—it’s just something else to be able to connect the content with the tactile experience. But in my work before that, documentation and print were also very important to me, simply as a material form. In Hanover, I conducted interviews with eyewitnesses or organized collective city walks and audio walks that also focused on the collaborative work of different generations of queer people on local queer history and their activism. This also included zines that can be passed on to others beyond the moment. I find it exciting when memory and mediation take place on different levels.

Y: Lilo shared quite a bit, including the program for the time, which included music, dating, health, performance, and more. What did hearing these stories do to you? Did you get FOMO? (laughs)

L: I really loved getting a sense of the fun and humor with which these groups approached things. There’s something very joyful about that. Then I had to think a lot about how it was possible to use, occupy, and maintain these spaces differently. Different conditions! It changes what places are like when they don’t have to be so highly exploitable. Then it’s more about coming together, creating opportunities from which strong communities can form. In Hanover, I was part of a collective called Soft Spot for a long time. It focused on club culture spaces and queer club culture, but also on creating a discourse around these topics in the city. So, topics like awareness, anti-sexism, sound engineering, queer music history, and cultural appropriation. We organized parties, but also workshop and event series. For example, we held DJ workshops for women, lesbians, inter*, non-binary, and trans* people where you could learn to DJ. For us, it was partly about skill-sharing, but also about creating a space where queer people and BIPoC could feel comfortable, where they could overcome their inhibitions about technology in the face of a white, cis-male-dominated “dude” culture.

Not letting that intimidate us and coming together! That was so much fun and was a very important time for me.

Y: How much of yourself did you recognize in Lilo’s stories?

L: Interesting that you ask that. I didn’t really get into making those kinds of comparisons. I felt comfortable with Lilo and enjoyed the moment that such storytelling is even possible… But I did notice one difference, specifically in this question of how housing and collective work function. That’s of course a question of social policy, displacement, and gentrification, speculation. But I just have to think of places like Silver Future, FAQ, or OYA. How they struggle and how important it is to support them. Well, and then I’m curious to see how maybe we, too, will talk about these spaces and their history in 30 years! When people talk about squatting and the scenes, heroic, male perspectives are often dominant. The conversation with Lilo highlighted feminist and lesbian perspectives. Trans*, inter*, and non-binary people were just as involved in the movements and the struggles.

Y: Did you take away any specific insights from the exhibition talk?

L: I thought the clarity with which Lilo described her collective work was really cool. To say in her leftist and feminist politics: we as women and lesbians are uniting against the oppression of patriarchy and capitalism because that just doesn’t work for us. That’s simply a strong alliance. Even though many of these struggles are still relevant today—the fight for bodily autonomy, against patriarchal and sexualized violence—it’s a good reminder.

The event could also be seen as a kickoff. For me, events where a specific place is examined more closely and in greater depth would also be conceivable.

Y: I’d definitely be there! How important do you think it was and is for a format like this that you, as the organizer and leader, identify as a lesbian yourself?

L: I would definitely say that plays a major role in the work. It starts with the question of what my interests and motivations are, including from a perspective critical of power and discrimination. Is it about a personal connection to a story? Because if not, it can quickly become voyeuristic and intrusive. I also think it’s okay and important to acquire or read up on knowledge that you aren’t necessarily a part of yourself. But I still think the question is important: from what perspective am I looking at it? What questions do I ask, and which ones am I better off leaving out? Well, and then I don’t think everyone has to be so clear about their stance and identity at every moment. I also think it’s okay and important to be searching for that… As long as you’re aware of it and don’t put other people in an uncomfortable situation.

Y: I also think that people at SMU maybe let a bit more of their history flow into their work than in other places. You put that well! And I’m glad the internship brought you to us. You’ve already reached the halfway point…

L: Yeah, a year went by fast! I’m happy to be here, looking forward to what’s to come and to many more encounters.

Y: Please keep us updated. Thanks, Leah!

Photo and interview: Yasmin Künze