The story behind Lesbians Unite!

I met my life partner in 1986, having had little dating experience, and wondered what it was like for others to find love and friendship. Working on the July issue of Angles gave me the opportunity to interview several generations of women to find out.

I interviewed Nancy Kato on May 13 in New Westminster, and we spoke about community advocacy, coming out late in life, the social scene in Vancouver in the 2000s, meeting her partner, and sharing community events through a newsletter.

I interviewed Sandy McCartie on May 16 by video from Powell River. We spoke for over an hour about how we met our mutual friend, Margaret Cormier, the discreet lesbian social group Gazebo Connection, the social scene in Vancouver in the 80s, volunteering with a hospice society, loss of a partner, and the queer community in Powell River.

Interviews by email with Mandy Randhawa and Jasmine Ruff rounded out the generations. Background research included archived issues of Angles, where Gazebo Connection advertised and reported major events, including a 1986 letter from a Dutch tourist who marched in Vancouver Pride and admonished them for standing on the sidelines. GC's archived web page is still available on the Internet Archive Wayback Machine. Verifying club names and other locations was a challenge, since most were gone. However, traces of these people and places can still be found across the web, including Camp Tawonga, Ariel Bookstore, Menopausal Old Bitches (MOBS), Champagne Charlie's, and Doll and Penny's Restaurant.

The text of the article and bonus photos are below...

Lesbians unite!

Queer women and those who love them connecting through the ages.

By A.M. Kirsch (they/them)

A.M. is a lesbian trans nonbinary writer based in New Westminster. You can find them at amkirsch.com

In the May 1984 issue of Angles, Linda Franchi wrote, “Where are all you merry lesbians?” She lamented the difficulty of finding other lesbians in the bars and at the Vancouver Gay Community Centre, “…which has approximately ten women involved.” Linda suggested that anyone lonely in the spring should make the first move in the office, department store, library, gallery, seawall or movie theatre.

Only three months earlier, she had written an article about a group called the Gazebo Connection (GC), formed in 1980 to bring “career women” together confidentially and advocate for the community at all levels of government. Even an active group of 160 like-minded women didn’t create a deep dating pool or as strong an advocacy group as there might have been if the thousands of closeted lesbians in Vancouver had become involved.

GC was formed because there were few gay bars or clubs in the early 80s, and the founders of GC (Marsha Trew, Paulette Thomson, Sharyn Collis, Judith Shaver and Val Fortey) viewed them as “dirty, dark establishments in rough areas of the city; the bathrooms had stalls where doors were non-existent.” They wanted a place “where lesbian women could have a quiet drink, pleasant conversation and feel good about themselves.” Many women in the group were afraid of being outed, facing harassment for being lesbian in the workplace and losing their jobs.

Through ads and events listings in Angles, club postings, word of mouth, flyers and a newsletter, they brought together women for monthly dinners that grew into dances and interest groups, such as golf, hiking, bridge, choir and books. They hosted their dinners first at a restaurant in Gastown called Gazebo (hence their name) and moved to the successively larger restaurants, Water Street Café, Quarry House and the Stanley Park Pavilion.

Sandy McCartie was one of the early members of GC, coming out in 1981 and finding it “a lifesaver.” After leaving a marriage to a man, she discovered that being around a group of confident, supportive women helped her overcome internalized homophobia. There was a lot happening in the gay community in the 80s, with dances and potlucks every weekend. She and a lesbian friend were regulars at Doll & Penny's Café on Davie and Quadra on Homer (a lesbian-owned club). Her social circle included around 100 lesbians, with between 30 and 50 of them showing up at houses for potlucks or attending GC dinners.

She met her life partner, Heather, in 1987, and they found community in bookstores, like Ariel Books and Women's Bookstore (Vancouver was the only city in North America supporting two feminist bookstores), conferences and festivals, like the West Coast Women's Music and Comedy Festival at Camp Tawonga outside of Yosemite, CA. Around 3000 women gathered one weekend a year for ten years at Camp Tawonga, divided into affinity groups such as “loud and rowdy,” “clean and sober,” “women and children,” and “differently abled.”

“It was so positive. All of us felt so good about ourselves as lesbians and so enriched, realizing what we had. This very significant culture was quite wonderful and full of activism. It just made you feel so much less isolated, right? And so proud of being lesbian and what we’d done.”

