Queer in Québec: the rainbow community of Montréal
Anyone wanting to visit Canada quickly thinks of Toronto or Vancouver. But also in the charming Montréal, located in the French-speaking province of Québec, the rainbow community flourishes. Winq editor Martijn visited the village, learned all about queer dodgeball, and spoke with a family with three fathers fighting for equal rights.
It's a sunny autumn afternoon as I get a tour through the village of Montréal, a surprisingly large area where the queer community comes together. The origin story of the village is interesting: in the early eighties, gay men flocked to the area around Rue Sainte-Catherine Est, between the districts of Saint-Hubert and Papineau, in the south of downtown Montréal. There were two large hospitals in the area. The now-closed Hôpital Saint-Luc was the hospital where people with HIV and AIDS could go during the AIDS crisis and was one of the first hospitals to open a specialised ward for AIDS patients. A few streets away, when Saint-Luc could no longer handle the overwhelming influx of patients, Hôpital Notre-Dame was also used as a hospital for people with HIV and AIDS. Rents in the area were low at the time, and there were enough large buildings suitable for catering and shops, which naturally led to the creation of this gay village, as you find in many large North American cities. This designation was officially established by the city in 1999, when the Beaudry metro station in the village was also permanently decorated with rainbow decorations. The local merchants' association now tries to call the area simply 'the village'. This is to make the name of the district feel more inclusive for every member of the rainbow community, which in Canada is also known as the 2SLGBTQ+ community (where 2S stands for 'two-spirit').
bright pink village
To reinforce the sense of inclusivity, the Proud Colours project was launched in 2021. The merchants' association commissioned the agency Daily Tous Les Jours to place more than 150 round poster pillars along Rue Sainte-Catherine Est, each displaying different Pride flags and explaining their origins and meanings. In total, more than 35 flags can be seen on the 150 pillars. My guide Michel Jutras, an older man who has lived near the village with his partner for more than twenty years, and who also conducts food tours alongside tours on queer history, enthusiastically says: “In the evenings, the pillars are beautifully lit, and this creates a beautiful and colourful image, especially during the harsh Canadian winters when the village is buried under a thick layer of snow.”
The village covers a large area, with a wide variety of bars and shops. “Of course, the rise of the internet and associated dating apps has also led to a decline in the number of places where the community gathers,” my guide explains, “but there are still plenty of bars and clubs. You should go to the Stud for bears and men in leather, Rocky is mainly for an older crowd, Cocktail hosts drag performances, and Renard is mainly for young people.” It turns out that even strippers perform at bar Stock.
It is largely a pedestrian area, and the streets are brightened up here and there with bright pink chairs. My guide also has a fun fact about them: “They come from the Olympic stadium, which was renovated last year!” The chairs were thoroughly cleaned and painted pink. “Ideal, because these chairs are very resilient: they don't break easily and can withstand different weather conditions.”
The large number of shops in the village is also striking. There are cosy coffee shops, restaurants, and of course places where you can buy toys and gear. The shop with the most extravagant display is undoubtedly Chez Priape. This store opened its doors fifty (!) years ago and has been in its current location since 1987. Everything is sold there, from leather fashion to underwear and sportswear, but Chez Priape is especially notable for its extravagant display, where various scenes are depicted by GI Joe-like dolls. Coincidentally, GI Joe is also the name of the busiest gay sauna in the village.
the large number of shops in the village stands out. there are cosy coffee shops, restaurants, and of course places where you can buy toys and gear.
unique library
About 500 meters from Rue Sainte-Catherine is the Montréal LGBTQ+ Community Centre, a place that has served as a centre to support the queer community since 1988. “The centre was really born out of necessity,” says community worker Josu Otaegi Alcaide. “People needed a safe place, but also a cultural space where they could talk, mourn, and come together.”
In the early years, in the midst of the AIDS crisis, the centre primarily had a socio-cultural function. No medical services were offered, but activities were organised, conversations held, and memories recorded of the people the community had lost. “It was a way to keep the names of the victims alive,” says Josu. The space was initially above a restaurant on Rue Sainte-Catherine, in the middle of the village. “Until that restaurant burned down,” he adds. “Then we had to move, first to a location near Parc La Fontaine, and later to our current building, in an old school.”
Over the years, the centre grew from a completely volunteer initiative with just one or two staff members, to an organisation with six staff members, five interns, and a regular group of volunteers. “It remains small-scale,” says Josu, “but fortunately we can now run a number of important programmes in a structured way.”
