DISSERTATION PDF 2014

Gay Men and the Negotiation
of their Sexuality in a
Multicultural Neighbourhood
Geography B.Sc. with Honours
University of Edinburgh
2014
Thomas W. W. Stewart
12,061 words
(Excluding titles, figures, footnotes, Appendices, References)

I hereby declare that this dissertation has been composed by me and is based on my own
work.
Signature: ________________
Date: ________________

“Geography must render, moreover, another
far more important service. It must teach us,
from our earliest childhood, that we are all
brethren [sic] ... geography must be—a means
of dissipating these prejudices and of creating
other feelings more worthy of humanity”.
Pëtr Kropotkin, 1842 – 1921
“Happiness is not something readymade.
It comes from our own actions”.
Dalai Lama 1935 –

ABSTRACT
This paper responds to Valentine’s (2008) call for geographers to pay greater attention to
minority group relations in space, as until now much of our understandings of ‘difference’
have focused on majority-minority relations only. By utilising the abundance of geographical
work already concerned with notions of ‘difference’ and space, I will demonstrate that by
turning our focus towards everyday encounters between minority groups themselves, new
ways of thinking of ‘difference’ in the city can be afforded to geographers. Pulling on the
geographies of sexuality, difference, and encounters, I will consider how gay men negotiate
their sexuality in a multicultural – not just heteronormative and white – neighbourhood. The
research, carried out in Tower Hamlets, London, demonstrates that the (re)production of
heteronormative space is often never simply a ‘straight-gay’ issue. My research reveals how
notions of ‘race’ can and do surface in the process. I will argue that such insights can only be
achieved when we consider ‘differences’ between minority groups themselves.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I thank Julie Cupples for her intellectual guidance, reassuring words, and for supporting my
research topic from the outset. Similarly, I thank Jan Penrose for her time, intellect and
guidance. My gratitude extends to Sophie Gackowski, Roz Lynch, Linda Wilkinson, Peter
Golds, and to my wonderful parents. You each uniquely supported me and my work,
especially in the times I felt like giving up. Finally, and most importantly, I thank all the men
who agreed to take part in the research process. Your time, hospitality, support and beliefs
that the world can be changed for the better spurred me on right through to the end, and
without them, this dissertation would not have been possible.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One: Introduction and Background_
“Son, you can’t come ‘ome. They’ve banned ya” 1
Introduction 1
Tower Hamlets: ‘Super-diversity’ or ‘Britain’s Islamic Republic’? 2
Outline of Paper 4
Chapter Two: Literature Review-
The Contingent Nature of Sexed Space: From Fixed to Performative 7
Sex in the City: Power, Discourse and Performativity 8
Beyond Heteronormativity: Resistance, Homonormativity and ‘New Heteronormativity’ 10
Constructing and Spatialising ‘Difference’: Encountering the Racial ‘Other’ in the 12
Multicultural City
Intersectionality: An Important (Albeit Brief) Point to Consider 15
When Minorities Collide: Accommodating ‘Difference’ and Minority Group Intolerance 16
Chapter Three: Methodology-
In-depth Semi-structured Interviews 19
Cognitive Mapping as Aide to Interviewing 21
Reflexivity, Power, Wine and the ‘Myth of Detachment’ 22
Chapter Four: Mapping Identity Performance: Designating ‘Safe’ and ‘Unsafe’ Spaces-
Designating ‘Safe’ Space: Gentrification, Cosmopolitanism and Shifting Public Opinion 25
How Things Have Changed: The Role of the Police and Private Space in Designating 29
‘Safe’ Space
Designating ‘Unsafe’ Space: Concealing Sexuality and ‘Muslim Space’ 31
Chapter Five: Racializing Intolerance: ‘Straight Space’ Equals ‘Muslim Space’-
Knowing ‘Muslim Space’: The Racialization of ‘Straight Space’ 35
Lived Difference: Constructing ‘Muslim Space’ via Everyday Encounters 38
Felt and Imagined Geographies of Muslim Intolerance 42
Chapter Six: Concluding Thoughts- 47
Appendices- 51
References- 55

LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 1: “Gay Free Zone” 3
Figure 2: Perry’s Map 26
Figure 3: Tom’s Map 27
Figure 4: Justin’s Map 28
Figure 5: Daniel’s Map 31
Figure 6: Patrico’s Map 36
Figure 7: Dean’s Map 43

Geography Dissertation 2014
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Chapter One INTRODUCTION & BACKGROUND
“SON, YOU CAN’T COME ‘OME. THEY’VE BANNED YA”
It was in the spring of 2011 that on planning a trip home to see my family, I gave my
dad a quick phone call. He had just seen on the news that in our borough, Tower Hamlets in
London, stickers had appeared with Qur’anic text declaring that gay people were “banned”
from the area. It was not so much the stickers, as my father’s words which ignited my interest
to carry out this dissertation.
INTRODUCTION
Rights and liberties afforded to sexual minorities, as well as increasing societal
acceptance of homosexuality, have been characteristic of most Western societies these past
few decades (Bettani, 2014). Within the UK, some have proclaimed that the advent of equal
marriage has brought about full equality for homosexuals under the law (Stonewall, 2013).
Vaid (1996) and Podmore (2013) remind us, however, that we need to remain cautious of the
potential gap between the achievement of legal rights and the ongoing struggle for social
liberation. This has been the very focus of much work within social and cultural geography,
and since the 1980s, geographers have contributed towards a growing academic scholarship
concerned with the socio-cultural facets of sexuality and space (Oswin, 2011). The field
finally became consolidated with the publication of Mapping Desire (Bell and Valentine,
1995), and our understandings of ‘difference’ in the city became not only a function of ‘race’
and gender (de Leeuw et al., 2011).
With this is mind, Hall’s (1993: 361) assertion that “the capacity to live with
difference … is the coming question of the 21st century”, has not lost momentum. Within
geographical thought, academic attention has considered how the city has become a site

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where we continuously come into contact with the ‘Other’ (Jencks, 1993;; Fincher and Jacobs,
1998; Sennet, 1990), granting the potential for creating new urban cosmopolitanisms that
support and foster spaces for tolerating ‘difference’ (Amin, 2002, 2006;; Laurier and Philo,
2006). Whether that ‘difference’ is constructed as racialized, or categorised as ‘Other’ to the
heterosexual norm, geographers have provided theoretical frameworks to assist in our
understanding of how different marginalised groups negotiate their way in a predominantly
white, heterosexual, ableist, and patriarchal society (Gibson, 1998).
Hitherto, much of our understandings of ‘difference’ have focused on dualistic
majority-minority relations (de Leeuw et al., 2011). Valentine (2008: 355) however, has
requested closer consideration be granted towards our understanding of ‘difference’ in the
city, calling on geographers to be more attentive to the “prejudices and bad relations within,
and between, minority groups themselves”. She furthers this call by suggesting geographers
recognise the “competing values and rights claims that are beginning to emerge in
contemporary equality debates” (Valentine, 2008: 355). This dissertation responds to
Valentine’s (2008) call. In utilising the current theoretical approaches towards ‘difference’
and sexuality within geography, I will demonstrate that by paying closer attention to
‘difference’ between minority groups themselves, geographers can be afforded new ways of
thinking with ‘difference’ in the multicultural city. The research presented here focuses on
gay men and the everyday negotiations of their sexuality in multicultural spaces, centred on
the neighbourhood in which I grew up and love: Tower Hamlets, London.
TOWER HAMLETS: ‘SUPER-DIVERSITY’ OR ‘BRITAIN’S ISLAMIC REPUBLIC’?
Tower Hamlets in London’s East End has a rich history of multiculturalism (Poynter
and MacRury, 2009). With over 120 languages spoken (Tower Hamlets, 2008), the area has
long been a place in which immigrant populations have settled (Brown, 2001). The area is
also diverse in terms of economic differences, with highly gentrified neighbourhoods only a

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stone’s throw away from some of Britain’s poorest wards (Brown, 1998;; Fraser, 2012). The
spatial amalgamation of these social variants is what Vertovec (2007) defines as “super-
diversity”. Today the area is home to the UK’s largest Bangladeshi population, with over 30
per cent of the borough being of Bangladeshi descent (Tower Hamlets, 2014a).
Unsurprisingly, Tower Hamlets is also home to “the UK’s largest Muslim community” (East
London Mosque, 2014). Complementing the vibrant ethno-cultural mix of the borough,
Tower Hamlets boasts a proud history of accommodating sexual ‘differences’ (Brown, 1998,
2001, 2006; Barlow, n.d.)1
.
However, this sense of cohesive community and mutual respect for ‘difference’ has
come under fire recently, particularly in the media and from LGBT activists. Channel 4
broadcasted an inflammatory programme in March 2010 – Dispatches: Britain’s Islamic
Republic – which described Tower Hamlets Council as being “infiltrated” by an Islamic
fundamentalist organisation, which, according to Gilligan, has been known to promote overt,
violent homophobia (Gilligan, 2010, 2013). Between April 2009 and March 2011 reports of
homophobic incidents rose by a third (Gilbert, 2011), and in February 2011, homophobic
stickers surfaced across Tower Hamlets:
1
Barlow’s publication has no date as the PDF I have is a document designed to accompany an art exhibition. I
thank Linda Wilkinson for forwarding it onto me.

