In Carman Maria Machado’s book In the Dream House, she talks about archives, queerness, and what isn’t archived. This results in “Gaps where people never see themselves or find information about themselves. Holes that make it impossible to give oneself context”. Much of my work explores both attempting to find one’s context and how not having context can lead to erasure. These were some of the feelings I was experiencing before I happened to stumble upon the history of 78 Railton Road. 

The South London Gay Community Centre was opened in March 1974, when members of the South London Gay Liberation movement squatted an empty shop at 78 Railton Road, Brixton (London). The Centre ran in number 78 until April 1976, until they were evicted for a final time and found new premises to squat. The Centre housed the meetings where campaigns where discussed, as well as creating activities and events, such as film screenings, fitness classes, wrestling classes, a knitting circle, weekly discos and a gay telephone helpline (one of the earliest of its kind in London). Ian Townson, one of the squatters, noted that “Gay people arrived at the squat for many different reasons Some were desperately fleeing from oppressive situations in their lives. Others were glad to find the company of unashamedly out gay people rather than remain confused and isolated. Some saw this as an opportunity to attack straight society trough adopting an alternative lifestyle that challenged the prevailing norms of the patriarchal nuclear family and private property.” (Urban 75, 2010)

When first learning about these squats, and many of the others on Railton Road I understood it to be some kind of utopian queer paradise, in which gay people could live with their chosen family and build a community to live within. While this may be true for some, I think it’s important to not just acknowledge the hardship that most of these people were facing. “Gay communities … were under attack, isolated and persecuted from various fronts: under the ‘sus’ law police officers were allowed to act and arrest on suspicion, while the National Front was active in all areas, attacking gay venues. In 1978, Mary Whitehouse and the Festival of Light Christian fundamentalist movement, took on a moral crusade against blasphemy in the magazine Gay News.” (Unfinished Histories, South London Gay Community Centre).

But in addition to this it’s also essential to think about the way this Centre functioned, catering primarily for cis white gay men. Next door to the Gay Centre was The Woman’s Centre and further down Railton Road and on adjoining streets there were also the Race Today Collective, the Black Woman’s Centre, the Food Cooperative, and the 121 Centre. Each of these different groups were organisers, community builders and activists, but not all of these groups merged or even interacted with one another.

“Relations between the squatters and the local Afro-Caribbean community were generally cordial. … If there was a cordiality, though, there was a sense. Liz, who lived in a black squat in 121 Railton Rd, remembers things being friendly enough, but also little interaction. There was no joint political organising, for example, partly, she suggests, because the gay squatters were focusing on different issues.” (Queer Domesticities, Matt Cook)

While the centre was incredibly important for those who came into contact with it at the time, and for me in researching it in attempts to better understand myself, it was not a perfect place, and to not acknowledge that would be doing everyone a disservice.

On the right of this digital collage is the 1:12 scale building I made and on the left is the original building. The building does not perfectly line up and many parts are not in proportion. This is not to point out the models flaws but emphasises the guesswork involved in understanding un-documented history.