Berlin celebrates queer culture at Lesbian* Visibility Award 2024

Berlin's Lesbian* Visibility Award breaks records with 290 bold entries

A Night of Celebration—and Resistance

It starts with a tremor. When the two dozen singers of the D-Dur Dykes choir launch into the opening bars of Chappell Roan's Good Luck, Babe! on Wednesday evening in Kreuzberg's festive hall—or at the latest when Equality Senator Cansel Kiziltepe strides onto the stage in sunglasses—the mood for the night is set. This is a celebration. A loud one.

A record 290 registrations for the 5th Berlin Award for Lesbian* Visibility, Kiziltepe announces. Yet the initial euphoria in the room can't obscure the fact that visibility in 2026 has two sides. "The world out there is often oppressive and intimidating," warns host Lydia Malmedie at the outset. The evening becomes a balancing act between the safe space of the queer community and the frequently hostile reality beyond its doors—a tension that runs through the event like a thread.

The defining moment belongs to Til Fox, founder of ButchWalk, a fashion show where masculine-presenting and male-read FLINTA individuals take the runway to celebrate their style and way of life.

As the winner of the €5,000 main prize, Fox takes the mic. The project—which also marks its fifth anniversary this year—isn't about commercial pressure, they explain. "We deliberately work with small labels, queer designers, sustainable fashion, vintage, and upcycling. Far from the mainstream and fast fashion." The English term butch, Fox notes, is often loaded with negative connotations. ButchWalk* aims to reclaim it with pride and introduce it to younger generations.

According to photographer Deborah Moses Sanks—Fox's laureate and the 2024 prize winner—ButchWalk treats clothing not as consumption but as language. Speaking via video link from the U.S., where she has also walked the show as a model, she says, "ButchWalk gave me the chance to present a version of myself I couldn't show anywhere else."

For the first time this year, second and third places also received awards. Longtime activist Monique King and Elodie Forget of the Lesberlin Run & Social Club each took home €2,500. Filmmaker Sophia Emmerich, who presented King's award, reminded the audience in her speech that visibility sometimes means ensuring others can take center stage.

Fox shares, "The asterisk in ButchWalk gets bigger on our poster every year. That's no accident—it's political." Because visibility in Berlin isn't just about celebratory events in Kreuzberg. That much was clear during the recent action days for Lesbian Visibility Day on April 26, which deliberately shifted focus beyond the city's core—into the outer districts. In Treptow-Köpenick, Lichtenberg, or Marzahn-Hellersdorf, queer life often still means pioneering work.

Ten kilometers southeast of the festive hall, in the heart of Adlershof, lies the Casablanca, a small arthouse cinema. A lamppost just outside its entrance bears an AfD poster: an invitation to a "citizen dialogue" with politicians who staunchly oppose queer lives. Yet on Friday evening, about 30 people—most of them FLINTA—gather here, drawn in part by the initiative of LesLeFam e.V. for a deliberately lesbian film night.

Inside, the queer film The Youngest Daughter flickers across the screen, preceded by local ads—including one from a neighborhood pastor lamenting the loss of community spaces. On this night, the Casablanca is that space. The youngest attendee is 20; many in the audience have gray hair. But some have traveled from other districts—Kreuzberg, Moabit, Mitte. Reaching lesbian people in the outer boroughs remains a challenge. Events like the Queer Autumn Festival*, now in its fifth year, have seen successes—but they're far from self-sustaining.

In Lichtenberg, officials are currently drafting a district action plan, and a half-time position for a queer affairs officer is set to be created. But it will take at least six to nine more months before these structures take effect. "Everything would be so much easier if all twelve districts had queer affairs officers," one woman remarks at a sparkling wine reception.

Marzahn-Hellersdorf has had a women's and equal rights commissioner since 2015: Maja Loeffler, working alongside other district queer and equality officers, has launched a program that doesn't just focus on queer suffering but deliberately highlights the joyful aspects of queer life. This includes a film screening in Hellersdorf, where a similarly large audience watches "15 Ways to Say I Love You"—a French film centered on a lesbian couple expecting a child. While the legal hurdles of adoption, painful family dynamics, and the protagonists' insecurities are addressed, the film also celebrates the happiness of new life.

Queer family life is also a theme in the main hall: Kiziltepe announces from the stage the release of a legal expert report examining the historical injustice of custody revocations for lesbian and bisexual mothers. She also points to Berlin's pioneering state strategy for queer safety—the first of its kind in Germany. It's a necessary step: In May, a study on domestic violence in queer relationships is set to be published, a topic long taboo within the community.

The award ceremony ends as it began, with the D-Dur Dykes performing Ebow's anthem "Lesbian." Couples in the audience embrace, kiss, close their eyes, and sway to the rhythm. The message of the evening—and of the past few days—lingers: Visibility isn't a fixed state but an ongoing struggle. It's not something to celebrate only in Kreuzberg; it must be carried into every district.