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Community cohesion in the borough was under threat again in January 2013: the
media obtained footage circulating around YouTube of a ‘Muslim Patrol’ vigilante group
harassing people they perceived as gay or as carrying out ‘un-Islamic’ acts such as drinking
alcohol (Razaq, 2013; de Peyer, 2013) 2
. Leaders within the Muslim community condemned
the behaviour of this minority group, with the East London Mosque (ELM henceforth)
reaffirming its commitment “to building co-operation and harmony between all communities
in this borough” (cf. de Peyer, 2013). Yet Gilligan (2013) slammed this rhetoric as a PR stunt,
accusing the mosque of hosting homophobic hate preachers, and not seeking to strengthen
community ties. In January 2014, tensions were heightened once more when it was revealed
the ELM was hosting yet another anti-gay speaker (Barnett, 2014). Whilst these examples are
rare and potentially guilty of sensationalism, they do demand of us to think critically as to
how ‘difference’ between these two marginalised groups can be reconciled.
OUTLINE OF PAPER
Chapter Two of this paper focuses on the literature and theoretical insights within
which this study is situated, grounding the dissertation within existing academic thought
surrounding the geographies of sexuality, difference, and encounter. The chapter will
conclude by drawing attention towards the discipline’s lack of due critical attention to the
potential for ‘difference’ to be negotiated between minority groups themselves. Chapter
Three then outlines the methodological framework applied throughout the research,
highlighting the limitations and strengths of the methods chosen, as well as the reflexive
dimensions of the study. Chapters Four and Five together make up the analysis and
discussion section of the paper, presenting the data I collected. Chapter Four focuses on gay
men’s constructions of ‘safe’ and ‘unsafe’ spaces in Tower Hamlets, concluding that the
production of heteronormative space was the result of an acutely racialized process. Chapter
2
In February 2014 a similar far-right group, calling themselves the ‘Christian Patrol’, were roaming parts of
East London with the intent of fuelling Islamaphobia (see Elgot, 2014).

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Five looks specifically at the production of heteronormative space as a by-product of
constructing racialized ‘Muslim space’, merging the geographies of sexuality, difference and
encounter to achieve this. This paper is finally concluded in Chapter Six in which the main
findings of the research are summarised and then related to possible implications for future
research3
.
3
Although non-essential, I encourage the reader at this point to engage with the Appendices if they want to
further their geographical understanding of the places in Tower Hamlets my participants referred to most often.

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Chapter Two LITERATURE REVIEW
This chapter situates the study within the relevant literature across the geographies of
sexuality, difference and encounter. I also draw on wider theory from mainly Foucault and
Butler. Firstly I will consider the theoretical insights from within the geographies of sexuality.
I will then consider where the geographies of difference and encounter fit into the research
topic. The final section highlights the deficit in literature regarding minority group relations
in space, instead pulling on examples to demonstrate where geographies of sexuality,
difference and encounter intersect in some instances, and therefore must provoke us to think
of new ways of understanding ‘difference’ in the multicultural city.
THE CONTINGENT NATURE OF SEXED SPACE: FROM FIXED TO PERFORMATIVE
Some of the earliest works that considered the significance of space and place and
their impact on sexuality sought to map visible gay and lesbian populations, particularly the
spaces in which these groups lived and played (Achilles, 1998 [1967]; Levine, 1979; Castell,
1983;; McNee, 1984). Castell (1983), for instance, plotted cartographically the “gay territory”
of San Francisco, where he argued gay men and lesbians could live “distinct” lives from
heterosexuals. Castell’s (1983) work fixed homosexuality in space, suggesting that lesbians
and gay men could only express themselves in these spaces. Similarly, McNee’s (1984)
arguments resonated with Castell’s (1983) conclusions, suggesting that the heteropatriarchal
“nature” of urban space forced gay men and women to create their own spaces.
Although such advancements made by earlier scholars should be applauded, these
approaches – referred to as “dots on maps” (Binnie and Valentine, 1999: 176) – eventually
became reduced to “naïve mappings of sexual space” (Knopp, 1998: 149). Post-structuralists
contest the idea of fixing identity in space, arguing that identities are, in fact, a fluid,
contingent matter, always in the process of becoming (Buckingham, 2008; Thrift, 1999).

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Moran et al.’s (2003) research on Manchester’s ‘gay village’ for instance, demonstrates how
we cannot simply construct certain spaces as ‘gay’, as these spaces are often shaped
differently by different people, across different spatial and temporal scales. This shift in focus
drew much theoretical intellectualism from the emerging field of queer geographies (Knopp,
2007; Oswin, 2008, 2011). For Knopp (2007: 22), queer geography – which owes its
emergence to feminist geographies – has “highlighted the hybrid and fluid nature of sexual
subjectivities” as “the focus shifted from reifying and celebrating ‘gay spaces’ to
understanding the always multiply fluid, ambiguous and contingent sexualised spatialities
that are constant in human experiences”. Thus, as Eves (2004: 481-2) summarises: “queer
work has reconceptualized sexual identities as shifting and unstable, as positions offered by
discursive structures rather than properties of individuals”.
SEX IN THE CITY: POWER, DISCOURSE AND PERFORMATIVITY
As already outlined, geographers are now well aware of the performative nature of
sexuality in space, and how this in turn impacts upon lesbian and gay men’s everyday lives in
the city. These insights will help further the first aspect of my research topic: Gay men and
the negotiation of their sexuality [in a multicultural neighbourhood]. For instance, scholars
have produced accounts of the city as aggressively heterosexual, forcing gay men and women
to conceal their sexuality in public and private space (Bell, 1991; Valentine, 1993a, 1993b;
Namaste, 1996; Kirby and Hay, 1997). This led Hubbard (2000: 195-6) to argue:
...while displays of heterosexual affection, friendship and desire are regarded as
acceptable or ‘normal’ in most spaces … homosexuals are often forced to
deny or disguise their sexual orientation except in specific (and often marginal)
spaces because of fears of homophobic abuse and intolerance.

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For Hubbard (2000, 2008, 2011), in order to understand the sexual nature of space, we must
first examine the moral geographies that (re)produce what Smart (1996) calls “hegemonic,
normative heterosexuality”. Moreover, Hubbard (2000: 195) contends that just as non-
normative sexualities4
are socially constructed, “heterosexuality … is not a natural product of
a biological urge to reproduce, but is socially produced and maintained”. Similarly, Lim
(2004: 1760) reifies this position, asserting that “heterosexual space … is not ontological—it
is produced”. Thus in order to understand the contours of dissident sexualities in space, we
must first critically examine the production and maintenance of dominant heterosexuality.
Valentine (1996) postulates how the heterosexualisation of everyday space should be
conceived as a performative act which is naturalised through repetition and regulation. Judith
Butler’s (1990: 140, 145) concept of “repeated play” is relevant here, emphasising that our
gendered and sexualised identities are cited in relation to hegemonic discursive regimes of
heteronormativity, and through our “compulsion to repeat” what is expected of us. Thus, the
performative nature of non-normative sexualities is always relational to the dominant
heterosexist society in which they are produced (Foucault, 1976). Foucault (1975, 1976)
utilises the metaphor of the panopticon to demonstrate one means by which heteronormativity
is maintained. By constructing heterosexuality as the norm, dissident sexualities are then
subjected to a ‘heterosexual gaze’, which in turn regulates the expression of deviant
homosexualities (Foucault, 1976). Like the prisoner under panoptic surveillance, gay men
and lesbian’s sexualities are controlled through the assumption that they are constantly being
observed and scrutinised, whether this is actually happening or not (Davis, 1995; Koskela,
2003). This is not to suggest, however, that hegemonic heterosexism cannot be challenged or
undermined (Davis, 1995), as I will detail further on.
4
For the purpose of this paper, by non-normative or dissident sexualities I am referring to gay and lesbian
homosexuality, but in many instances this can also include other dissident sexualities that deviate from
normative heterosexualities, including deviant heterosexualities such as sadomasochism (Herman, 2007) or
prostitution (Hubbard and Whowell, 2008).

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In addition, Lim (2004) works with Bourdieu’s (1989, 1992) concept of ‘habitus’ to
argue that even homosexuals often (un)intentionally exercise compliance in the maintenance
of everyday space as heteronormative. Penrose and Smith (2006: 1014) sum this conception
up fittingly: “people continuously perform the conventions of any given time and place and,
in the process they actually produce these conventions and make them appear necessary and
natural”. For Lim (2004) homosexuals can (un)intentionally collude in the repetitive
reproduction of heteronormativity through the concealment of their own sexual identities, for
instance by not displaying same sex affections in public. This is echoed by Kirby and Hay
(1997: 295) who assert that “the routine behaviours and actions of many gay men acting
within a heteropatriarchal hegemony help make and keep space ‘straight’”. Through acts of
self-policing, homosexuals regulate their identity performances in public so as to avoid
disapproval or threats of violence (Valentine, 1993a). Valentine (1993a: 242) suggests that
for many homosexuals, this is done by either “deliberately 'playing' a heterosexual role or by
unconsciously 'fitting in', not admitting or representing their homosexuality”. Similarly,
Kitchin and Lysagcht (2003) argue that gay men and women must often compartmentalise
their sexual identity across different spaces and at different times, through the regulation of
their clothes, behaviour and mannerisms. Brown (2001) for example, found that gay men in
East London often attempted to “butch up” when they knew they would be passing through
neighbourhoods they perceive as particularly threatening. Out of fear of reprisal, these men
not only conceal their own sexual identities, but in doing so facilitate the reinforcement and
maintenance of the dominant heterosexualities expected from them (Lim, 2004).
BEYOND HETERONORMATIVITY: RESISTANCE, HOMONORMATIVITY AND ‘NEW
HETERONORMATIVITY’
Whilst performativity lies at the heart of the production of heteronormative space, so
too can space be disrupted and subverted through alternative performances of sexual