As the years passed, many women paired off and became less interested in group events, while those who remained with GC grew older together until the group was predominantly composed of older women. They described themselves as organizing “social and cultural events of particular interest to lesbians over the age of 40, although all lesbians are welcome.” They disbanded in 2012 and donated the remaining balance of their bank account to QMUNITY.

Nancy Kato recalled that many like her remained closeted during much of GC’s years and couldn’t come out for fear of losing their jobs or families. She came out at 45 to her long-term (male) partner, family, friends, and Shaw Cable viewers in 1999 at Pride, dancing on top of the Hummer she intended to ride in.

But the women's bars and gathering spaces at that time weren’t much more welcoming than they had been 20 years earlier, when GC was formed. Some described them as “unsafe, rat-infested spaces with terrible lighting and broken sound systems, while gay men could afford nicer venues and events.” One place Nancy remembers wistfully is Charlie’s, where lesbians felt safe to hang out and dance. The bar was on Abbot and Pender with the edgier Lotus downstairs.

Nancy first joined a group founded by Pat Hogan, called MOBS, for Menopausal Old Bitches. They were the Yang to GC’s Yin. “We did monthly potlucks, met at dances and marched in the Pride parade. It was fun to see older lesbians come out and actually have some fun instead of being closeted.”

She met her partner, Dianne, at a brunch hosted by another organizer, Helen Armstrong. Fifty lesbian women took over a restaurant in White Rock that wasn’t usually open on Sunday mornings. Dianne became part of her circle of friends, and with the encouragement of friends, pushed Nancy to ask Dianne out.

“We bought a coffee at Starbucks, some flowers and a bottle of wine. We went to dinner at a friend’s house. I was still getting over my last relationship and wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved with anyone. It turned out to be the right decision because Dianne scored 9 out of 10 on my list of things I wouldn't compromise on — no roommate, she owned her own place, she was gainfully employed, didn't smoke, didn't have live-at-home children. Plus, she loved being outdoors, camping and hiking. Bonus! She had a really good sense of humour and loved to experiment and try different foods. So I'm thinking, ‘Wow, the only thing on my list she didn’t meet was height.’ All my other girlfriends were short. I figured I would try someone tall, but she's mighty, so I thought, ‘OK, I can let that one go.’”

Nancy discovered that women were hesitant to venture out alone and preferred knowing there would be others present, so she began an email list for events. “It was an invitation for the single women to not be afraid. Come on out.”

Her list now reaches a few hundred people, having peaked at around 1000, and focuses on events east of Vancouver. She became “the lady with the list,” a political activist at the federal, provincial and municipal levels, a booster for local businesses, a matchmaker, and she helped a few people find a place to live.

“I've lived a life like this because I spent my early adult years being so suppressed. From the time I was on my own at 16 until I was 40, I was suppressed. I really felt I had to live for somebody else, and I wasn't true to myself because I didn't think I was allowed to be. So when I discovered myself, I thought, ‘Shit! I've got a lot of time to make up. So I've come out with a vengeance on everything. Now I have crammed in a lifetime of experience that most people spend 70 years earning. I've done that in 30.”

Mandy Randhawa met her wife and business partner, Leigh Cousins, at a women’s party at Club 23 West after a mutual friend introduced them over 25 years ago. As Flygirl, they produce events for lesbian, bisexual and queer women, 2SLGBTQIA+ folks and allies to connect with new friends and lovers. They work to foster diverse, safe and inclusive spaces while supporting local artists, particularly those who identify as women, queer and nonbinary.

When Mandy first came out, she was one of the few openly lesbian South Asian women, but she is now excited to see so many join her in the community.

Chicas and Hershe Bar Pride parties have hosted numerous engagements. In addition to their events, Mandy's friends use apps, mutual friends, sports, hobbies and online groups to connect.

Jasmine met her first two girlfriends in person, but over the last few years, has been dating exclusively through apps. There was a stigma around apps until recently, making it more difficult to meet other queer folks. “Now, apps have widespread acceptance and, from my vantage, that’s how most people make connections. However, now I get the sense that people are using social media less, and that makes me wonder if that will lead to folks making more in-person connections.”

Jasmine adds, “Maybe it’s because I’m now in my thirties, but it seems to me people are dating with a lot more intention. It feels like folks know what they want (monogamy, nonmonogamy, something casual, something long-term, etc.) and bring that into early dates.”

The way lesbians in Vancouver have connected has evolved from bars, house parties, potlucks and organized events to finding each other through apps, but it’s been driven by the same desire over the decades: overcome isolation and discrimination to discover community, love and pride in ourselves.