Whether they’re at the zoo, a Lynx game or even a sprawling Minneapolis cemetery, 15-year-old Luca Johnson and his mentor, Kate Whaley, always find something to connect over or laugh about.
Yuen: Minnesota is about to get a new center for LGBTQ youth
Queerspace Collective, which started as “a queer version of Big Brothers Big Sisters,” opens its doors to a one-of-a-kind space in Minneapolis.
The cemetery trip — well, that was memorable.
“Getting lost in a graveyard, that was one of our first bonding experiences,” Kate recalls, explaining that neither she nor Luca has a particularly strong sense of direction.
“It was weird,” Luca agrees. “But fun.”
Now Kate and Luca will have one more place to bond: a new drop-in center for LGBTQ youth.
The Queerspace Collective, a Minneapolis nonprofit, will officially open the center on Oct. 13 at the corner of Lyndale and Franklin avenues. It’s a milestone for an organization that began just three years ago with an idea to provide one-on-one intergenerational mentorship — “a queer version of Big Brothers Big Sisters,” says founder and executive director Nicki Hangsleben.
By offering young people a place to do their homework, enjoy a snack, play cards or access services, the new physical space will fill a much-needed void, she says: The Twin Cities currently does not have a drop-in center for LGBTQ youth. Even as Minnesota becomes known nationally as a trans refuge, not all LGBTQ young people feel comfortable walking down the street in their own community.
“They don’t know how folks are going to react to them because of who they are, or how they look, or how they show up,” Hangsleben said. “They know with Queerspace, they can come in. We love and accept a kid regardless of what pronouns they’re using on what day.”
Luca and Kate were among the organization’s very first matches in the mentorship program. At the outset, Queerspace asked all of its mentors to write an introductory letter to their potential mentees. Kate wrote she liked dogs and ice cream. Luca decided: “Winner!”
When he met Kate three years ago, he went by a different first name and was questioning his gender identity. Kate was one of the first people to whom he admitted that he believed he was transgender. He worried about telling his parents, fearing it would stress them out. It was in part due to his friendship with Kate that he, as an eighth-grader, decided to come out to his parents as trans.
“They’d much rather know than not know,” Kate remembers telling him. “You’d feel a lot better if you did tell them so you weren’t hiding this big part of yourself from two people who are really close to you.”
Another piece of lifelong advice she gave him? It’s OK if not everyone understands exactly what it’s like to be in your shoes. But if they love and respect you, that’s what matters.
In return, Kate says she’s gleaned insight into what it’s like to be a teen in 2024. (She has a 14-year-old son who “does not talk to me” or respond to her texts, she half-jokes. But Luca does.)
Kate, who is bisexual, is married to a cis man. She realizes most people would assume she is straight. But outward appearances belie the sense of isolation she felt growing up in the ‘90s in Mendota Heights, when she did not have a trusted LGBTQ adult she could turn to to talk about her sexuality.
“I really had no outlet — a mentor or any sort of adult role model. That just didn’t exist in my community,” she said. “I think because of that, it took me a lot longer to piece everything together and figure out my identity.”
The new center, at a modest 3,000 square feet, has an industrial-office vibe and will house Queerspace staff during the day. In evenings the space will shift more into programming mode. Hangsleben hopes to eventually open it up to community partners that also serve LGBTQ youth.
This won’t be the first time a center for gender-expansive teens will open its doors in Minneapolis. The now-closed District 202, which started as a coffee house for gay youth in 1992, grew into a drop-in center that also included a library and dance space. Efforts have been bandied about to build a new Twin Cities community center for queer and trans folks of all ages to gather.
Queerspace, as well, has evolved. Beyond one-on-one mentoring, it also hosts group hangouts for young people to find their mentors as well as inclusivity training for other youth organizations. At the same time, the organization is broadening its reach to serve people up to age 24.
Queerspace plans to expand into virtual mentoring so underserved LGBTQ youth in Greater Minnesota can also foster meaningful relationships and a sense of connection. Sadly, about 39% of LGBTQ young people seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year, according to a poll by the Trevor Project.
It was Luca’s own mom who suggested he should check out Queerspace a few years ago. (The one-on-one mentorship program requires a parent to sign off.)
At the time, Luca hadn’t spoken to many people about his queer identity, which he describes as an important but not outsized aspect of his life. Today he thrives in a socially welcoming charter school in Eden Prairie where, when it comes to gender identity and expression, “nobody cares — but in a good way.”
Still, he said, he loves being part of Queerspace, a place where says he can exist without judgment and find a friend like Kate, who is not his parent or teacher, therapist or peer.
“We’re able to have a lot of fun and joke around, but also have deep conversations,” he said. “Having advice from someone who’s lived longer than me is really important. After our hangouts, I’ve thought, ‘Yeah, that’s helpful. I’m going to use that.’”
If you go
A Queerspace celebration will be held Oct. 13, starting with a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new center at 12:30 p.m. It will be followed by the organization’s annual Spirit Day festivities from 1-4 p.m., at 1936 Lyndale Av. S., Mpls. Music, drag queens and appearances from Mayor Jacob Frey and other elected officials and community leaders are planned. For more information, visit queerspacecollective.org.
The center provided a gathering place in north Minneapolis for those who weren’t always welcome elsewhere.