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identities (Butler, 1993). Discursive regimes are always in the process of becoming, for as
Foucault (1976: 59) reminds us, “where there is power, there is resistance”. In this sense,
spaces such as ‘gay villages’ can be sites where marginal sexualities come together to subvert
and disrupt spaces previously given as heterosexual (Nash, 2006). Studies have shown, for
example, that proximity to gay venues or ‘spaces’ can have positive effects when it comes to
the expression of one’s homosexual identity (Furlong, 2006;; Brown, 2001). However, as
Moran et al. (2003) remind us, gay men and women are still under surveillance and must
nonetheless continue to police themselves, even in these spaces. In addition, some suggest
that such spaces can work to create distinctive ‘homo-patriarchal’ enclaves that exclude other
marginalised subjects (specifically trans* people, ethnic minorities, as well as other markers
of ‘difference’) that don’t fit the ‘scene’ (Binnie and Skeggs, 2004;; Nast, 2002;; Pritchard et
al., 2002; Doan, 2007). Furthermore, some even suggest that these spaces further reproduce
dominant discursive regimes of heteronormativity – or “new heteronormativity” (Duggan,
2002) – critiquing them as being regulated within neoliberal moral economies that seek to
promote normative sexualised spaces of consumption; sites that nonetheless derive from
heteronormative dichotomies of moral and immoral sexual practices (Duggan, 2002; Bell and
Binnie, 2004: Casey, 2007; Brown, 2013). Whilst much attention has been concerned with
the queering of distinctive ‘gay spaces’, ‘everyday’ streets or spaces can also be queered. By
‘everyday’ street, I mean the majority of spaces in the city not designated as visible sites
where gay men and lesbians go to partake in consumption economies such as gay commercial
districts (Brown, 2013; Bettani, 2014). Brown (2006) refers to these spaces as ‘post-gay’.
As well as unravelling the moral contours surrounding the production of
heteronormative space, the practice of queering the street also disrupts spaces given as
‘straight’ (Ivanchikova, 2006). Foucault (1976: 96) highlights how power relations are never
static, but “produced from one moment to the next, at every point, or rather in every relation

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from one point to another”. Moreover, just as Kitchin and Lysagcht (2003) highlight how
policing one’s clothes or mannerisms can reinforce spaces as heteronormative, Kitchin (2002)
previously acknowledged that these very facets of performativity can, at the same time, be
appropriated as everyday strategies of resistance. Queering the everyday street can be done
through events such as Pride Marches (Kitchin and Lysagcht, 2003; Lim, 2004), as well as
public art (Lim, 2004), popular music (Valentine, 1995), or other subtle behaviours like
cruising glances exchanged by two men (Leap, 1999). However subtle, simple acts of
‘queering’ the street can challenge assumptions that city streets are fixed as heteronormative
(Kitchin, 2002; Valentine, 1993a, 1995).
CONSTRUCTING AND SPATIALISING DIFFERENCE: ENCOUNTERING THE
RACIALIZED ‘OTHER’ IN THE MULTICULTURAL CITY
As the previous sections of this literature review considered the ways in which gay
men negotiate or perform their sexuality in space, I will now consider the literature and
theoretical insights that give scope to understanding the second part of the research topic:
[Gay men and the negotiation of their sexuality] in a multicultural neighbourhood. To
achieve this, I will draw on literature from the geographies of difference and encounter.
Everyday geographies of multiculturalism demonstrate how geographies of difference and
encounter interlock (see Swanton, 2008; Clayton, 2008, 2009). In other words, to understand
how gay men negotiate their sexuality in a multicultural space – not just heteronormative,
white space – we must consider how ‘difference’ comes to matter in cities, and how such
‘difference’ is negotiated through everyday encounters in multicultural spaces. It is pertinent
to mention that by invoking notions of multiculturalism, in this instance, I am not referring to
a political ideology that many scholars and politicians problematically infer as demising or

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‘dead’ (Hesse, 2000 cf. Nagel and Hopkins, 2010;; Kundnani, 2002) 56
. I am referring to
‘difference’ and diversity as being a common and permanent feature of many socio-cultural
landscapes (Fincher and Jacobs, 1998; Nagel and Hopkins, 2010; Penrose, 2013; Valentine,
2013), including Tower Hamlets (Brown 1998; 2001, 2006; see Wessendorf, 2013 on
neighbouring London Borough of Hackney). I am referring to what Amin (2002) contends as
the conditions of ‘living with difference’.
But what do we mean when we refer to ‘difference’ in geography? Gibson (1998: 304)
grants insight into how we might articulate this conception, contending that “discourses of
difference focus upon all those identities which are designated as Other to the social norm –
that being the white heterosexual ‘middle-class’ able-bodied young male”. For de Leeuw et al.
(2011: 19), this occurs by “grouping entities and subjects together based on constructed ideas
of sameness, [and as such] categories of what constitutes normal are produced”, which in turn
works to reify what constitutes as abnormal, or ‘different’ from the mainstream. They then go
on to observe that these categories “function to exclude subjects who do not adhere to the
characteristics of sameness or normalcy” (de Leeuw et al., 2011: 19-20). And so, whilst cities
are spaces where we may come into contact with the ‘exotic Other’, acting as sites for cross-
cultural understanding and exchange (see Sennet 1990; Jencks, 1993; Fincher and Jacobs,
1998; Nava, 2006; Laurier and Philo, 2006), urban spaces can also be sites where hegemonic
discourses of morality and normativity become (re)produced (Sibley, 1995).
How we encounter and mediate multiple ‘differences’ in multicultural spaces is often
produced via social constructions and popular representations (see Hall, 1997). The social
construction of the racialized ‘Other’ is generally rooted within hegemonic discourses, that
Young (2001: 685) highlights as being constituted in a system of knowledge which “conveys
5
In 2010 and 2011 respectively, both the German Chancellor Angela Merkal and British Prime Minister David
Cameron publicly denounced multiculturalism as a failed state project (see Modood, 2013).
6
Unless stated otherwise.

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the widely accepted generalizations about how society operates”. How we see and relate to
one another in the street, for instance, can stem from representational and discursive
knowledges that are historically and culturally produced (Jackson and Penrose, 1993). Their
continued reification, often carried through the media, can then become accentuated until
given as natural and ‘known’ as ‘fact’ (Hall, 1997;; Sibley, 1995). These popular
representations are then reproduced in everyday spaces of multiculturalism, often through the
practice of ethnic and racial coding in which certain parts of the city may become known for
being ‘black’, or ‘white’, or ‘Muslim’ (see Clayton, 2008, 2009;; and Kuppinger, 2014 on
‘Muslim space’;; and Thomas, 2005 on the racial coding of a high school lunchroom). Hall
(1992: 16, cf. Grossberg, 1996: 99) contends that those ideas and practices that sort and fix
‘race’ and ethnic ‘Others’ into place can work “...to secure us ‘over here’ and them ‘over
there’”. These spaces are never fixed or static, however;; they are always reworked via
performed and imagined geographies (Pratt, 1998; Thomas, 2005). Racialized boundaries are
then imitated by those who move within them, and by those who gaze upon them in the daily
grind of urban living (see Kuppinger, 2014). The racialization of space can be achieved
symbolically too, through the presence of a mosque for example (Henkel, 2007), or the
geographical boundaries and cultural fixtures that make up spatial entities like ‘Banglatown’
(see Begum, 2008;; Alexander, 2011), or ‘China Town’ (see Anderson, 1987).
‘Difference’, therefore, is an inherently spatial phenomenon (Sibley, 1995; Thomas,
2005). Much of our understanding of ‘difference’, however, stems from top-down discursive
approaches regarding the construction of ‘race’ (Swanton, 2010a, 2010b), yet how we come
to know and negotiate ‘difference’ – that is, how ‘difference’ is performed in everyday
interactions – is the product of the lived experience (Wilson, 2011). It is what bodies and
subjects do that comes to matter on the street (Saldanha, 2006; Swanton, 2010a, 2010b;
Wilson, 2011). This is not to rebuke social construction theories; popular representations do

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not appear out of nowhere, but are culturally and historically constructed (Jackson and
Penrose, 1993; Hall, 1997). What I am interested in, however, is how formations of the
‘Other’ come to be lived out in everyday spaces;; how local people come to denote the
racialization of local spatialities. To think through this lens, therefore, “requires a shift in
attention from the grand towards the more mundane yet significant relationship between
space and racialized identities” (Clayton, 2009: 483).
Kuppinger (2014), for example, worked with de Certeau’s (1984) writings on the
everyday street to reveal how constructions of ‘Muslim space’ in Stuttgart, Germany, were
transiently produced by local pious Muslims in their everyday ‘authentic’ encounters with
one another7
. She (2014) contests ideas regarding the secularization of European cities,
suggesting that the millions of Muslims across Europe are creating post-secular ‘Muslim
spaces’ – semi-permanent or even permanently known – through symbolic architecture, dress,
commercial districts, and Islamic behavioral codes. She concluded that these ‘Muslim spaces’
demanded certain etiquettes to be upheld by Muslims and non-Muslims alike (Kuppinger,
2014). What Kuppinger’s (2014) article gets us to consider – as do the countless other
ethnographies on living with ‘difference’ – is how constructions of racialized space rely
heavily on everyday interactions between people, and across lines of ‘difference’.
INTERSECTIONALITY: AN IMPORTANT (ALBEIT BRIEF) POINT TO CONSIDER
It is necessary at this point to inform the reader that this dissertation does not seek to
position sexuality and ‘race’ or religion in total opposition to one another. To do so would
tarnish the very point I have been trying to make so far: that identities are never fixed, but
fluid and multiple (Buckingham, 2008; de Leeuw et al., 2011). Therefore, it is important to
think through the lens of intersectionality when writing on ‘difference’ (Valentine, 2007). Put
simply, there is more to gay men than their sexuality. Similarly there is more to racialized
7
I thank Julie Cupples for drawing my attention to this article specifically, as well as others.