One of the most special projects is the Open Book Library, founded in 1991 by Benoît Migneault. What started with a few hundred books, grew into a unique collection of over 20,000 titles: novels, essays, comics, poetry collections, films, and even children's books about sexual and gender diversity. “It is the only library in Québec that focuses entirely on sexual diversity,” says Quentin Legavre, who as assistant director is involved with the collection. “We have collections on HIV, experiences of sexual violence, Eastern European queer stories, Afro-queer history, and recently a new collection with Latin American queer stories.”
There is hardly any structural funding. Yet the initiative was awarded the Newlen-Symons Award by the American Library Association in 2017, a prize for institutions that excel in their service to the rainbow community.
help with a new life
In addition to the library, the centre runs the LGBTQ+ Compass programme, which focuses on refugees. “About 95 percent of our members are refugees,” Josu explains. “In total, we now have about 5,300 active members.” Compass offers workshops, help with integration, and above all, a place to catch your breath. “The asylum procedure is incredibly bureaucratic and lonely. We try to break that isolation. People come here, meet others, form small friendship groups. After a few months, we sometimes don't see them anymore, and that's good: it means they've found their own network.”
The influx of new members has exploded in recent years. “In 2022, we had 800 members, in 2023 already 2,500, and now more than 5,000,” Josu says. As a result, it is no longer possible to personally guide all refugees or write extensive support letters for their asylum procedure, something the centre used to be able to do. “We now write shorter statements confirming that someone is an active member and has participated in our activities. Of course, it is not proof of someone's orientation, but hopefully, it helps their case.”
Most refugees coming to Québec originate from Sub-Saharan Africa, particularly from French-speaking countries like Cameroon and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, but also English-speaking countries like Ghana and Nigeria, where the LGBTQIA+ community is increasingly persecuted. “But we receive people from 47 different countries,” says Josu.
everyone who applies for asylum in canada must undergo an hiv test. as a result, some only discover upon arrival that they are hiv-positive.
In addition to social support, the centre provides practical information about health, rights, and everyday matters, such as filing a tax return. “Everyone who applies for asylum in Canada must undergo a medical examination, including an HIV test,” says Quentin. “As a result, some only discover upon arrival that they are HIV positive. We work with organisations like ACCM (AIDS Community Care Montréal) and PRAIDA, which provide medical guidance. We also refer refugees to clinics where they can start PrEP.”
There are plenty of future plans. The centre is soon moving to a new building and wants to expand its activities, with more space for initiatives from the community itself. “We want the people who come here to propose topics and set up projects themselves,” says Josu. “We are thinking, for example, of women's groups and sports activities. Many visitors come here not only for help but also for a second family. And that is what we try to be.”
go raccoon hunters!
Just like the visitors of the community centre, in 2017 a group of friends was looking for a way to create a sense of community while simultaneously putting an end to past sports traumas. They founded Les Ratons-Chasseurs ('the raccoon hunters'), a queer dodgeball team. Many queer young people who remember PE lessons in secondary school, especially those involving dodgeball, will not look back on them fondly. “Dodgeball was really used as a way to bully someone,” says Laurence Brosseau, current president of Les Ratons-Chasseurs. “Anyone who was different was hit first or chosen last.”
“In the beginning, our members were purely about having fun,” Laurence says. “We mainly wanted to create new memories, good ones instead of bad. When a few members discovered they could sign up for a dodgeball tournament, they thought: oh, we're actually quite good, let's join. But they were completely beaten.” Laurence laughs. “That's when they realised that dodgeball was also played in a very serious competitive context. Since then, we have two evenings a week: one competitive and one recreational. So there is something for everyone.” That accessibility is exactly what makes the league so successful. “It's a low-threshold sport,” Laurence explains. “You don't have to buy an expensive outfit, and you don't need a sports background.
The low threshold has an unexpected effect: people who never considered themselves sporty suddenly discover they have talent. “In our team, the top players are often those who never did sports before,” says Laurence proudly. “In the US, dodgeball is often played by ex-baseball players, very macho. With us, it's queer people of all shapes and sizes, from 19 to 50, who learn they can be powerful. That is incredibly empowering.” Les Ratons-Chasseurs has trans, non-binary, and gender-fluid players. “They can participate in the category where they feel at home,” says Laurence proudly. “That is not a given in all sports.”
The league is affiliated with Montréal Pride and is part of Équipe Montréal, the network of queer sports and culture clubs. “We play every Thursday, but afterwards, we all head to the pub together. We pay for the first beers, as the social aspect is just as important as the sporting one. There are people who joined our team who didn't know anyone, but within a year developed a whole group of friends.”
