From 𝖤lsewhere to Somewhere Else

It astounds me how exhausted our use of the word "accountability" is, even more so our lack of having a deep understanding of what it entails. I'm talking about the current situation with Elsewhere. If you aren't already that familiar, I suggest you get out from the under that snuggly rock of yours and read the official Boycott Elsewhere statement here .

I’ve come to know some of the many d.j.s and artists who have colored the halls of Elsewhere with their entrancing sound. I've frequented the place several times in the past few months, and have let loose under the throb and pitch of dancehall and reggaeton mixes, Brazilian trap and old-school hip-hop, telling of the diverse roots of those artists. I've rubbed elbows and hugged and kissed the beautiful ones, stolen a pineapple, twerked, dutty-whined and grinded, flipped off my ex, all until sunrise. I’ve also found it be equally overwhelming to navigate, both emotionally and physically. I've seen the ways in which the superficial guidelines for consensual leisure are so easily undermined by club-goers, drunk and sober, white and non-white, men and women, queer, trans and cisgender alike. I've seen the illusion begin to bear its loose threads. It's now time to close that chapter of my life for an overdue reevaluation. 

The silence coming from these same lovely performers on the ongoing boycott is equally visceral. It's disturbing how individuals and collectives who have candidly encouraged and facilitated safe space-making for marginalized bodies,  and in the same breath continue to maintain ties with business partners who evidently do not. Since 2017, Elsewhere -an oddly enticing yet ambiguous nomenclature- has been one of several seeds sown by the oncoming wave of multiracial millennial gentrification and venture capitalist projects transforming the Bushwick area, appealing to oncoming transplant gentrifiers and queer people of color art and music collectives alike. 

Set in an abandoned manufacturing plant, the club pulsates with restless color: strategically bearing hints of its industrial architecture in a small dark box of a screening room, the retro cool facade leaves a more memorable impact: darkly-lit gender-neutral restrooms, with deceptively placed mirrors, are black and shiny like the inside of a dominatrix's patent leather platform stilettos. Curved pass-throughs and Twin Peaks-esque black and white tiled flooring make up the second-floor bar, and right outside, plant sculpture installations hanging above the black metal stairs leading up to the spacious rooftop bar. 

The aesthetic screams ambitious savvy business endeavor plastering itself as high-brow DIY. In other words, some real cultured fakeness. Overpriced spicy mango margaritas and coconuts filled with water are sold in the rooftop and second zone. The spouting of buzz words like “community”  and "safe space", adding to the grandiose and fun vibe, are read as loose safety guidelines posted around the space for customers to follow throughout their time. Elsewhere is a mad(denning) experiment to be enjoyed by all of us beautiful (predominantly conventionally-attractive and able-bodied transplant) people to freak and folly.

Since then, Elsewhere has maintained ties with a known predator, repeatedly and intentionally declined the opportunity for transparency with the "community" it has attained since. This ongoing relation to the investor and subsequent sloppy public statement, zero confirmation on whether ties will be cut with this investor, and intentional undermining of outlined responsibilities in the proposed deal with CCA, are why allies with the survivors have continued to push for greater transparency and accountability. 

The black and brown queerness that fills its walls and rooftop, from Everyday People to Papijuice, and a range of artists as eclectic as more seasoned international hits like Little Dragon, to rising alternative artists such as Portugal the Man, and Ian Isaiah, to returning legends like Laraaji, Roy Ayers, and Neneh Cherry. Even new NYC natives like MICHELLE, Leikeli47, yaeji, and Empress Of, have all hit the stage and attracted the youth "communities" that the business prides itself on cultivating, in reality, reaches to attract.

Elsewhere has become a microcosm of "the best of the best" artists who have centered their activism in their own events, like the recent launch party for Apocalipsis, Melting Point raves, and the upcoming Young Latin and Proud event hosted by Helado Negro, who have all donated their proceeds to benefit immigrant rights groups. Those communities are what have been the carrot on the stick for me, and why I kept going back, not fully acknowledging the harm that I was contributing to.

Very few artists have publicly expressed concern for the silence of their peers on the current matter. Those who have continued to keep dates for upcoming shows have largely avoided publicly addressing the situation. Papijuice attempted at naming the nuances behind they have decided to continue to host in the space. In stating that their current partnership with Elsewhere as best for the collective in terms of space as queer-identifying creatives of color who have experienced discrimination from other venues where they have hosted events otherwise. Given that the trio expressed their empathy towards survivors, that they too are survivors of r*pe and sexual assault, does that make it really much of an acknowledgment? I predict that a divide is on the horizon for this "community", that will change, possibly for the better, possibly out of convenience. These kinds of shifts are never definite until it happens in real-time. 

I hope that this change is primarily positive, one that forces us all to address our own complacency and selective attention paid towards "notables" and those less known. I hope that this will cause a collective rethinking of misogyny, toxic masculinity, and sexual violence as subliminally impactful. I hope for better communication and a desire to upend branding "safe-space" as an aesthetic, for its intentional incorporation into how we celebrate and love ourselves beyond club life. I also hope for people to stop believing in the fantasy which Elsewhere, and the rest of these clubs have been built on, and begin to peel back the velvet curtain to see things as they really are: a smart business endeavor, built on recognizable signs and symbols distinct to a superficial aesthetic to outsiders' eyes reads as "queer urban creatives of color". Black and brown queer creatives, let's stop devouring this appropriative display of our cultural aesthetics and ideas, and redirect our energy to something that actually feeds and fully supports our experiences.