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subjects than their ‘race’ or religion. Indeed these identity markers often intersect (see for
example Hopkins, 2006 on gendered constructs and youthful Muslim masculinities; and
Begum, 2008 on Muslim women’s exclusion from ‘Banglatown’). However, it is important to
consider that specific identities come to the surface at specific times and in specific spaces
(de Leeuw et al., 2011), which is demonstrated by the application of sexuality and
‘race’/religion in this dissertation. In other words, although we must acknowledge the
significance of intersecting identities, indeed work with them in our research, it is necessary
at points to rally around particular “operational” or strategically essential identity markers to
forward particular causes (Spivak, 1990: 12; see also Fuss, 1989).
WHEN MINORITIES COLLIDE: ACCOMMODATING DIFFERENCE AND MINORITY
GROUP INTOLERANCE
This final section situates the literature so far examined within emerging debates
surrounding differing minority groups’ claims to space, conceptualising the research topic
into one whole: Gay men and the negotiation of their sexuality in a multicultural
neighbourhood. Hitherto, much of our understandings of ‘difference’ in the city have tended
to focus on dualistic conceptions of those with or without power (de Leeuw et al., 2011),
often white majority and minority ethnic groups (Valentine and Sadgrove, 2012). Whilst it is
imperative that these majority-minority relations are constantly scrutinised and contested
(white-ethnic minority, hetero-homosexual, and so on), if we are to reach a more equitable
city, greater attention needs to be granted towards the potential conflicts and negotiations of
‘difference’ that exist between marginalised groups themselves.
In this vein, Valentine (2008: 355) has called for closer consideration to be given to
the potential “prejudices and bad relations within, and between, minority groups themselves”,
that recognises the “competing values and rights claims that are beginning to emerge in
contemporary equality debates”. Considering the deficit of theory that looks at minority

17 | P a g e
group intolerance, I will therefore use the limited examples available to explain my point. For
instance, Valentine and Waite (2012) conducted focus groups that examined the complex
negotiations of ‘difference’ at play when it concerned two equality strands: religious and
LGBT groups. They deduced that “given the incompatibility of the values of heterosexual
people of faith/belief and LGBT people at the abstract level, tensions should be emerging
between these groups in public space” (Valentine and Waite, 2012: 4808
; see also Andersson
et al., 2011). Similarly, Skelton’s (1995) analysis of gay resistance to the homophobic lyrics
of the Jamaican ragga song ‘Boom, Bye, Bye’ demonstrates that ‘difference’ is often never
simply a white-black or straight-gay issue. For Skelton (1995: 268), when it “appears at first
sight to be white gay resistance against black Jamaican culture then the complexities of race
and sexuality further complicate the issue”.
Finally, consider Byrant and Poitras’ (2003) film: Flag Wars, where the gentrification
of downtown Columbus, Ohio, not only personified the class conflicts and structural violence
at play, but how matters became even more complex when added facets such as sexuality and
‘race’ came to the surface9
. The film highlights how the incoming gentrifiers, mostly
economically privileged (white) gay men, attempted to exploit the neighbourhoods ‘rent gap’
(see Smith, 1987) so as to create spaces where they could collectively resist the
heteronormative temperament of the city (see Lauria and Knopp, 1985; Bouthillette, 1994;
Lees, 2000; Hubbard, 2011). However, this resulted in the displacement of many
longstanding black residents of the neighbourhood, whose historical oppression and
continued exclusion from much of Columbus resulted in highly vested claims to that same
space (Flag Wars, 2003). What the film signifies, as do the other examples I have highlighted
here, is the need for geographers to make greater room for the “complex geographies and
8
Interestingly, they later concluded that everyday interactions between these groups demonstrated that conflicts
did not necessarily materialise.
9
I thank Rowan Ellis for drawing my attention to this film.

18 | P a g e
relationships between differently positioned subjects who are each uniquely and individually
marked as different within a broader white and heteronormative society” (de Leeuw et al.,
2011: 27).
By paying greater attention to the potential conflicts that may arise between
marginalised groups, geographers can find themselves in positions to contribute to emerging
equality debates of 21st-century Europe, particularly post 9/11; debates that seek to reconcile
how we might come to live with multiple ‘differences’ (Valentine, 2008, 2013;; Valentine and
Waite, 2012; Valentine and Sadgrove, 2012). Feminist scholars began asking these questions
over two decades ago, suggesting that women’s rights were potentially incompatible with
multicultural visionaries surrounding ‘group rights’ (Okin et al., 1999) 10
. Consequently, as I
hope is now discernible, I strongly urge that geographers – particularly queer geographers –
start taking seriously the potential conflicts of interest that may (or may not) exist between
the gay community and other minority groups (or as I will consider, the Muslim community
in Tower Hamlets). These debates are taking place outside of geography with respects to
homosexuality and Islam (see Halstead and Lawicka, 1998; Beckett and Macey, 2001;
Abraham, 2009; Siraj, 2009; Zanghellini, 2012), but as I will demonstrate through my own
research, geographers are uniquely positioned to assert the importance of space and spatiality
in the simultaneous construction of sexual and racialized ‘difference’.
10
Here I am referring to multicultural policies and practices specifically.

19 | P a g e
Chapter Three METHODOLOGY
This chapter evaluates the methodological approaches employed throughout the
research, and then considers the reflexive component of the study. The qualitative method of
semi-structured in-depth interviewing was the primary technique utilised in this study. In
addition, many interviews were complemented through the use of a cognitive mapping
exercise, adding greater depth to the discussions had, and enhancing the data presented here.
Qualitative methods were befitting of this study as any research involving emotions, feelings
and experiences cannot be quantified (Bell, 1997; Kitchin and Tate, 2000; Patton, 2002).
IN-DEPTH SEMI-STRUCTURED INTERVIEWS
My decision to develop this study through the use of the qualitative method of
interviewing stemmed directly from the type of data I needed to collect (see Valentine, 2001).
As mentioned before, the very foundations of this study are vested in emotions, feelings and
experiences, so interviews were best suited to draw out such responses from participants
(Kitchin and Tate, 2000). This seemed the most informative method of choice, as I sought to
gain the perspective of gay men in the performance of their sexuality in multicultural spaces,
which cannot be accounted for through “dots on a map” (Binnie and Valentine, 1999: 176).
Moreover, as such complex notions surrounding sexuality and ‘race’ can only be understood
through detailed ethnographic fieldwork, interviewing afforded me an ‘inner perspective’ on
the lives of those being researched (Patton, 2002).
A total of fourteen interviews with gay men were conducted in London over July and
August of 201311
, including one on-record interview with a local politician12
. The interviews
were in-depth in nature, flowing more like a discussion, with open-ended questions allowing
11
Not all interviews were used in the write-up, as some of the earlier interviews were not conducive to the
information I needed to collect; gathering the right data took practice.
12
Peter Golds, leader of the Conservative Group in Tower Hamlets.

20 | P a g e
participants to fully reflect on their feelings and for me to then be able to respond with
additional relevant questions. This gave participants greater control throughout the interview
process to discuss matters that were of concern to them, which I may have overlooked in the
design process (Patton, 2002). The semi-structured format of the interviews also helped break
down some formalities that are difficult to overcome in social research, helping me to build
rapport with participants which in turn enriched the discussions had. Participants were
informed they would remain anonymous in the write-up and that they had the right to
withdraw their consent at any time (see Dowling, 2000)13
. Each interview was audio recorded
and transcribed verbatim by myself, then analysed through qualitative content analysis in
which key themes were highlighted through the process of coding (see Kitchin and Tate,
2000).
I used the social dating website Gaydar14
to recruit the majority of participants. Using
internet sites such as Gaydar can be useful when attempting to recruit members of minority
sexualities for research, as gay men in particular have developed online communities in
cyberspace so as to explore and perform their sexual identities (see DiMarco, 2003; Ashford,
2006; Bryman, 2012). However, I cannot assume that my sample of participants was in any
way a diverse representation of the gay male population in Tower Hamlets. The majority of
my participants were white, with only two interviewees identifying as ‘mixed-race’ and
‘Indian-born’. In addition only three participants saw themselves as ‘working-class’. These
three participants were the only interviewees native to the area of study, while the remaining
respondents were professional incomers to Tower Hamlets. As Tower Hamlets is home to
large working-class housing estates with communities of largely Bangladeshi-Muslim
heritage, this could be deemed a limitation to the research. The narratives presented here,
13
In addition, before commencing an interview I supplied each participant with an information sheet that
highlighted the main concerns of my research, and each participant was then asked to sign a consent form.
14
Gaydar is a popular online dating site for gay and bisexual men (see www.gaydar.net)

21 | P a g e
however, do not seek to reflect or speak for whole communities. I am aware that my results
may have turned out differently had I been able to recruit more men who identified within
these socio-cultural groups, as studies have shown that the negotiation of one’s sexuality
often intersects with other identity markers (Valentine, 2007). For instance, the perspectives
of queer Muslims are absent from my research; something I struggled to overcome. However,
the accounts produced here, although offering an incomplete picture, still afford us interesting
and compelling biographies of the lives of some gay men living with ‘difference’ in Tower
Hamlets.
COGNITIVE MAPPING AS AIDE TO INTERVIEWING
I reconstructed Brown’s (2001) approach in researching socially marginalised groups
through the means of cognitive mapping; this technique works to assist in giving voice to
those whose histories often go unrecorded. I reproduced Brown’s (2001) method here as my
location of study is the same focus of his article15
. Brown (2001: 51) found that by using
cognitive mapping alongside conducting in-depth interviews, he was able to gain insight into
the “emotional, political and economic dimensions of how both individuals and communities
relate to the areas in which they live”. This method was similarly applied to give depth to my
own interviews, as participants found it easier to discuss highly emotive narratives
surrounding their sexuality when they were able to apply these experiences to particular
spaces.
Before commencing any interview, I asked those participants who wished so, to
annotate their individual map with regards to spaces in Tower Hamlets they perceived as ‘gay
friendly’, ‘gay spaces’, or where they would feel comfortable ‘expressing’ their sexuality
(whatever ‘expressing’ one’s sexuality meant to that individual). I then requested participants
15
Brown (2001) Listening to Queer Maps of the City: Gay Men's Narratives of Pleasure and Danger in
London's East End.