Laurence even met her girlfriend in the team. “She was new, played really hard, and everyone said: ‘You have to keep an eye on her’. But on the first night, she immediately broke her thumb and then disappeared for months. I actually thought we would never hear from her again. But she came back, completely recovered, and now she still plays. We've been together for quite a while.”
three men and a baby
If Laurence and her girlfriend ever think about having children, they have roughly the same rights and opportunities in Québec as in the Netherlands, although Québec offers slightly more possibilities to adopt a child from their own country. On the other hand, the adoption process in Québec involves extensive and therefore time-consuming research, and in the case of donor pregnancy, the partner is not automatically recognised as in the Netherlands if the donor is unknown. Efforts are currently underway in Québec to make this legally possible.
Witnessing this process from the sidelines are Éric, Justin, and Jonathan. They are a throuple with an adopted three-year-old daughter. Justin and Jonathan are already officially recognised as fathers and are now trying to have Éric officially established as a parent as well. Twenty years ago, Justin and Jonathan fell in love. About twelve years later, Jonathan met Éric during a job in Québec City. He introduced Éric to Justin, and what followed was a year-and-a-half long-distance relationship. When the pandemic broke out, Éric decided to move in with Justin and Jonathan in Montréal, instead of staying alone in Québec City. They were happy but also thought about their future together. “We already formed a chosen family of three,” says Éric. “And we wanted to expand that family.” Not with the help of a surrogate, but through adoption, because they wanted to give an existing child a home.
In other Canadian provinces, such as Ontario and British Columbia, multi-parenting is already possible, usually in situations where biological parents remain involved in the upbringing of the child. Not in Québec. There, civil law applies, and it does not allow for a third legal parent. A judge recently ruled that this is unconstitutional, but the government appealed. The three men are closely following the process. “We are not the face of that lawsuit,” Justin explains, “but we do support the families fighting that battle. Because their victory would also be ours.”
the adoption file of éric, justin, and jonathan was taken over by another team. "only they had never heard of a throuple"
transparency
In Québec, adoption is handled through child protection services, the Direction de la protection de la jeunesse (DPJ). Because a regular adoption process can take ten years, the trio chose a faster route: foster care with a view to adoption. They soon discovered that honesty does not always pay. “We wanted to be open about who we are,” says Justin. “But as soon as we told them we were a threesome, they no longer wanted to evaluate our case.”
With the help of a lawyer, their file was taken over by another team, where there was room for a conversation. “They had never heard of a throuple,” Jonathan laughs. “They first thought it was something exotic or sexual, but they opened up, really listened to us, and gave us a chance.”
The trio didn't get that chance just like that. They had to deal with two social workers, piles of mandatory reading, first aid courses, and 25 hours of evaluations. “We had to be perfect,” says Éric. “As if we had to prove extra that we were worthy of a child.” After five years, they got the green light. In November 2023, their little daughter came to live with them, and in September 2024, the adoption was officially completed. From that moment, she took on the surname of Justin and Jonathan.
That Éric is still not recognised as a parent remains a sore point. “You notice it constantly in daily life,” he says. “If she needs to go to the doctor, I can't sign anything. If we were to travel, I would need permission from the others. And suppose Justin and Jonathan are no longer there, then I have no legal rights.” Even practical matters, such as receiving emails from the nursery, prove complicated: the nursery's email system can only enter a maximum of two parents' email addresses.
When the story of Justin, Jonathan, and Éric appeared in the media, the reactions poured in. They weren't all equally kind. “We received support from all over the world, but also nasty messages,” says Jonathan. Some people see the trio as the personification of the ‘woke culture’. “Many nasty comments come from religious quarters, and of course, we deal with a lot of homophobia. It all stems from ignorance.” Éric is not discouraged. “We hesitated for a long time about whether we still wanted to talk to journalists. But in the end, we thought: it's better that we tell how it really is ourselves than let others fill it in.” Justin adds: “We are not doing this to be in the spotlight. For us, recognition of Éric as the third parent is really paramount.” The trio is concerned about the current political climate, both in Canada and beyond. “It feels like a door is open now, which is slowly starting to close,” says Éric. “We want to go through it while we still can.”
In the village, at the community centre, with the dodgeball team and even in the complex struggle of a trio of fathers, it always revolves around the same thing: people making space for each other, and collectively trying to improve the lives of the rainbow community in Montréal. This does not happen without a hitch, but with the enthusiasm and kindness for which Canada is so well known.