22 | P a g e
to map spaces they perceived as being otherwise. There was no correct way to handle this
task, as the primary aim of the exercise was to enhance the interview process. Although using
the technique of cognitive mapping can disguise the topological dimensions of negotiating
‘difference’ in space, these maps do, however, illustrate (literally) the importance of space
and spatiality in the construction of heteronormative and racialized spaces. Moreover,
cognitive maps work to visually support claims by Latham (2003) regarding Butler’s (1990,
1993) misrecognition of the importance of spatiality in understanding performativity.
REFLEXIVITY, POWER, WINE AND THE ‘MYTH OF DETACHMENT’
It would be naive to assert that my own positionality, as a gay man from Tower
Hamlets, is absent from any facet of the research process. To acknowledge one’s position
within research is not to discredit any data gathered as being polluted with bias, as Rose
(1997: 318) asserts: “geographers should keep these worries, and work with them”. Indeed it
is important that researchers recognise that they are active participants in research so they can
remain reflexive throughout (Hetrz, 1997). In other words, as each participant presented their
own biographies in relation to their age, gender, class, ‘race’ and sexuality, so too does my
own epistemological stance permeate all facets of the research process.
To be reflexive is to occupy an understanding that research is undeniably “interleaved
with relations of power” (Dowling, 2000: 29). This could be with respects to the power that a
researcher has through their role as interviewer. My decision to tape-record the interviews,
for instance, emphasised particular formalities that could have reinforced certain power
relations between me and the interviewees (England, 1994; Dubisch, 1995; Dunn, 2000).
Moreover, the interviewees became aware of their ‘role’ within the research process, and as a
result participants sometimes hesitated to share their exact thoughts and feelings regarding
particularly sensitive topics. In one instance during my research, a participant completely

23 | P a g e
backtracked on his words once the recorder was turned on. However, my decision to audio-
record interviews allowed me to pay closer attention to the discussions had (Kitchin and Tate,
2000), and once rapport was established, interviewees soon dismissed the presence of the
mechanical device. Critical reflexivity involves submitting oneself to these unavoidable
power dynamics, but ensures that we critically engage with ourselves in as much as we do
our research subjects (Dowling, 2002).
Finally, I would like to grant due attention to what Cupples (2002) refers to as the
“myth of detachment” regarding the relationship between reflexivity and sexuality. Cupples
(2002: 382) has called for “greater self-reflexivity” in social research so as to “expose the
contingency of the researcher’s sexuality”. She argues: “If sexuality both produces space and
permeates social life, then the fieldwork experience is no different” (Cupples, 2002: 382;; see
also Caplan, 1993). I therefore believe it important to reflect upon the erotic dimensions of
my own research. My positionality as a gay man, for instance, assisted in building rapport
with my participants over our shared sexuality, sometimes even mediated through the act of
flirting, and sometimes over a glass or two of wine. Here, the impact of my sexuality cannot
go unnoticed in the research process, as had I attempted to remain sexually ‘detached’ when
conducting interviews, the ability of my participants to share, confide, and relate to me, could
have been weakened, potentially diluting the narratives recorded.
This worked partly in granting me ‘insider status’ with my research subjects (see
Dwyer and Buckle, 2009)16
, but also worked in one particular instance to blur the lines of
professionalism, especially when alcohol was involved (see Herrold, 2001 on how much
vodka is too much vodka?). To illustrate, on one occasion, after accepting a few glasses of
wine from an older participant, advances were made towards me. Whilst I rejected his
16
Dwyer and Buckle (2009) also elaborate on how researchers can simultaneously hold ‘outsider status’
alongside ‘insider status’ in the research process. For example, due to other cultural positionings we and our
research subjects hold, and the enforced knowledge that we are the researchers and they are the researched.

24 | P a g e
advances, and he backed off respectfully, I had to ask myself in that situation, what role did I
play in the lead up to him propositioning me? Had I not accepted the invitation for wine, or
had I not laughed off the encounter and continued on with the interview17
, would I have
gathered the insightful narratives regarding this man’s life? Probably not, I would argue. Yet
as geographers, we are often too afraid to make these daring social steps in research; too
afraid to accept more than one glass of wine, and risk finding ourselves in potentially
sexually uncomfortable positions18
. Or, if we do, we are often too squeamish to admit it (see
Binnie, 2007; Bell, 2007).
17
At his request, I must stress.
18
To stress, I differentiate here in what I mean by the term “risky”. I am differentiating between potentially
uncomfortable, as in “awkward” or laughable encounters in the interview. In no way should any researcher put
themselves in sexually risky positions that are potentially dangerous.

25 | P a g e
Chapter Four MAPPING IDENTITY
PERFORMANCE: DESIGNATING
‘SAFE’
AND
‘UNSAFE’
SPACES
This chapter introduces us to the ways in which participants of this study used their
cognitive maps to designate spaces in Tower Hamlets as ‘gay friendly’, or not, highlighting
the dominant themes that led to these decisions. We will first consider the reasons behind the
designation of ‘safe’ spaces. I will then conclude by briefly considering the construction of
spaces deemed as not being gay friendly, leading us on to the next chapter which focuses on
constructions of ‘Muslim space’. This chapter is intentionally map / quote heavy, as the
voices of my participants – not mine – speak with greater volume in denoting the
construction of ‘safe’ and ‘unsafe’ spaces for gay men.
DESIGNATING ‘SAFE’ SPACE: GENTRIFICATION, COSMOPOLITANISM AND
SHIFTING PUBLIC OPINION
As we considered in Chapter Two, the majority of spaces in the city are continuously
(re)produced as heteronormative (Hubbard, 2000, 2008, 2011; Lim, 2004), making it difficult
for gay men and women to express themselves without fear of being judged or threatened
with violence (Bell, 1991; Valentine, 1993b, Namaste, 1996; Kirby and Hay, 2003). To
detach ourselves slightly from this pessimistic stance, I will draw attention towards those
spaces in Tower Hamlets that my participants designated as ‘safe’, ‘comfortable’ or where
they felt ‘free’ to express their sexuality. With the advent of equality legislation as well as
shifting public opinion (Brewer, 2003; Valentine and Waite, 2012; Stonewall, 2013; Bettani,
2014), it would be naïve to assume that in all instances and in all spaces, gay men are still
highly constrained in their ability to perform their sexuality (Gorman-Murray and Waitt,
2009). Indeed there are many spaces in Tower Hamlets where gay men do not feel

26 | P a g e
constrained. Perry19
(map below), who moved to Tower Hamlets in the early 2000s, had this
to say about the spaces he decided to designate as ‘gay friendly’:
…the area around Bow, the area in Wapping, the city fringe area, the Isle of
Dogs. They’re all areas that are very cosmopolitan, and have attracted a very
cosmopolitan type of person to live there.
We will consider Perry’s and others’ decisions to map ‘unsafe’ or ‘unfriendly’ spaces
further on. But firstly, as you can see, many of the spaces in Perry’s map are considered “gay
friendly”. For Perry, these spaces were areas known for their ‘cosmopolitan’ vibes, and also
happened to be the highly gentrified neighbourhoods of the borough. Gay men like Perry
have often played prominent roles in the urban regeneration of inner-city neighbourhoods,
and this in turn has created spaces for these men in which they feel comfortable expressing
themselves (see also Lauria and Knopp, 1985; Knopp, 1997; Brown, 2006; Lees, 2000; Flag
Wars, 2003; Hubbard, 2011). Participants in this study suggested that in these spaces,
19
To ensure anonymity, participants’ names have been replaced with pseudonyms. In addition, I have decided
to not include transcripts in the appendix for this very reason. Given the sensitive nature of the research,
anonymity was an important request made by many participants.
Figure 2

27 | P a g e
expressions of queering the street were commonplace – such as showing same-sex affection
in public or the ability to make flamboyant gestures with gay friends (see Leap, 1999; Kitchin,
2002). This contributed to the attractive qualities of these spaces for gay men seeking
somewhere to live and socialise (see also Furlong, 2006; Brown, 1998, 2001, 2006). Like
Perry, Tom and Justin (maps below) also suggest similar reasons behind designating ‘safe’ or
‘gay friendly’ spaces, and how this also reflected their ability to be ‘out’ (openly gay) in these
areas of Tower Hamlets.
...no one batters an eyelid over there [Shoreditch/Spitalfields], it’s full of
Yuppies and Hipsters, and they’re all too busy with their own shit (Tom).
I swear down, once in Canary Wharf, I was snogging this guy, like ... people
looked, but, I didn’t give two shits because I knew they didn’t give two shits
either (Justin).
Figure 3

28 | P a g e
As the cognitive maps suggest so far, we can infer some correlations between those
areas participants have designated as ‘safe’ for gay men to express themselves and the highly
gentrified spaces of the borough. In addition to Perry, many other participants expressed how
‘cosmopolitan’ these spaces were, in terms of economic plurality, ethnic diversity, and as
having visibly queer populations. The diversity of these areas meant that ‘difference’ was
commonplace to most people (Wessendorf, 2013; Brown, 2006; Vertovec, 2007), and for my
participants this was reflected in their beliefs that such spaces were also tolerant of sexual
‘difference’. Interestingly, none of the spaces marked as ‘gay friendly’ were determined by
the presence of a distinctive ‘gay scene’. Indeed Tower Hamlets’ once flourishing ‘gay scene’
has been reduced to one sauna and one pub in the last two decades (Barlow, n.d.). Gavin
Brown (2006) argues that this is a common feature of ‘post-gay’ or ‘cosmopolitan’ spaces,
where he suggests banal performances of homosexuality are increasingly fading into the
backdrop of many urbanscapes, especially as public attitudes towards homosexuality have
softened over time (see also M. Brown, 2013).
Figure 4

29 | P a g e
HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED: THE ROLE OF THE POLICE AND PRIVATE SPACE
IN DESIGNATING ‘SAFE’ SPACE
The construction of space as heteronormative is (re)produced by means of a
‘heterosexual gaze’ that ensures the marginalisation and displacement of dissident sexualities
from both public and private space (Foucault, 1976; Davis, 1995; Robinson et al., 2004).
Whilst the policing of sexuality is mainly achieved through everyday low-level acts of
habitus between members of the public (Lim, 2004; see Bourdieu, 1989, 1992), the police
and other formal institutions have often played a significant role in the continued
displacement of non-normative sexualities from space (Bell, 1995; Nash, 2005, 2006). In this
sense, considering this historic linkage between the police and the marginalisation of gay men
and women, it was startling to hear participants share how the simple presence of a police
station or the visibility of police officers, as well as other forms of private securitisation,
contributed to their decisions to designate certain neighbourhoods in Tower Hamlets as ‘safe’:
...Wapping … It’s got a police station right in the middle, so you know you’re
okay there (Justin).
...the great thing about Canary Wharf is it’s all entirely policed and controlled
by a private company, so they decide what behaviour goes ... a very
policed environment and that makes you feel very comfortable of not being
attacked or threatened (Daniel, map below).
Foucault’s (1976) metaphorical application of a panopticon helps us understand the
ways in which expressions of homosexuality have historically been policed and displaced
from many public environments. In 2014, however, my findings suggest that the presence of
institutional surveillance can actually serve to protect gay men from homophobic abuse. The
older participants of the study could recall times past when harassment and violence from

30 | P a g e
police officers were commonplace, and often institutionally endorsed. Yet according to the
men I spoke with this seemed to have shifted towards a much more positive relationship. This
has therefore contributed to almost all of my participants beliefs that particular areas of the
borough were safer for men to be ‘out’, partly as a result of a greater police/security presence.
However, as the moral contours surrounding sexuality have shifted, and in doing so have
legitimised certain expressions of homosexuality in particular spaces, in some cases this often
coincides with the intentional displacement of other groups. As Ruddick (1996: 135) asserts:
“growing privatization results in the potential exclusion of certain ‘others’ from these spaces”.
This was a somewhat uncomfortable reality for many gay men, as Daniel continues:
...I think they actively police people out of it [Canary Wharf], and I’m not
sure I like that either. So ... those are the places that I feel very
comfortable, which is sad, because what I’m basically saying is that I like
being in nice middle class, mainly white areas that have Waitroses.
It is therefore important to think critically about the surfacing of queer or ‘gay
friendly’ spaces in the city. Although on the surface it appears that those spaces gay men
have designated as ‘safe’ are the result of purely social circumstances, we must not discard
the economic dimensions potentially involved. Duggan’s (2002) concept of ‘new
heteronormativity’ is applicable here. It is possible that as gay men become increasingly vital
in the consumption economies of the city, their homosexuality is becoming normalised within
dominant discursive regimes of heteronormativity, so long as they abide within capitalist
modes of living (Bell and Binnie, 2004: Casey, 2007). In other words, whilst Daniel is
grateful that he can feel ‘safe’ expressing his sexuality in the gentrified areas of East London,
he is uncomfortably aware that those ‘others’ who do not fit in with these spaces are
ultimately excluded. What Daniel and others are suggesting, therefore, is that these highly
exclusionary spaces in Tower Hamlets were not exclusionary for them – more the result of

31 | P a g e
their racialized, gendered and economic privileges than a product of their sexuality20
. The
difficult realisation that Daniel and others are faced with therefore, is that those ‘others’
excluded from the very spaces they have designated as ‘safe’, are also the very people that
influenced their decisions to conceive of ‘unsafe’ spaces in which to express themselves.
DESIGNATING ‘UNSAFE’ SPACE: CONCEALING SEXUALITY AND ‘MUSLIM SPACE’
The “people” Daniel referred to in that last interview extract, those being policed out
of spaces such as Canary Wharf21
, were young, Bangladeshi, Muslim men who generally
reside in the deprived areas of the borough (Aftab et al., 2005). Tower Hamlets has a large
and diverse Bangladeshi Muslim population, in fact the largest outside of Bangladesh (Tower
Hamlets Council, 2014b). The spatial distribution of this group within Tower Hamlets,
however, is not evenly spread (Aftab et al., 2005), and this awareness shone through in the
interviews. Let us consider Daniel’s map, and the spaces that he designated as ‘unsafe’ or
‘not gay friendly’.
20
Remember, the majority of participants were white, middle class men.
21
London’s second Central Business District. See Appendix for more information.
Figure 5

32 | P a g e
Daniel designated the areas around Commercial and Whitechapel Roads as “dangerous” for
himself and other men to be openly gay. Perry and Tom also designated these areas of the
borough as ‘unsafe’. For these men, the perceived high numbers of Bangladeshi Muslims in
these areas, particularly young men, justified their responses. Daniel elaborates:
Daniel: If you’re a gay man, I virtually wouldn’t feel comfortable walking down the
street holding hands, for example, you know, if you’re kissing your boyfriend,
outside Whitechapel tube station, in the middle of the market. I would find
that very uncomfortable ... and I would expect a very high level of abuse for
doing that.
[TS: And what is it about that area?]
Daniel: …because it’s predominantly a Muslim area. It has a very high proportion of
young Muslim men, in that area, and ... I think they’d find that reason to object,
or worse. Whereas I don’t think that would be the same in Shoreditch, or
Canary Wharf for example…
Just as participants constructed certain areas of Tower Hamlets as ‘safe’ or ‘gay
friendly’ – based on factors such as how ‘cosmopolitan’ a place felt, how gentrified an area
had become, or how institutionally policed those environments were – all of the men that
took part in the mapping exercise determined how ‘dangerous’ or ‘unfriendly’ a particular
area was for gay men as a direct result of those areas being constructed as ‘Muslim space’.
Although other factors contributed to these decisions, the overwhelming consensus was that
heteronormative space equated to ‘Muslim space’, and therefore gay men must be alert of this
contention so as to avoid any unwanted hostility. We will explore the construction of
‘Muslim space’ in more depth in the next chapter. In the meantime, it is important to consider

33 | P a g e
for now how the construction of heteronormative space, for my participants, was a
distinctively racialized process22
.
In these spaces, many participants felt as though they needed to conceal their
sexuality so as to avoid disapproving looks or the potential threat of violence (see Valentine,
1993a). The heteropatriarchal nature of Whitechapel and Commercial Roads therefore, as
assumed by those men whom I interviewed, was (re)produced and reinforced as heterosexual
via dominant discourses surrounding the production of heterosexuality in space (Hubbard,
2000). In other words, the intentions of my participants to pass as ‘straight’ only served to
maintain spaces like Whitechapel Road as heteronormative (Lim, 2004; Kirby and Hay, 1997;
Kitchin and Lysagcht, 2003, Valentine, 1993a; Penrose and Smith, 2006). Justin highlighted
the banal ways he regulates himself on the streets in Tower Hamlets he denotes as
“dangerous” or “dank [sic]”23
, giving this detailed account:
... I would put a jacket over a colourful top. I would, walk, and talk, in a very
neutral way ... if I got on the phone to someone, I wouldn’t be busting jokes, I
would just be getting my business done. Like, I wouldn’t be like, hey girl, like,
I’m not some big pretty boy or whatever, but, um, sometimes I do bust jokes
on my phone wit’ ma girls. Oh my god, or my guys. I’d be like, oh my god
Ethane, you tryin’a flirt wit’ me. I wouldn’t be like that in those kinda areas.
I’d just be like, alright Ethane;; I’ll see you at seven.
We can deduce from Justin’s detailed account above, as well as the other insights
presented in this chapter, that spaces in the city are never simply fixed or given as “safe”,
“straight”, “gay”, “gay hating” or “Muslim”. These spaces are socially constructed and made
22
The construction of the racialized ‘Other’ often derives from physical characteristics surrounding skin colour
and notions of ‘race’. Although not your usual racialized category, in the case of Islam and Muslims, the
construction of the ‘Muslim other’ often stems from racialized processes: for example ‘brown skin’, dress,
language, architecture, and other sensate stereotypes of Muslims (see Dunn et al., 2007).
23
“Dank” is slang for “rubbish” or “unpleasant”.

34 | P a g e
through the actions of gay men; through performances that maintain, or subvert, dominant
discourses of heteronormativity (Butler, 1990, 1993; Valentine, 1993a; Lim, 2004; Hubbard,
2001, 2008). Geographies of sexuality denote causation behind the construction of space as
‘straight’, yet offer us little in the way of ‘straight’ space stemming from constructions of
racialized space, or ‘Muslim space’. Turning to the next chapter, I will continue to think
through the lens of sexuality and queer geography. However, in order to understand how
‘straight’ space derives from constructions of ‘Muslim space’, it is necessary to fuse sexuality
literature with insights from everyday geographies of difference and encounter.

35 | P a g e
Chapter Five RACIALIZING INTOLERANCE:
‘STRAIGHT SPACE’ EQUALS
‘MUSLIM SPACE’
Geographers tend to treat constructions of ‘difference’ dualistically – as the product of
majority-minority relations only (de Leeuw et al., 2011). Having argued for new ways of
thinking with ‘difference’, this chapter demonstrates how the construction of heteronormative
space in Tower Hamlets is never a solely ‘straight-gay’ issue. Notions of ‘race’, I will argue,
can and do surface frequently in the process24
. This becomes clear when we consider
minority group relations in multicultural spaces, and are particularly attentive to everyday
lived and felt encounters with ‘difference’ that gay men negotiate on a regular basis.
KNOWING ‘MUSLIM SPACE’: THE RACIALIZATION OF ‘STRAIGHT’ SPACE
As outlined earlier, Lim (2004) and Hubbard (2001, 2011) posit that the construction
of space as heteronormative, or indeed homonormative, is never ontologically definitive, but
socially and culturally produced. This way of thinking applies equally when we consider the
construction of racialized spaces (Jackson and Penrose, 1993; Dwyer and Bressey, 2006), or
‘Muslim space’ with respects to the specific focus of this chapter. Combining these two sets
of thought, focusing on everyday encounters with ‘difference’, my interview responses reveal
how the (re)production of heteronormative spaces in Tower Hamlets coincided with the
construction of racialized spaces, demonstrating the interplay between notions of ‘race’ and
heteronormativity. In other words, as the previous chapter briefly considered, the gay men
whom I interviewed generally conceptualised ‘straight’ areas of the borough as equating to
spaces they perceived as having high concentrations of Muslim men. Additionally, symbolic
representations of Islam in the urban landscape also featured highly in participants’ decisions
to accentuate space as ‘Muslim’. Kuppinger (2014) highlights, for instance, the symbolic
24
And to a lesser extent, gender.

36 | P a g e
function that mosques can play in the creation of ‘Muslim space’. Take Patrico’s map (below)
and his decision to emphasise the presence of the ELM on Whitechapel Road:
...the mosque is over there ... The problem comes that a lot of people have
very strong feelings about, that religion, and whatever goes against that
religion is going to be seen as, bad.
Perry also connected the location of the ELM with his decision to mark Whitechapel as “gay
hating”:
...you’ve got the East London Mosque, where, there are lots of people, who
are particularly religious ... and with that comes certain views that are
intolerant.
Constructions of ‘Muslim space’ and Muslims as intolerant towards homosexuality
did not appear out of thin air, but were rationalised by participants twofold: (i) based on
dominant discourses and popular representations of Islam; and (ii) through everyday
encounters with their Muslim neighbours. In many instances one perpetuated the other.
Figure 6

37 | P a g e
Although the latter featured more highly, sticking briefly with the first reference, the
construction of ‘Muslim areas’ equating to ‘straight’ or “gay hating” spaces derived partly
from dominant discourses surrounding Islamic condemnations of homosexuality 25
, and
representations of Muslims as homophobic in media spaces (Saeed, 2007). As Hall (1997)
reminds us, these discourses can work to produce specific meanings of subjects that then
become normalised as common knowledge, which in turn works to fix these groups in space
(Hall, 1992 cf. Grossberg, 1996: 99). For many participants, the view of Islam as a
particularly intolerant religion stemmed from media representations and local discourses
amongst the gay community regarding the ELM’s relationship with homophobia. To vivify
this, local and national newspapers – as well as the LGBT news source Pink News26
– have
drawn attention to the numerous recent homophobic incidents involving the ELM (see
Gilligan, 2010; 2013; Gilbert, 2011; Green, 2011; Barnett, 2014). This concern was
emphasised by Patrico and Perry in the excerpts above, but was not confined to them. A
number of participants gave similar impressions regarding the ELM. These representations of
the ELM, and Muslims by association, carried themselves from abstract levels and became
(re)produced in the banal spaces of everyday encounters, contributing towards the racial
coding of particular spaces as ‘Muslim’. Such constructions then worked to (re)produce
Whitechapel Road in particular as heteronormative.
Racial coding, as we have considered, involved the designation of certain spaces as
distinctively “Asian” or “Muslim”27
, as Justin asserts is the case of his old housing estate:
“it’s Muslim territory over that way”. This practice involves making sense of one’s own
identity in relation to the prescribed identities we forge onto others, and the spaces in which
25
Like any religion or belief system, Islam is not homogenous. Whilst it is not naïve to suggest conservative
views regarding homosexuality are more commonplace than not in Islam, alternative narratives do exist and
traditional readings of the Qur’an are continuously being contested to make room for queer readings by queer
Muslims. See for example: Yip (2005) and Shannahan (2010).
26
http://www.pinknews.co.uk/
27
Throughout the interviews, references like “Asian” and “Muslim” were used interchangeably.

38 | P a g e
those ‘Other’ bodies become placed (see Clayton, 2008, 2009). Bobby28
, for instance, had
this to say regarding why he would never be ‘out’ in Whitechapel:
...it seems more their territory than someone else’s. You know, it’s kind of
more, condensed, in terms of it being, a kind of, heavily, Muslim area.
Namely, for my participants to make sense of places like Whitechapel as aggressively
heterosexual – or Justin’s sense making of his old housing estate – it seemed necessary for
them to ascribe particular racialized bodies to those spaces. As previously deduced, this was
partly the result of media representations as well as local knowledge within the gay
community (see Sibley, 1995). More importantly, however, how these men came to know
spaces as ‘Muslim’ – and heteronormative by association – was reinforced through the
imagined, emotional and lived geographies of their everyday encounters with ‘difference’
(see Clayton, 2008, 2009; Swanton, 2008, 2010a, 2010b; Pratt, 1998; Saldanha, 2006).
LIVED DIFFERENCE: CONSTRUCTING ‘MUSLIM SPACE’ VIA EVERYDAY
ENCOUNTERS
The construction of ‘Muslim space’ surfaced most acutely for my participants via
everyday encounters. As discussed in the literature review, ‘difference’ is often something
that is made and felt; something that is performed between bodies in space (Saldanha, 2006:
Swanton, 2010a. 2010b; Wilson, 2011). To digress for one moment, I must point out that not
all encounters between participants and their Muslim neighbours were felt as homophobic;
merely a fraction of the “billions of happy and unhappy encounters” (Thrift, 1999: 302;; see
also Wilson, 2011) that surface between bodies in public spaces29
. However, just as the
construction of heteronormative space had simultaneously undergone processes of
28
Bobby is in his mid-30s and lives in gentrified Shoreditch. He moved to London from Australia many years
ago. He decided not to take part in the cognitive mapping exercise.
29
Due to word constraints, I am unable to move away from discussions surrounding homophobia and the
production of heteronormative space, which sadly, is never a positive process. I must stress however, that many
positive encounters between gay men and their Muslim neighbours do surface in everyday spaces.

39 | P a g e
racialization, real and encountered experiences of homophobia also manifested themselves
into sensate differences between participants and their Muslim neighbours in public. For
example, recalling one of the many happy and unhappy encounters with his Muslim peers,
Justin described how there were times during his sixth form years where he often felt
subjected to religious prejudice:
None of the Asian boys wanted to sit next to me ... they didn’t want to sit with
the gay boy ... See the thing is, we all know that Islams [sic] hate gays.
In the everyday space of his sixth form college, Justin spoke of the regular animosity he
encountered from some of his Muslim peers. Whilst research shows that homophobia in
adolescent years is frequently expressed in further education colleges, particularly by young
men attempting to perform normative heteromasculinities (see Martino & Pallotta-Chiarolli,
2003), Justin rationalised his experiences of homophobia and intolerance through an acutely
racialized lens. This derived from his everyday encounters with his Muslim peers, fuelling
beliefs like: “we all know that Islams [sic] hate gays”. As a result, Justin felt it necessary to
conceal aspects of his homosexuality whilst at college, often holding back the more
flamboyant aspects of his identity, not “wishing to offend nobody [sic]”.
Kevin30
, an older gay man who has lived in Tower Hamlets for over fifteen years,
shared a similar experience of not wanting to offend his Muslim neighbours through
expressions of his homosexuality. Kevin’s constructions of ‘Muslim space’ led him to assert
that particular behaviours were expected of him in these spaces, which in turn suppressed
aspects of his identity at times. In those areas constructed as ‘Muslim’, Kevin believed it
respectful of him and other gay men to “not rub it [homosexuality] in their faces”. Kevin
elaborated on the spaces in which he would cover up his homosexuality:
30
Kevin chose not to take part in the cognitive mapping exercise.

40 | P a g e
...around the mosques, down there, there’s another mosque down there. I
mean, you could say you’re being respectful to them, to their religion.
Again, like Perry and Patrico, Kevin made reference to the symbolic presence of
mosques in denoting ‘Muslim space’. Similarly to Kuppinger’s (2014) writings on Muslim
normatives, Justin and Kevin both suggested that in these spaces they would often disguise
the visible aspects of their homosexuality, feeling it necessary to perform identities that fit
with expected Muslim normatives (see also Henkel, 2007) 31
. Through acts of self-policing,
these men not only facilitated the construction of heteronormative space (Valentine, 1993a;
Kirby and Hay, 2007;; Lim, 2004), but also partook in the production of ‘Muslim space’, not
wishing to disrupt the hegemonic discourses viewed as existing within ‘Muslim’ spatialities
(Henkel, 2007;; Kuppinger, 2014). Butler’s (1990) concept of “repeated play” is relevant here:
not necessarily out of fear, but out of “respect”, many of the men whom I interviewed
conformed to what they saw as the dominant conventions in these spaces, only working to
reinforce such conventions as “natural” and “necessary” (see Penrose and Smith, 2006: 1014).
To illustrate, through the concealment of their homosexuality, many participants became
(un)intentionally compliant in making and keeping space ‘Muslim’, and by default ‘straight’.
As such, the (re)production and maintenance of heteronormative space in this instance was
concurrent with, and then enunciated through, the production of racialized ‘Muslim space’.
Alongside racialized processes, everyday encounters of gendered constructs seemed
to bode significantly in fabricating ‘Muslim space’. It should become apparent by now, that
many participants emphasised that those spaces they deemed as ‘unfriendly’ for gay men, did
not just pertain to having high concentrations of Muslim bodies. Encounters with Muslim
men, more so than Muslim women, featured in the construction of racialized ‘Muslim space’.
As a result, notions of gender and ‘race’ often intersected vis-à-vis:
31
Note: neither Kuppinger (2014) nor Henkel (2007) explicitly refer to homosexuality in their articles.

41 | P a g e
The girls are fine, they wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s the boys that give the
trouble ... I’ve been hounded twice and both times it was a bunch of Asian lads
trying to intimidate me, you know, call me a fag and all that... (Richard)32
Richard’s account suggested that Muslim men were more likely to homophobically abuse
him. Based on his lived experiences, Richard therefore gendered, as well as racialized his
accounts of homophobia, constructing Muslim men as potentially violent (see Dunn, 2001 cf.
Hopkins, 2006), whilst simultaneously conceptualising Muslim women as passive and
incapable of homophobic aggression. Recalling Daniel’s interview from Chapter Four,
Richard was not alone in gendering his encounters with Muslim homophobia:
It has a very high proportion of young Muslim men ... and I think
they would find that [holding hands with a boyfriend], experience, I think
they’d find that reason to object, or worse.
Justin’s previous excerpt also personified the significance of gender in his experiences
of homophobia: “None of the Asian boys wanted to sit next to me [in college]”. Gender
constructs were therefore concurrent in the racialization of Muslim intolerance, in turn
fuelling the production of ‘Muslim space’. Moreover, constructs of Muslim men in particular
as homophobic played out in the mundane spaces of everyday encounters; passing through
Whitechapel Market, close to the ELM, or the large council estates around Poplar. As such,
participants adapted and performed identities in accordance with the constructed gendered
dimensions of ‘Muslim space’. For instance, although the Whitechapel Market was
constructed first and foremost as ‘Muslim space’, many of the market stalls are owned and
32
Richard is in his early 50s, described himself as a “raging queen”, and moved to the Isle of Dogs six years
ago. He is originally from Dundee, Scotland. He chose not to take part in the cognitive mapping exercise.

42 | P a g e
worked on by men33
. Similarly, due to religious expectations and exclusionary gendered
practices within Islam, the ELM and surrounding streets were also overwhelmingly gendered
as masculine space (see Begum, 2008). In many instances therefore, encounters with Muslim
men specifically – and not just figurative, non-gendered Muslim bodies – demonstrated how
the production of racialized ‘Muslim space’ intersected with constructs of Muslim
heteromasculinities.
FELT AND IMAGINED GEOGRAPHIES OF MUSLIM INTOLERANCE
The difference between real and imagined encounters with Muslim intolerance was
also noticeable in constructing ‘Muslim space’, although the lines between what constitutes a
‘real’ or ‘imagined’ encounter are often blurred (Conley et al., 2007). Dean’s (map below)
accounts help us make sense of the importance of felt encounters with ‘difference’. As
detailed previously, a panoptical gaze works by making one believe that they are constantly
under scrutiny from a watchful eye, and as a result one must conduct themselves within
normative behavioural frameworks (see Foucault, 1976; Koskela, 2003; Kuppinger, 2014). In
producing heteronormative space, as discussed in the literature review, this is usually
achieved via a ‘heterosexual gaze’ policing the behaviour of homosexuals (Foucault, 1976).
The success of such a gaze is that it works to keep people in check even if no such informal
surveillance is taking place (Davis, 1995). Dean elaborates on this contention for us:
…when I’m with the man [boyfriend] we always make sure we’re not being
couple-ly or anything ... It’s funny, I think we both just have this agreement
not to do that when we’re passing through the [Whitechapel] market. Not that
anything has gone wrong to us, but you can’t be too sure around there.
33
Although from my own observations, it is becoming increasingly common to see Muslim women working on
the market.

43 | P a g e
Dean’s map and account resonates with many of his fellow participants;; designating
Whitechapel and Poplar as ‘unsafe’ to be openly gay. However, when asked whether he had
ever experienced homophobic abuse from his Muslim neighbours, he could not produce an
example, but then again Dean was never ‘out’ in many parts of the borough. Yet the potential
for Muslim homophobia was still very much felt by Dean: “but you can’t be too sure around
there”. Foucault’s (1976) panopticon metaphor sits well with this account, highlighting the
importance of fear and assumption in the maintenance of heteronormative space (see also
Koskela, 2003). Subsequently, the policing of Dean’s and his partner’s relationship in spaces
like Whitechapel was cited time and time again, brought about through their “compulsion to
repeat” those behaviours expected from them (Butler, 1990) – unconsciously “fitting in” with
the heteronormative temperament of the area as Dean saw it (Valentine, 1993a). This
experience resonates with Justin and Kevin’s compliance with Muslim normatives. More
crucially in this instance, is that this felt encounter was not solely a product of distinguishing
space as only heteronormative. Like his fellow participants, Dean’s map and our subsequent
discussions revealed plenty of spaces in Tower Hamlets where he felt comfortable being ‘out’
Figure 7

44 | P a g e
with his partner. “NO!” on Dean’s map did not just mean heteronormative or ‘straight’ space.
“NO!” equated to ‘Muslim space’ and therefore equated to heteronormative space. Similar to
Skelton’s (1995) revelations as discussed in Chapter Two, the production of
heteronormativity in Tower Hamlets, therefore, is not solely a ‘straight-gay’ issue. The
encounters expressed so far in this paper, including Dean’s felt encounters of Muslim
intolerance, reveal how notions of ‘race’, religion, gender and sexuality become entangled in
the production of racialized, heteronormative space.
This became even clearer when probed further to disclose his sensitivities on the
matter. Dean spoke of feeling upset that he could never be ‘out’ with his partner in
Whitechapel. Describing himself as a “realist”, Dean made it clear to me that he knew of
homophobia existing in all parts of the UK, ‘Muslim space’ or not. What played in the back
of Dean’s mind, however, was that although he made a point to challenge anti-Islamic
sentiments in wider society, he felt as though the Muslims he encountered daily on the streets
would not return the favour, reinforcing his views of Whitechapel and Poplar as aggressively
heterosexual. Regarding homophobic sentiments expressed within the ELM, he states:
...I know it’s against their religion, but they must know what it’s
like to be hated ... it does piss me off when they let these bigots call for me to
be pushed off a mountain.34
The racialization of space as ‘Muslim’ by my participants cannot be conceived of as
bigotry on their part, or even irrational. Lived, emotional and imagined encounters of
‘difference’ are felt, and therefore real and worthy of attention (Pratt, 1998). The final excerpt
by Dean sheds light on this contention; that as long as intolerance is felt by gay men in
34
Although my knowledge of Islamic literature is very weak, Dean is referring to a story from an Islamic text
where the Prophet Mohammed’s companions were unsure as how to deal with those “committing” homosexual
acts. One group of men suggested pushing those accused down a mountain. As well as the story of Lut, this
example often surfaces as scriptural evidence when Muslim clerics condemn homosexuality within Islam.

45 | P a g e
‘Muslim spaces’, then ‘race’ will continue to function in the production of heteronormative
spaces in Tower Hamlets. In my view, this then works in detaching both gay men and their
Muslim neighbours from wider discursive regimes of hegemony, regimes that leave both
groups continuously marginalised from mainstream society. As geographers, these
encounters must demand us to think more critically as to how ‘difference’ between minority
groups can be evaluated (Valentine, 2008), and then accommodated in this so-called age of
“super-diversity” (Vertovec, 2007).
My findings concur with Valentine and Waite’s (2012: 475) observations in this
respect;; that “there is a need for geographers to be more attentive to potential tensions
between the values, interests, and rights of equality groups in everyday encounters”. The felt
intolerance experienced by Dean – and the many more participants that cannot be accounted
for due to word constraints – exposes geographers to how (in)tolerance and prejudices are
performed and constructed in a manner of ways that have so far escaped many of our current
understandings of ‘difference’ in the city (de Leeuw et al., 2011). Minority group intolerance
has therefore escaped necessary critical reflection. Consequently, as Skelton (1995: 268)
rightly highlighted almost twenty years ago: “If tensions and divisions within and between [...]
marginalised groups are created and actively maintained then it is much easier to maintain a
cultural and geographical hegemony: white, Western, male and heterosexual”. In my view, by
obfuscating minority group relations in space, the continued marginalisation of all minority
communities by wider discursive forces can only continue to be served legitimacy.

46 | P a g e

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